The Man Who Went Down With His Ship (15 page)

After nine months had passed, however, and then it got closer to a year, Alice realised that she was more deeply attached to Gianfranco than she cared, most days, to admit. It was partly because when she was with him she remembered how lonely she had been before she met him, despite her friends; and partly because the more time Gianfranco spent in her flat (and he always came to her—he showed her once the flat he had bought and never thereafter invited her back) the more she perceived that not only was he grateful in a touching, little-boy way for
her pity, but that even he, for all his immense self-satisfaction, wasn’t entirely convinced of the reality of the appearances by which he set such store. In the main, though, she realised, as she patted down his hair after he had so far forgotten himself while they were making love as to mess it up slightly, it was precisely because he had become Him that had made her start to view the idea of losing him with a certain alarm. By becoming Him, Gianfranco had saved her from the risk of exposure; and by becoming Him, Gianfranco had saved her from any charges, including her own, that might have been made against her: charges of being mad, sad, or really just a little too pathetic.

Yet perversely, it was the very fact that Gianfranco had become Him that also made Alice, as the first anniversary of their meeting approached, decide that she should end the affair. Or, if not that, the fact that had he not become Him, she would never have taken up with him in the first place, however lonely she might have been, and however much she had come to believe that even he was not absolutely convinced of the solidity of the earth’s crust. He had been her way of covering her deception, her way of avoiding discovery, humiliation and defeat. And it was wrong, in her book, to have an affair with someone just to hide past sins.

Besides, she told herself, after Gianfranco had phoned to say he was flying over just for the evening of their anniversary and they would go somewhere special, if she did continue with Gianfranco for much longer, she might find herself questioning all the rules she lived by. Going through all those old debates she had had with herself, and with others, when young—commerce versus art, action versus reflection, the pursuit of money versus the pursuit of truth—debates she had hoped were decided upon and put aside for good. It was too late for that; she was too tired now, if not too old, suddenly to decide that she was on the wrong road and to start hacking her way across country until she got to the right road. That wasn’t, in any case, the right road, she told herself with a note of desperation as she
began to wonder what she would tell Gianfranco at their
celebratory
, and farewell, meal. It wasn’t. Moreover, attached as she had become to Gianfranco and much though she would miss him when she had said goodbye, he did stand on the side of ugliness, untruth and the Devil—as she had always told herself, before she met him, Him stood. He did stand on the side of chaos, folly and illusion. He did stand on the side of everything she had fought against all her life. Didn’t he? Oh yes, she almost cried, as she admitted that it hardly mattered what speech she made Gianfranco, since the second he caught the slightest whiff of defection he would announce that he was leaving her and would probably manage to convince her that indeed the decision had been his. Yes, yes, he did.

Ugliness, untruth and the Devil. Ugliness, untruth and the Devil.

*

By ‘somewhere special’ Gianfranco in fact meant that he wanted to celebrate their first anniversary at the same overpriced
restaurant
where they had eaten the year before.

‘I have booked a table,’ he said when he called the day before he was due to arrive, not only to confirm that he was arriving, but to tell Alice that his elder daughter had a cold, his wife had a bad back and his mother was getting on his nerves. ‘I liked it there.’

Alice, however, who was determined to avoid the possibility of a scene in a public place, put her foot down and held out for eating at home.

‘We don’t have to have a steak and kidney pie,’ she told him. ‘If you like I’ll get something readymade. But I really don’t want to go back there. Besides,’ she added, trying not to sound sickly, ‘it was here that we met, wasn’t it? And it would be nicer if … well, you know.’

‘You’re not going to ask Jim or that other friend Humphrey, are you?’ Gianfranco asked.

‘Good heavens, no,’ Alice said, never having been certain whether Gianfranco’s desire to keep their affair a secret was because he was ashamed of being thought to associate with someone like her, or for some other more obscure reason that concerned, possibly, Jim. Some things, though, she thought it better not to ask about, especially Gianfranco, since he wouldn’t have told her the truth, however simple it may have been. ‘It’ll just be the two of us.’

