CHAPTER XXI : A DEVASTATING ENCOUNTER.
We continued our walk in the Kensington Gardens and crossed into Hyde Park walking all the time parallel to Kensington Road. The ten minute nap refreshed me somewhat and from the Park we eventually crossed into Knightsbridge to Brompton Road and walked back towards South Kensington at a leisurely pace looking at the shop windows. Lovely expensive clothes interested Diana who told me she shopped in cheaper stores, rather than the expensive Knightsbridge boutiques but was always interested in the new trends which first appeared in these boutiques. On this sunny Saturday all the shops were open and the fine weather brought out the crowds, both elegant lady shoppers and window shoppers like us. Even London’s tall and serious policemen, the Bobbies, seemed to be enjoying themselves. We passed Harrods on the opposite pavement and after a good bit of walking the Victoria and Albert Museum then turned left into Thurloe Place and South Kensington. By that time we had walked for two hours and were quite tired. It was nearly one o’clock and she invited me for a cappuccino at Sarabia. She told me that on Tuesday she had a chore and would be unable to meet me. But it’s my last day, I protested. On Wednesday I’m off. I know, George, she said, but it’s unavoidable. I really am sorry. Can’t you change it? Tuesday is our day. Please don’t pressure me, she said, I would have changed it if I could. She did not explain what was so important and I saw that further insistence would upset her. We talked and finished our coffee in a more subdued atmosphere and I accompanied her to her bus stop. A bus came along as we were approaching and ordinarily if we hurried she would have boarded it but she said, let’s wait for the next one. We hugged and kissed until the next bus came along. Will you send me a card now and then? she asked. Yes, my darling, I answered, and before you know it I’ll be back. Our embraces and kisses had a desolation to them that lingered from one to the next and when the following bus appeared I saw tears in her eyes and that brought tears in my own. I let her go and she climbed onto the bus smiling with tears rolling down her cheeks. I started walking to Queensgate in a state of extreme misery. I was lucky that besides my wretched mental state I was so tired physically that when I entered my room I flopped on the bed and went to sleep almost without a thought.
Sunday and Monday I spent mostly with Omar. On Saturday evening after I woke up at about eight, I heard movement in his room and I presumed he had a girl. I took up a book and started reading trying to get Diana off my mind. Two hours later I was slightly hungry but was too lazy to go down for a meal and knocked at Omar’s door to ask for some bread. He half opened his door, put out his head and smiled. Sorry, can’t invite you in, he said. He was in his boxer underpants with his muscular torso bare. Pretty warm day, I said teasing him. What do you want? he asked annoyed. A little bread, if you can spare some. He shut the door. I heard a girl’s muffled voice then the door opened slightly and his hand emerged with five slices of toast bread. I took them and returned to my room. I made some lovely Darjeeling tea with sugar and milk and munched the bread thinking of Diana. What might that chore be that kept her from seeing me? On our last day. I finished the bread, brewed another cup of tea and when I drank it my hunger was sated. I picked up Schultz and his hilarious antics although I had read the book. It made me laugh even at a second reading. I heard Omar’s bed squeaking louder and louder, faster and faster and then his extremely loud orgasm as if he was drowning in agony. Bloody landlords and their paper thin partitions, trying to squeeze the very last penny out of their property. On Sunday I was still in bed when I heard him and the girl leaving the room. He returned half an hour later. Probably took her to her bus stop or the underground station. I let him be, thinking he might want to sleep. I dressed and drank some tea but had nothing to eat and felt too depressed to go down for breakfast. I constantly had urges to call Diana on the phone but resisted them. A sense of balance is essential in life. Aristotle’s motto for life was, pan metron ariston, everything in moderation is excellent. I believed in it and tried to follow it. My love for Diana was not in moderation but that was beyond reason or my ability to control it.
I woke him up at one and he dressed and we went down for lunch. Sunday is a calm day but coffee bars and restaurants are well stacked with customers. The pleasant weather continued and we took the train to Piccadilly because the coffee bars in South Kensington were packed. Piccadilly, of course, is perpetually crowded and tourists were milling around with cameras taking pictures of everything in sight including the red double-decker buses and the round Coca Cola advertisement. Others were posing and taking snapshots in front of the Eros statuette. There is however a plethora of eating places and we entered a self-service joint and had a quick but decent enough lunch. Omar said, so your’re leaving on Wednesday you lucky bugger. I asked why, if I was a lucky bugger didn’t he also become a lucky bugger and go to our beautiful Cairo. No Siree, he said. The Egyptian army buggers will get their hands on me and they’ll fuck the living daylights out of me. Okay, Omar, I said, let’s go back to a more civilized lingo. He laughed. Forever squeamish, my little George. And how’s your skinny girlfriend? Will she pine for you for two whole months or is your replacement on standby? I don’t know, I said. That’s the most pathetic answer I ever heard, he said almost angrily. Between you and me, it’s a unique opportunity to get rid of her. Oh do mind your own business, Omar, I said wearily. Some day you might fall for a girl and understand how I feel. Never, he said, and if you weren’t a longtime friend I would have scorned you. Well thanks very much, I replied, it’s awfully kind of you not to scorn me. He laughed and changed the subject. Tomorrow, he said, I shall buy a few things my father needs, mostly medicines, do you think you can take them to him? For sure, Omar, I replied. We left the restaurant and headed for Hyde Park. We walked for hours but, in any case, we had nothing better to do. We crossed into the Kensington Gardens and headed for Queensgate which started vertically from the Kensington Gardens and ended on Old Brompton Road. On the way, of course, he talked and teased all the females that crossed his path. Took down a few telephone numbers as well.
