‘Co-founder of a company that you’ve never heard of, which was bought out by a bigger company that I signed a non-disclosure agreement with. They gave me a huge share option which I cashed in just before the market went south.’
He gave me a thin smile. Obviously this was his standard spiel with its appropriate pauses for rueful laughs and self-deprecating chuckles – only this was the first time he’d told it with his partner dead.
‘I always worry when there’s too much of a good thing,’ he said.
Having made his millions he headed to London, for the culture, the nightlife and most of all because, as far as he knew, none of his immediate relatives lived there.
‘I love my family,’ he said, glancing after his mother. ‘But you know how it is.’
He’d met Richard Lewis at the Royal Opera House during a performance of Verdi’s Un Ballo in Maschera . He’d gone on impulse and had been in the standing-room-only section when a well-dressed stranger had turned to him and said, ‘God this is a bloody awful performance.’
‘He said that he could think of at least five things that he’d rather be doing,’ said Phillip. ‘I asked him what was on the top of the list and he said, “Well, a stiff drink would be a good start, don’t you think?” So off we went for a drink and that was it, cupid’s arrow right between the eyes.’
But it hadn’t quite been love at first sight. Phillip hadn’t flown across the pond with a large fortune just to fall for the first half-decent proposition. ‘He worked at it,’ said Phillip. ‘He was methodical and patient and—’ Phillip looked away and stared at a blank piece of wall for a moment before taking a breath. ‘Really fucking funny.’
Three months later they were married, or more precisely they entered into a Civil Partnership, with due ceremony, celebration and a suitable pre-nup.
‘That was Richard’s idea,’ said Phillip.
I judged that this was about as good a time as any to wheel out the questionnaire. It had been drawn up by Dr Walid and Nightingale to uncover evidence of real magical practice – as opposed to an interest in the occult, ghost stories, fantasy novels and that old time religion. Dr Walid had thrown in some questions from established psychometric and sociological surveys to make it sound kosher. I called it the Voigt-Kampf test even though only Dr Walid got the joke – and he had to look it up on Wikipedia.
‘It’s to provide background about these . . . tragic incidents,’ I said. ‘To see what can be done to prevent them in the future.’
Up till now I’d mostly given the spiel to potential Little Crocodiles who I was pretending to interview on a totally random basis. Watching Phillip’s face, I decided we were going to have to dream up a whole new strategy for dealing with bereaved relatives. Either that or Dr Walid could come and administer his own bloody tests.
Phillip nodded as if this was all perfectly reasonable – perhaps he was just pleased we were taking an interest.
The test started with a couple of psychological questions as warm up, and I almost skipped number five, ‘Did the subject indicate dissatisfaction with any aspect of his life?’ But Dr Walid had stressed consistency in application.
‘I didn’t think so,’ said Phillip. ‘Not until I saw the tape of the accident.’
‘They let you see it?’ I asked.
‘Oh, I insisted,’ said Phillip. ‘I thought there was no way that Richard would kill himself. What reason would he have? But it’s hard to argue with the evidence of your eyes.’
I moved onto the ‘spiritual’ questions which revealed that Richard had almost been an Anglican in the same way that Phillip had almost been a Catholic. Phillip told me proudly that his mum had ceased to be a practising Catholic the day after he came out.
‘She says she will go back to the Church the day it apologises,’ he said.
Lewis hadn’t had any interest in the occult beyond that needed to
He gave me a thin smile. Obviously this was his standard spiel with its appropriate pauses for rueful laughs and self-deprecating chuckles – only this was the first time he’d told it with his partner dead.
‘I always worry when there’s too much of a good thing,’ he said.
Having made his millions he headed to London, for the culture, the nightlife and most of all because, as far as he knew, none of his immediate relatives lived there.
‘I love my family,’ he said, glancing after his mother. ‘But you know how it is.’
He’d met Richard Lewis at the Royal Opera House during a performance of Verdi’s Un Ballo in Maschera . He’d gone on impulse and had been in the standing-room-only section when a well-dressed stranger had turned to him and said, ‘God this is a bloody awful performance.’
‘He said that he could think of at least five things that he’d rather be doing,’ said Phillip. ‘I asked him what was on the top of the list and he said, “Well, a stiff drink would be a good start, don’t you think?” So off we went for a drink and that was it, cupid’s arrow right between the eyes.’
But it hadn’t quite been love at first sight. Phillip hadn’t flown across the pond with a large fortune just to fall for the first half-decent proposition. ‘He worked at it,’ said Phillip. ‘He was methodical and patient and—’ Phillip looked away and stared at a blank piece of wall for a moment before taking a breath. ‘Really fucking funny.’
Three months later they were married, or more precisely they entered into a Civil Partnership, with due ceremony, celebration and a suitable pre-nup.
‘That was Richard’s idea,’ said Phillip.
I judged that this was about as good a time as any to wheel out the questionnaire. It had been drawn up by Dr Walid and Nightingale to uncover evidence of real magical practice – as opposed to an interest in the occult, ghost stories, fantasy novels and that old time religion. Dr Walid had thrown in some questions from established psychometric and sociological surveys to make it sound kosher. I called it the Voigt-Kampf test even though only Dr Walid got the joke – and he had to look it up on Wikipedia.
‘It’s to provide background about these . . . tragic incidents,’ I said. ‘To see what can be done to prevent them in the future.’
Up till now I’d mostly given the spiel to potential Little Crocodiles who I was pretending to interview on a totally random basis. Watching Phillip’s face, I decided we were going to have to dream up a whole new strategy for dealing with bereaved relatives. Either that or Dr Walid could come and administer his own bloody tests.
Phillip nodded as if this was all perfectly reasonable – perhaps he was just pleased we were taking an interest.
The test started with a couple of psychological questions as warm up, and I almost skipped number five, ‘Did the subject indicate dissatisfaction with any aspect of his life?’ But Dr Walid had stressed consistency in application.
‘I didn’t think so,’ said Phillip. ‘Not until I saw the tape of the accident.’
‘They let you see it?’ I asked.
‘Oh, I insisted,’ said Phillip. ‘I thought there was no way that Richard would kill himself. What reason would he have? But it’s hard to argue with the evidence of your eyes.’
I moved onto the ‘spiritual’ questions which revealed that Richard had almost been an Anglican in the same way that Phillip had almost been a Catholic. Phillip told me proudly that his mum had ceased to be a practising Catholic the day after he came out.
‘She says she will go back to the Church the day it apologises,’ he said.
Lewis hadn’t had any interest in the occult beyond that needed to
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