CHAPTER 32
The curried crab had made a change from his usual lunch but Eddie wasn’t so keen on it that he’d try it again.
“Shall we take tea in the lounge?” Isobel said. “I must first pop to the ladies. Why don’t you find a quiet corner?”
She grabbed her bag, stood and walked out watched by the waiter and guests at other tables, but Eddie forgot to stand because his mind was elsewhere. He watched her go and only then realised he should be following her out. He did as he was told and found a quiet corner with a sofa and a low table, crossed his legs, put his head back and looked at the ceiling. It was the unusually vivid dream, the nightmare, that was still disturbing him. Even while trying in vain to crack the crab’s obstinate exoskeleton he’d been reminded of it because the yellow curry had looked like coronation chicken.
He had desperately wanted to apologise for his outspoken rudeness to Isobel but had now decided to delay until they’d finished the investigation. But how long would that take? He took a deep breath. As soon as Isobel returned, he’d summon the courage and get it over and done with. Perhaps then he’d sleep better.
He watched her walking back across the foyer, smart, upright, fresh, clean-looking as if she might have spent the last ten minutes repairing invisible flaws in her already pristine appearance. This time he remembered to stand up and pull out her chair, but it was wasted. “No need, Eddie. Please sit down. Did you order the tea?”
Eddie had forgotten. “Sorry.”
“No problem. I’ll organise it. Earl Grey?”
And then, because of that, Eddie forgot to apologise for his rudeness It was the mention of Earl Grey that did it. Charles Grey, the second Earl Grey. Whig politician. A Lord. The Reform Bill, that was it. Family man. Eddie had read the book.
“Ah, yes. Earl Grey,” he said much to Isobel’s surprise. “We have a zoology professor at Oxford who drinks nothing less. He swears by it and we once discussed it at great length. It is Chinese tea scented with bergamot oil and lemon peel. I have argued that it’s just an unnecessary luxury, marketed for its superiority. Even the link to Earl Grey himself is doubtful. The story goes he saved the son of a Chinese tea blender from drowning and in gratitude for this great deed, the blender passed on this special recipe. In reality, of course, it’s highly unlikely that Earl Grey ever visited China, much less saved a drowning boy.” He paused. “Come to think of it, the story of Earl Grey tea is not too dissimilar to cosmetics marketing.”
They were both silent for a while as they watched the lounge waiter lay out a tray with two cups, two saucers, two spoons and a white china teapot with tea bags hanging on stings with labels still attached. The man had performed the service as if it was some sort of ancient ritual but for Eddie the entire ceremony was ruined by the use of tea bags. The first improvement Eddie would have made was to use loose tea leaves instead of tea bags. A silver tea strainer would have solved the problem of getting a mouthful of soggy tea leaves in your mouth once you’d reached the bottom of your cup.
He sighed as the waiter departed but Isobel didn’t seem to notice. She crossed her legs and thanked the waiter. Then she turned to Eddie who was sitting with his own legs crossed but swinging a walking boot dangerously close to the tea tray. Isobel moved the tray.
“I do believe you take great delight in being provocative, Eddie Higgins. Is there nothing in this world that you find positive or pleasing?”
“Many things,” Eddie replied. “Advances in medical science, materials science, molecular genetics, bio-engineering…”
“All of which, one would think, have dire negative impacts of one sort or another,” Isobel posed.
“Indeed,” Eddie replied, “Most of the advances are initiated by a need to meet the demands of an over indulged population and then immediately negated by the effects of unsustainable population growth, destruction of the environment, civil conflict, underemployment, increasing shortages of basic commodities, energy, food, water…”
“Shall I pour?”
“They forgot the milk.”
“Earl Grey tea is usually drunk without milk Eddie. Try it. You might actually enjoy it.”
Eddie grabbed his cup, sipped and swallowed. “I see what you mean,” he said “The flavour is, indeed, enhanced somewhat. I imagine the fat content of the milk overrides the taste buds and so the flavour of the bergamot is negated.”
He tried another mouthful but didn’t see Isobel smiling. He then sat back with his booted left foot resting on his right knee. “So, what will you do about Peter Lester?” he asked. “Are any of the other directors involved in this obvious criminality? Questions are mounting, Isobel.”
Isobel took a breath. “I intend to gather evidence and then decide. That was Mark’s suggestion and I’m sure you’d approve.”
“Yes. I do. But what about the effectiveness of the products you sell or tests on your raw materials? I have to say I have never before met a company that issues quality test reports without testing the quality. And whilst there are laws banning testing on animals do you carry out tests of final products on humans? And I don’t just mean tests for allergy or mild irritation of the skin, Isobel, but systematic tests to prove that your products actually do what they say they’ll do on the bottle?”
“You pose too many tricky questions, Eddie. In a way, I’m sorry to have met you.”
She smiled awkwardly. “But you are right, of course. I’m relatively new to this business. I’m finding myself in a moral dilemma.”
