‘What plants are these?’ asked Dash, pointing to a cluster of bright pink five-leaved flowers with serrated edges that resembled the hem of a debutante’s ballgown.
‘Yes, they’re pretty, aren’t they?’ said Gore. ‘But you’d have to check with Howard. He’s the gardener. Are you in love with the boy, Dash? Is that what this is all about?’
His companion didn’t seem surprised by the question or by how suddenly it had been asked. He swallowed and looked down at the ground, where an elongated family of ants were scuttling past in single file, and nodded.
‘It’s ridiculous, I know,’ he said. ‘I’m fifty-eight years old, after all.’
‘And what is he?’
‘Twenty-four.’
‘Is he a bugger? It’s hard to tell. He was so enigmatic on the subject over dinner last night.’
‘I think Maurice is whatever he needs to be, whenever he needs to be it. He’s an operator, that’s for sure. And I don’t much like him, Gore, if I’m honest. Sometimes I think I might hate him. He’s rude and unkind, utterly self-centred, and treats me like a dog. But I can’t seem to break away from him. When we’re together, I’m in torment, but when we’re apart he’s all that I can think about. I wonder who he’s with and what he’s doing and whether he’s thinking of me at all. It wasn’t like that when we met, of course. I had the upper hand then. I’m … well, I am what I am.’
‘A successful writer,’ said Gore, placing a hand on his friend’s arm. ‘And a good one too. A rare dyad.’
‘A competent one,’ said Dash, offering a half-smile. ‘Let’s not pretend otherwise. I can write, yes, but I won’t be remembered. Not like you. My books lack whatever alchemy is needed to ensure immortality. You’ll be read when we’re both worm food, Gore. I won’t.’
Gore said nothing. This was an accurate representation of the future, as far as he was concerned, and he had no wish to patronize his friend by pretending otherwise.
‘When I first met him,’ continued Dash, ‘it was as if every nerve in my body became alert to his presence. I couldn’t take my eyes off him and when I approached him—’
‘Where was this?’ asked Gore.
‘In the Prado.’ He laughed and shook his head. ‘I know, it’s the stuff of clichés. Like something out of a terrible Hollywood film.’
‘There’s no other sort, as far as I can tell, these days,’ said Gore. ‘What room was he in?’
‘What?’
‘Maurice. When you discovered him. Do you remember what room he was in? What he was looking at?’
‘The El Grecos. He was wearing white trousers and a navy shirt, the colour of which matched his shoes. He wore no socks and his cologne contained a scent of lavender. He was carrying a rather nice shoulder bag, leather and cream, and a copy of that morning’s El País, featuring a large photograph of Felipe González on the front page, pointing a finger at Francisco Ordó?ez.’
‘Oh, my dear Dash,’ said Gore, shaking his head sadly. ‘You do have it bad, don’t you?’
‘Of course, he was with Erich at the time.’
‘With him in what sense?’
‘It’s hard to know, although I’m reasonably certain that nothing physical happened between them. He was simply using him the same way he’s been using me. Poor Erich was in love with him too, of course.’
‘You chastised me last night for using the phrase Poor Erich.’
Dash shrugged. ‘Perhaps I’m feeling rather better disposed towards him today. He probably went through the same level of torment that I’ve been going through over the last couple of years.’
‘He doesn’t let you touch him, does he?’ asked Gore, and Dash shook his head. ‘And nor does he touch you?’
Dash said nothing, simply staring into the distance, watching the spin and roll of the early morning waves.
‘I don’t quite see it,’ said Gore when it became clear that Dash wasn’t going to reply. ‘He’s good-looking, yes. He has an undeniable sex appeal and he’s aware of the power of his beauty. Too aware, some might say. But so do most boys his age. What’s so special about him? What is it that you and Erich see in him that I’m missing?’
‘I don’t know,’ admitted Dash. ‘But whatever it is, I’m enslaved to it. As was Erich, I’m certain. I was so incredibly jealous when I first encountered them together. I assumed that Maurice was just some trick that Ackermann had picked up on his travels. But I quickly realized that their relationship was more complicated than I’d initially understood it to be. I wanted to break them up from the moment we met and, once I put it into Maurice’s head that he’d gained everything he could from mentor number one, it wasn’t difficult to persuade him to move on to mentor number two. Someone with an “in” on the New York literary scene. Which Erich never really had, even after Dread.’
‘And, what? He just dropped Ackermann?’
‘Like a red-hot coal. Erich was devastated. Maurice didn’t tell me much, he can be rather discreet when he wants to be, but it wasn’t long before the poor man’s life fell apart.’
‘But surely that was due to the revelations in Maurice’s book?’
‘I think he could have fought his way through them if he’d wanted to,’ said Dash. ‘But I suspect he didn’t have the energy for the battle, not without the boy by his side.’
‘And since then?’
‘Well, Maurice’s novel has been a tremendous success. He’s much in demand, the hot young star of London literary circles, while I’m nothing more than the desperate old fag whose best work is behind him, trotting around after a young boy with his tongue hanging out, humiliating himself more and more at every turn. There are times that I wish he was dead or that I was dead or that we both were dead. Yesterday, while we were driving up the road to your house, I gave serious thought to tipping us both over the edge into the sea. But I couldn’t do it, of course.’
Gore reached over and took Dash’s hand in a gesture of friendship, squeezing it tightly.
‘And what happens next?’ he asked. ‘When you leave today, I mean?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Dash. ‘He’s going back to London, he’s already working on his next novel. I offered to accompany him but he said he’d prefer if I didn’t. He told me he’d catch up with me the next time he was in New York. Catch up with me! I suppose I’ll just go home and wait for him. There’s nothing else I can do.’
‘Will you start work on a new book?’
‘I’ll try. It’s hard to imagine being able to focus on a novel when I feel so overwhelmed by desire.’
‘You know he won’t come, though, don’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘You know that when he says goodbye today, it will most likely be for ever?’
‘I know.’
He sighed and watched as a bird landed on one of the flowers, investigating its stamen for a few moments before looking up, its beak quivering slightly.