‘Oh, all right,’ Gianfranco said, sounding slightly peeved. Either because he didn’t like being deprived of the opportunity of spending money, or because he wasn’t used to Alice taking a stand. ‘Whatever you prefer. But please, do me a favour. Make sure the place is warm, won’t you? I remember last year—Jesus, I almost froze.’

‘Yes, of course I will,’ Alice sniffed, wanting to tell him that as she remembered it the place had been beautifully warm by the time he and Jim had come; as warm as it had always been every time he had come since on a cold night, despite her having to run up debts in order to pay the gas bill. If she had told him any such thing, however, she might have lost control and, when she was almost rid of him, have told him far too much. No, she thought, just simper on for a few more days and tell him what he wants to hear. After that you won’t have to pretend any more. Poor Gianfranco, what would he do if he knew I was forced to live as I do, rather than choosing to? Would he be so horrified at what he would call my foolishness that he would drop me instantly? Or would his unconscious pity for me become conscious pity, that would be impossible to feel grateful for and would oblige me to drop him instantly? The latter, probably, though both might happen simultaneously. Not that it matters, of course, because I am going to drop him anyway tomorrow. Still, I would prefer our parting to be amicable; and, if possible, I would prefer him never to know the truth. Almost froze, indeed! This year I’ll turn the heating on at seven if it’s cold, and if it’s very cold, it can even go on at six.

As it turned out, the following day was very cold; very, very cold. And that, Alice was to reflect later, was her undoing. It had snowed all morning and she had had a lot to do; and what with waiting in the slush for buses that didn’t come, running for buses that she had just missed, slipping on the ice and hurting herself, and having to wait everywhere she did go for her stockings to dry sufficiently for her to be able to go out and get them wet again, it was already past seven when she arrived home. Still, she wasn’t worried, and as she closed the door behind her she told herself she only had three things to do. The first, obviously, was to see about the heat. The second was to have a drink. And the third was to get into a hot bath and soak for half an hour. Gianfranco wouldn’t mind if he had to wait for his half avocado and his Fisherman’s Pie. In any case, it only took a second to prepare the one and half an hour to heat the other in the oven. There was no rush, no need to fret. And if she turned the gas rings on as well as the boiler—well, the place might not be tropical by the time Gianfranco showed up, but it certainly wouldn’t be as bitter as it now was. Especially if she turned the thermostat to maximum and really, on this last of their evenings together, splurged.

She was so chilled, however, and so bruised that even as she was telling herself this, and even as she was going into the kitchen to do what she had to do, Alice couldn’t resist reversing the order of the proceedings slightly, and as she passed the bottle of whisky Gianfranco had brought last time he had flown in, opening it and taking a quick swig from it. Very much, it occurred to her, as she had the year before, before the others had arrived. Though last year she had put it into a glass … And either because she was thus sidetracked into thinking about the events of the previous year and wondering again whether she was doing the right thing, or because, not having eaten all day, the alcohol went to her head and made her feel she was about to pass out, she also couldn’t resist (just for a second, she told herself) sitting down. And next thing she knew it was eight
o’clock, she was shivering uncontrollably, and if the temperature in the flat when she had come in had been around freezing, it felt now as if it were ten degrees below.

She couldn’t believe it, she told herself as, instantly awake, she rushed to hit the boiler switch. It wasn’t possible. Not tonight of all nights. Not after Gianfranco had specifically asked her to put the heating on early. Not when she wanted integrity at least to seem comfortable, as it turned its back on temptation. Oh God, Alice thought, running to the bathroom to take a shower, I hope he doesn’t come early.

He didn’t. He came at exactly eight-twenty, bearing flowers, champagne and his favourite hand-made chocolates. He came too early, though, for anything other than the bitterness to have been taken out of the air; and he came too early for him, as he stepped inside, held out his gifts and shuddered, to think about removing his coat.

