A Darkening Stain by Robert Wilson Page B

innocent. So charming. So caring. But I have my prejudices too and at my age they’re difficult to get rid of.’
    â€˜I don’t want you to think I’m being facetious, but for a man who’s suffered what you have and only four months ago ... you’ve made a good recovery.’
    He grunted out a laugh or a dismissal, I didn’t know which, and stuck his cigarette in his terrible mouth and loosened off the belt of his trousers.
    â€˜Some of my less obvious wounds,’ he said, closing his eye to the smoke, ‘are still open and very badly infected. I’m nervous in crowds. I don’t like loud noises or sudden movements. I find people difficult ... to trust.’
    â€˜But this isn’t the only reason you’re hiding, Jean-Luc, is it?’
    â€˜This?’ he asked, pointing at his face and then laying a snub-nosed .380 revolver on my desk. ‘I’m not hiding because of this. I’ll say something for the Africans ... it doesn’t bother them. They look at me as if it is normal for a white man to have such a face. And they don’t pity me either. I like that. My own people. Pah! That’s something different. They look at me as if I’m an affront. They look at me as if I should have had the sensitivity to consider their feelings. I should have thought before offending their aesthetic senses. I should be in purdah. Our society is obsessed with beauty, don’t you think, M. Medway?’
    â€˜And your wife?’ I asked, the question in my head and out of my mouth before I could snatch it back.
    â€˜What about my wife?’ he said, quick and vicious.
    â€˜How has she coped with a man who left her whole and came back ... It can’t have been easy.’
    â€˜A lot of people underestimate Carole. They spend too long looking at her ass. You know, even before this I was not leading-man material. She didn’t marry me for my looks, M. Medway. And I was fifty-two years old. She was twenty-eight. What does that tell you?’
    â€˜That maybe you’ve got a good sense of humour.’
    â€˜Now you
are
being facetious.’
    â€˜A little. But that’s what women like in a man, so they say. You look down their ads in the Lonely Hearts columns and they all ask for GSOH ... but they never tell you what jokes they laugh at.’
    â€˜And the guys? What do the guys ask for?’
    â€˜Sex, fun, zero commitment. But they do offer something very important to women. FHOH.’
    â€˜What’s that?’
    â€˜Full Head Of Hair.’
    Marnier roared. He ran a hand through his thick black locks.
    â€˜I win,’ he said, and laughed some more.
    â€˜So why did she marry you?’
    â€˜That’s personal. I only mentioned it to illustrate a point.’
    â€˜She keeps herself in very good condition.’
    â€˜Perhaps you’re one of these guys who looks at her ass too long,’ he said, touchy.
    â€˜She didn’t give me much opportunity.’
    Marnier roared again, hard enough to split any stitches he might still have left in him.
    â€˜She lost you without even having to think about it,’ he said. ‘Ah, M. Medway, I think I’m going to like you.’
    â€˜That worries me.’
    â€˜I don’t like many people.’
    â€˜If you’re including Jacques in your list, I might as well tell you he didn’t seem to like being your friend too much.’
    â€˜Jacques?’
    â€˜The guy who was in here just a minute ago.’
    â€˜Him?’ he said, contemptuous. ‘He’s a fool.’
    Suddenly, for a whole load of very good reasons, I had the desire to get out of there, get back home, get away from all this ... all this manoeuvring, all this manly sizing up.
    â€˜Let’s get back to why you’re hiding, Jean-Luc.’
    â€˜Is there more whisky?’ he asked, finishing his glass.
    I refilled him but not myself. Discourage the man. Let him drink alone. I showed