“Then make things easier on yourself,” Eddie replied. “Continue to meet the insatiable demand but gradually introduce simpler, safer products and ingredients that you fully understand the chemistry and toxicology of and don’t exaggerate claims. Be positive but don’t pull the wool over people’s eyes. Stop trying to be scientifically clever when you haven’t a clue about anything to with medicine or science Try a different strategy. Create and market products that, in a subtle way, denounce the unethical competition and change perceptions. You are in the so-called beauty business so start by redefining beauty.
“Your business encourages and exploits vanity and the human obsession with physical appearance, Isobel, so re-define your corporate image, your destiny, your products. Create a new vision of what it means to be noticed and to be attractive to others and then market it as something unique to Vital.”
Isobel sipped her tea and nodded.
“An interesting idea but a huge challenge and I’m not sure it’s possible.”
“Then start from the basics. Be more scientific. Do what the others don’t do. Ask yourself whether looking attractive, beautiful or younger is only achievable by applying layers and layers of paint and expensive cosmetics.”
“Another interesting notion, Eddie, but cosmetics are the quick and easy solution.”
Eddie scowled and shook his head.
“There we have it,” he said with a look on his face as if the Earl Grey tea was about to make him vomit. “There’s your answer: quick and easy solutions. Why engage a scientific adviser? Why not just carry on as normal by exploiting your vulnerable customers with stuff that doesn’t actually work? Just like they all do. Go on, Isobel. Perpetuate the trend towards the cheapest and nastiest. Keep to the well-established philosophy of finding the lowest common denominator. K
“Keep on selling stuff as if you’re in the business of filling cracks in worn brickwork. Try a scented, pink-coloured version of Polyfilla. Market your range like Dulux do: fresh coats of paint for the faded living room wall. If things have gone too far then sell it like wallpaper. Does anyone care that the marks and the cracks and the flaws still exist if they’re hidden from view?”
It was, perhaps, the longest string of harsh words that Eddie had used since their first meeting.
“That’s the way humans are, Eddie.”
“It’s deceit, Isobel. Women use make-up during the day to deceive others and then live in dread of being seen next morning without it.”
“True, Eddie. You can include me in that.”
“But they can be easily persuaded to buy a night firming moisturiser at bedtime, Isobel. What the hell is night firming?”
“I use one like that.”
Eddie shook his head again.
“I bet it’s expensive,” he said. “The more expensive it is the easier it is to persuade them it’ll work.”
Isobel nodded as if she understood exactly what Eddie was saying.
“Don’t tell me the name of the stuff you use, Isobel, because I’m an expert. But I’ll bet you anything it claims not to cause allergies or dermatitis so you can feel relaxed enough to spread on as much as you can every night and then buy another bottle.
“One manufacturer making such claims told me it has shaved the fur off dozens of white mice and fluffy rabbits, rubbed it into their skin and checked for inflammation. The only thing they can legitimately claim is that it won’t cause an allergic reaction in white mice and fluffy rabbits. But they won’t say that will they because half their vanity obsessed buyers will stop buying it.”
“That could well be the one I use, Eddie.”
“And does your night-firming moisturiser carry out its firming work only when it’s dark and the moon and stars are out?”
“I don’t know but that’s what we like to think”
Eddie shook his head sadly.
“I couldn’t live like that,” he said. “What you look like should be what you really are. Anything else is dishonesty and self-deception. But deception is the name of the game you’re in, isn’t it, Isobel? Do you want more examples of blatant deception by your industry?”
Isobel sighed and sipped her tea. “Tell me” she said. “No time like the present.”
Eddie thought for a moment about letters and emails he’d written, many that still awaited replies because he asked too many difficult questions.
“So-called matrikines are a good example,” he said. “Are you familiar with those? Products like Matrikal 5000. Promoted as if it was a breakthrough in medical science, a magical pharmaceutical discovery and the key to anti-ageing?”
Isobel nodded. “Go on.”
“There have been no studies of possible side effects of using Matrikal 5000 in topical cosmetic products. If it was classed as a pharmaceutical such tests would be mandatory. Due to the functional similarities between Matrikal 5000 and other compounds that so say promote collagen production and reduce wrinkles there is a distinct possibility that Matrikal 5000 has similar side effects to other high-risk collagen-growth ingredients. Shall I go on?
“Even worse in my opinion is that all studies concerning Matrikal 5000 were funded by and conducted in-house by the manufacturer. If it was a pharmaceutical company supplying a national health service and the product was found not to work there would be a public outcry. Matrikal 5000 is touted as having been subjected to thorough clinical testing and yet none of those studies were conducted by third-party research teams. Again, this would not be allowed if it was a pharmaceutical.”
“It’s too easy to be convinced,” Isobel nodded.
“Users are deliberately seduced by pseudoscience because the profits are huge,” Eddie said.
Isobel was silent for a while. “I myself use a cream said to contain Matrikal,” she admitted.