Any other man, Alice was also to reflect later, would have exploded at this point and either become patronising in his fury, telling her about infantile aggression and subconscious desires for revenge, or become petulant and started moaning about thoughtlessness, stupidity and selfishness. What was more, she would have sympathised with him if he had. Gianfranco however, whose self-absorption was such that he didn’t care what threatened his wellbeing, as long as the threat was
eliminated
and
basta
, was not like other men. For although, when he came in, he did shudder and say ‘Oh, Alicia’, and make a great show about refusing to take his coat off, he was also, Alice saw, obscurely pleased that his instructions had not been obeyed. And having been prepared, had the flat been warm, to be as peevish as he had been yesterday on the phone, as soon as he discovered that it wasn’t, he became instantly prepared to be in the best of tempers all evening.

For a moment, as she apologised, begged him to close the door and thanked him for his gifts, Alice couldn’t understand this perversity and felt thrown off balance by it. Surely, she
thought, he must be angry. She was, God knows, herself. Then, after that moment, the explanation came to her. It wasn’t, she told herself, that Gianfranco got a kick out of having his requests apparently wilfully ignored; nor that he enjoyed seeing her discomfited. No. It was just that he liked to be reminded of how lucky he was to live in Naples and only have to take sidetrips to Bohemia when he felt like it. That this way he could be more nostalgic than ever at the thought of Bohemia; and thus make himself more attractive than ever to his Bohemian mistress. And that this way he could insist on their going out to eat after all; and she, damp, half-dressed and totally unprepared, was no longer in a position to refuse.

He really was a monster, she thought as she went to get herself ready; a smiling, charming
monster.

She could hardly stop herself laughing at the idea of
Gianfranco’s
complacency. Moreover, Gianfranco proved to be
magnanimous
in victory and didn’t hold out for going to the same restaurant as last year. Nevertheless, by the time Alice had sunk into a red, velvet chair in the pompous, beflowered and overheated place that he did chose, her good humour had left her; and been replaced by a feeling of panic. It was not only, she told herself, because her head was spinning with the
champagne
that she and Gianfranco had drunk before leaving home; nor even because, however hard she tried not to, she did indeed find Gianfranco more attractive than ever tonight—so attractive that she was afraid that unless she were very strong, she would never be able to make her farewell speech or simply say goodbye. But above all, because joking apart, she couldn’t help recalling that Gianfranco was a monster, a monster called Him, whom she had had a hand in creating, and feeling that if she didn’t manage to break with him he would, as monsters do their creators, take her over. He would do so with kindness, gifts and pity; but he would take her over, all the same, and destroy her.

She had to find the strength, she told herself, as her panic rose within her; and, threatening to make her vomit, it paradoxically
almost pushed her into making her speech immediately, to avoid the indignity of vomiting. She had to. Otherwise …

Her thoughts were interrupted by a vision of herself as a little female Frankenstein, being pursued by a Neapolitan lawyer with a neat moustache and a smirk of self-satisfaction; and once again, for all that she fought against it, she found herself wanting to laugh.

Gianfranco is ugliness, falsehood and the Devil, she told herself; as her panic started to subside and she murmured yes, she was feeling fine.

Gianfranco’s way is not the true way, Gianfranco’s way is not the right way, Gianfranco’s way is not the good way, she told herself as she sipped yet another glass of champagne, and listened to Gianfranco tell her about his wife and daughter’s ailments.

‘Oh, Gianfranco, I’m sorry,’ she told herself, and wanted to tell him, as she looked at the menu and ordered. ‘But really, our worlds are too different.’

And for all that she was feeling so weak when she arrived in the restaurant, the last thing that Alice was to reflect later was that she might actually have got the last of these phrases out before the evening was over. If, three-quarters of the way through the meal, something so disturbing, yet so inevitable hadn’t happened that she was knocked totally off balance, and left lying as helpless as she had been two or three times earlier that day, on the icy paving stones of Bloomsbury and Chelsea. For by the time she had got some food inside her she was feeling sober enough, and strong enough, to ditch someone she loved. And attached as she had become to Gianfranco and as attractive as she found him tonight, she certainly didn’t love him.