special man I know,’ said Marina with a sigh, *is quite unobtainable.’ And as she disclosed this piece of information the alcoholic fog cleared in my psyche, my metaphorical aerial began to pick up strong signals and I understood that an unobtainable man was, in some mysterious way, exactly what she wanted. I was too young at the time to make the obvious deduction: that a desire for an unobtainable man coupled with a distaste for the men available hinted at a sexual hang-up. I just thought — and when I say ‘I thought’ I mean I knew, it was the special knowledge I called ‘gnosis’: she doesn’t do it. I’m wasting my time.
‘The funny thing is,’ Marina was musing, ‘this man does actually have a connection with the Cathedral Close at Starbridge. But I don’t see how I could ever wind up there living with him.’
‘I didn’t say you would. I said you’d be living — or perhaps just temporarily staying — in the shadow of a great cathedral, and this man would at last be significantly present in your life.’
‘Will I get anywhere with him?’
‘Yes, but not in the conventional sense,’ I said, inventing the answer I knew she wanted to hear, but then without warning I received the print-out that circumvents the ordinary processes of thought, the message that’s hammered directly into the brain from some unknown source and appears instantly on the screen of the psyche. Without stopping to think — because thinking had been by-passed — I said: ‘You’ll be very close to his wife. In fact she’s already a friend of yours.’
‘Glory!’ said Marina astounded. ‘You really are amazing!
How could you possibly have known about my new friendship j with Katie?’
And that was the moment when I elided the Cathedral Close connection with the wife called Katie and realised that the man we were talking about was Christian Aysgarth.
II
Since I had promised my father not to behave like a shady charlatan by performing psychic parlour-tricks, I felt guilty enough about the punt episode to try to avoid Marina afterwards, but she was like a child with a shrimping-net who had seen an exotic creature swimming in a rock-pool; she found herself compelled to kidnap me for her very own private aquarium.
I was netted, compulsorily enrolled in her Coterie and treated not as a fish but as a very expensive poodle. Marina called me the Coterie’s soothsayer-in-residence. I hated all this rubbishy behaviour but of course I was flattered to have been singled out by the dazzling Marina Markhampton. Having been unsure how much sex-appeal I had (if any), I liked the way Marina made me feel like Errol Flynn and Elvis Presley rolled into one. No wonder I retained a soft spot in my heart for her afterwards r and could never quite bear to sever myself completely from her boring old Coterie.
Ironically, sex was no longer a serious ingredient in our friendship once I’d sobered up. Marina’s persistent pampering was based on the kind of attraction a smart woman feels towards a supremely original fashion accessory; it was covetousness, not lust, which lay at the root of her liking for me, and it was a flattered ego, not a libido in overdrive, which lay at the root of my liking for her. In fact once I was no longer drunk enough to feel like laying every woman in sight, I was surprised to discover how resistible I found her. The Venus de Milo type of torso has never been to my taste, and I happen to be one of those gentlemen who don’t prefer blondes. I likesteamy brunettes with large breasts, slim hips and legs that go on for ever. Marina was supposed to be a flawless example of feminine beauty, but I thought she looked like an intelligent sheep, all light, blazing eyes and angular facial bones.
In the May of 1963, less than a year after our first meeting, she went to live temporarily in the Cathedral Close at Starbridge. (This reflects no credit on my fortune-telling skill, of course. My invented prophecy had merely
‘The funny thing is,’ Marina was musing, ‘this man does actually have a connection with the Cathedral Close at Starbridge. But I don’t see how I could ever wind up there living with him.’
‘I didn’t say you would. I said you’d be living — or perhaps just temporarily staying — in the shadow of a great cathedral, and this man would at last be significantly present in your life.’
‘Will I get anywhere with him?’
‘Yes, but not in the conventional sense,’ I said, inventing the answer I knew she wanted to hear, but then without warning I received the print-out that circumvents the ordinary processes of thought, the message that’s hammered directly into the brain from some unknown source and appears instantly on the screen of the psyche. Without stopping to think — because thinking had been by-passed — I said: ‘You’ll be very close to his wife. In fact she’s already a friend of yours.’
‘Glory!’ said Marina astounded. ‘You really are amazing!
How could you possibly have known about my new friendship j with Katie?’
And that was the moment when I elided the Cathedral Close connection with the wife called Katie and realised that the man we were talking about was Christian Aysgarth.
II
Since I had promised my father not to behave like a shady charlatan by performing psychic parlour-tricks, I felt guilty enough about the punt episode to try to avoid Marina afterwards, but she was like a child with a shrimping-net who had seen an exotic creature swimming in a rock-pool; she found herself compelled to kidnap me for her very own private aquarium.
I was netted, compulsorily enrolled in her Coterie and treated not as a fish but as a very expensive poodle. Marina called me the Coterie’s soothsayer-in-residence. I hated all this rubbishy behaviour but of course I was flattered to have been singled out by the dazzling Marina Markhampton. Having been unsure how much sex-appeal I had (if any), I liked the way Marina made me feel like Errol Flynn and Elvis Presley rolled into one. No wonder I retained a soft spot in my heart for her afterwards r and could never quite bear to sever myself completely from her boring old Coterie.
Ironically, sex was no longer a serious ingredient in our friendship once I’d sobered up. Marina’s persistent pampering was based on the kind of attraction a smart woman feels towards a supremely original fashion accessory; it was covetousness, not lust, which lay at the root of her liking for me, and it was a flattered ego, not a libido in overdrive, which lay at the root of my liking for her. In fact once I was no longer drunk enough to feel like laying every woman in sight, I was surprised to discover how resistible I found her. The Venus de Milo type of torso has never been to my taste, and I happen to be one of those gentlemen who don’t prefer blondes. I likesteamy brunettes with large breasts, slim hips and legs that go on for ever. Marina was supposed to be a flawless example of feminine beauty, but I thought she looked like an intelligent sheep, all light, blazing eyes and angular facial bones.
In the May of 1963, less than a year after our first meeting, she went to live temporarily in the Cathedral Close at Starbridge. (This reflects no credit on my fortune-telling skill, of course. My invented prophecy had merely
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