Eddie lifted his half-moon spectacles onto his nose and looked at her as if she was some sort of biological specimen. Whatever it was she was using, her face looked smooth, healthy and blemish free so he did what he often did and tried to imagine her without the covering. For some reason, he couldn’t imagine it being any less attractive. He couldn’t tell her that, of course, but he sensed Isobel was waiting for his reaction and at last he found some words.
“You don’t need to use make-up, Isobel,” he said before adding, “All it does is conceal your natural beauty.”
There was a pause and Isobel gave a slight sniff. “That’s very nice of you, Eddie, but I thought you never used the word beauty. According to you, the word needs redefining or completely removing from the vocabulary.”
“True,” Eddie admitted, pleased she had remembered. “Perhaps I should have said it conceals the real person lying beneath. For me make-up acts like an opaque film. In most cases I know I’m looking at something that is not real. In your case, however, I am convinced that beneath the covering lies a far more interesting woman than first meets the eye.”
Isobel smiled and touched Eddie’s hand. “I suppose I should feel flattered, Eddie, but why do I fear there’s a but coming.”
Eddie nodded and smiled.
“But why the lipstick? It’s so…so unnaturally red.”
“I’m just like other women,” she said. “I feel undressed and can’t face the world without it. It’s expected of me.”
To Eddie, Isobel looked slightly embarrassed and shy and he wondered if, as often, he’d just gone way over the top with his opinions. He tried to smile to show there were no hard feelings but Eddie’s smiles rarely conveyed a message of sorrow, care or affection.
Isobel sniffed again, took a deep breath and stood up. Eddie did likewise. “I must make some phone calls,” she said. “Would you and Jeffrey care to join me for dinner this evening?”
Eddie breathed easier but knew he’d now start worrying about dinner. The crab was still weighing heavily and he’d already eaten more than in a whole day back in Oxford. “Very kind,” he said. “I’ll call Jeffrey.”
He was facing Isobel and wondering whether it was a shaking of hands type of departure or something else but again, the decision was made for him.
Isobel retrieved her case from beneath her chair, smiled and looked at him with her big black eyes. “Eddie,” she said. “You are a most remarkable man. Depressing but, nevertheless, I’m so pleased to have met you. See you later.”
Eddie nodded, sniffed and fled. He took a taxi back to the boarding house and, on the way, called Jeffrey to warn him of the dinner invitation.
“That’s very kind of her,” Jeffrey said, “But Pascale is returning this evening. I’m to meet him at the airport and then we’re driving to Malacca to try to find Peter Lester.”
For Eddie that meant another meal alone with Isobel. Lunch had been unexpected, spontaneous and unplanned and their talk had been related to the events of the morning. Dinner, on the other hand, was pre-arranged. It was four hours away but he needed a mental list of topics for discussion in case conversation dwindled. None of the topics should be too controversial but, whatever they were, he needed to set out his opinions and be better informed on a few topics. Methamphetamine was one.
Downstairs at the boarding house was a computer with internet for use by guests. Ismail, the manager showed him how to log on but Eddie waited for him to go away before Googling ‘Ephedrine” and ‘Conversion of ephedrine to methamphetamine’.
After he’d finished, he deleted the search trail, closed down, thanked Ismail and returned to his room with his mind still buzzing about the chemistry of narcotics. He wondered again what the white powder in the small bottle was. It was still in his jacket pocket so he took it out, held it up to the light, shook it a little, unscrewed it and, wondering what it smelled like, sniffed it.
Perhaps he sniffed too long and too hard.
It was a surprisingly light powder and he felt it irritate his nasal passages like snuff is meant to do. But then his sinuses began to itch and the inside of his nose began to smart.
In less than a minute Eddie couldn’t feel his nose. It was, to all intents and purposes, anaesthetised. He had been standing by the window but suddenly felt very dizzy, his eyes felt sore and he decided it was best to sit down, but he didn’t sit. He fell, half on the bed, half on the floor.
“Oh, my goodness.” He tried to copy Isobel’s earlier expression but it came out sounding more like ‘Ur may god.’
Eddie didn’t feel at all well. The ceiling fan had been going around on speed number two but it stopped and the room went around instead. He closed his eyes and felt as if he was flying somewhere, flapping his arms as if he was soaring like an eagle between the central KL skyscrapers. He waved at people walking hundreds of feet below. Maybe he even laughed aloud but he didn’t know. Eddie didn’t know who he was or where he was.
How long it lasted was only obvious when he could eventually focus sufficiently on his watch. It was eight fifteen, dark outside and his dinner engagement with Isobel had been fixed for 7pm. He staggered to his feet, groped for the light switch and threw water on his face, drank a glassful and sniffed. His nose still felt numb but his mind had cleared somewhat.
He made it downstairs and out into the humidity of the night. He flagged down a taxi and arrived at the Istana at 8.45. He asked reception to call Isobel’s room and when they handed him the phone and he heard her voice he felt he’d re-joined the world. “It’s Eddie,” he said,” I’m very sorry.”
“Eddie. Where have you been?”
“On a trip,” Eddie said.