Listen, he told me, Ursula has a most gorgeous girlfriend called Bettina. Had I seen her earlier I would have picked her up instead of Ursula. How about me fixing a double date tomorrow with them? It will be two birds with one stone. In what way will it be two birds with one stone? I asked. Well, to start with, if all goes well you might get to sleep with her at the end of our date. We shall take them dancing to a nice place and then a meal at an expensive restaurant. Okay, I said, that’s one bird with one stone. What then? Well, after you leave, after a while, I’ll find a way to switch from Ursula to her. How? I asked. I might bring a friend on a double date with Ursula and Bettina. The friend will court Ursula insistently and I’ll do the same with Bettina. Hopefully the switchover will take place, he said with a grin. So there goes my new girlfriend, I said laughing. Oh for heaven’s sake, stop pretending you’re stupid, he said thoroughly annoyed. Paradise has no shortage of angels. I’ll find you a new one. It seems to me, I said, paradise has no shortage of snakes either. He was shocked and glared at me. Why don’t you fuck off, he said angrily. We were approaching our home and were silent the rest of the way. We climbed the stairs slowly, quite exhausted. It was almost a three-hour meandering trek from Piccadilly. Just before he closed his door, he faced me and said, tell me you’re sorry about that snake bit. I’m sorry, Omar, I told him it was a nasty exaggeration. He smiled just barely. I accept your apology, he said. Tomorrow, come with me while I shop for my father, to keep me company. In my room I flopped on my bed. If anything, I was grateful to Omar for keeping my mind off Diana. When I woke up later in the evening I went to the Paris Pullman, on Drayton Gardens next door to my old room and saw Sartre’s Huis Clos. It was an old film in black and white, based on Sartre’s play of the same title. His conception of hell. It was original and hugely entertaining. A little claustrophobic as well. The type of film that would cause Omar to get up and leave half-way through. Its theme, of course, was the famous, L’enfer c’est les autres.
I spent Monday morning with Omar going in and out of pharmacies looking for a drug that was out of stock. It seems older people get attached to certain brands and refuse to switch to modern versions of it even when they are improved. In the end he bought the modern version as well as other medicines that I was sure could be found in Egypt with different brand names. He also bought a certain brand of socks and underwear and I thought it terribly fussy and annoying. The father had studied in a military college in England and married an Englishwoman so, I suppose, could be excused for these little eccentricities. But Omar had informed me some time ago that his dad was coming to see him this summer. So why burden me? We lunched at Barino’s and the waitress said hello familiarly to Omar but reproachfully added that he never bothered to call. I had my exams, Kate, he said. I shall call within the next few days. He remembered her name in the hundreds he juggled in his brain. Good memory, an asset for a Casanova of his caliber.
When I returned home I read a little then dropped off for a nap and in the evening went to the ABC Fulham cinema where Diana gave me the ticking off almost a year ago. The film was so-so but the worst part was that it set me thinking of Diana. When I came out I headed for the pub on Old Brompton Road. I thought a whisky would relax me. As I was sipping it with relish, the tall gray haired man came up to me and asked me where was my beautiful fiancé. I did not feel like talking and I answered curtly that I only see her on certain days. Forgive me, he said, I don’t want to meddle in your affairs but I own a gallery in Chelsea where I sell paintings and I have seen your fiancé with a chap called Edgar Mackenzie. That was before we met here some weeks ago and obviously your fiancé did not remember my face. This Mackenzie brings paintings now and then and I try to sell them for him. Not with much success I’m afraid. He’s not much of a talent. He showed promise a few years back but his work has deteriorated. I hear that he is leading a wild and undisciplined life with a bunch of loutish friends and this is not good for his work. I presume your fiancé has stopped seeing him. Again I must tell you I am not a gossip and do not want to meddle. It’s just that I took a liking to you as a couple and I think your young woman is special. I think they are still friends, I said. He made a face. Oh dear, he said, that’s not good. Not good at all. Why? I asked. He is a bit of a bad character he answered. What sort of a bad character? I asked again. Well, he’s short tempered, rude, a bit of a lush and not altogether straight in his dealings. Forgive me, he said, he is a client, not a very good one but still a client and I cannot go into further details. One word of advice, try to keep her away from him. With that he said good bye and left me high and dry. I lingered and drank a second whisky hoping the man would feel the need to chat and approach me again and give me some more information but he finished his drink and departed.
At home I could not even read my novel. My mind kept returning to Diana. I was worried, senselessly, of course, because all the man told me I already knew first hand from Diana. But he set me on my worrying mode and even the two whiskies and the dizziness they brought on could not appease me. Eventually I did drop off to sleep and woke up in the morning again thinking of Diana. I could not help it. She was part of me; she was in my blood. Her lovemaking, her uninhibited need to enthrall me sexually, her love words and utterances, her tenderness, the rapport we had, all told me she was mine. That’s why I stopped nagging about Edgar. I dressed, went down to Lyons for a hefty breakfast with kippers, which would eliminate my need for lunch, and returned to my room to collect my things and pack my bags. At a slow pace it took me a good two hours. One bag for Cairo and another, much larger and much heavier, I took down to my landlady for safekeeping until my return. It contained my winter clothing and my expanding library of books. I told her to book a room for me starting middle of August and if I was late in coming I would pay the rent anyway.
I desperately needed to see Diana. I decided to go at our usual Tuesday meeting hour at South Ken. Station on the off chance that I might see her. At five I took my post opposite the elevators. It was still early but I waited patiently with a beating heart and anxious eyes scanning the harassed passengers coming out. Five thirty, the usual time she exited came and passed. Oh, well, I thought she probably is getting on with whatever job she has to do but I still could not leave. Something kept me stuck to my post. Just one more elevator load, I kept thinking again and again, one after the other. By half past six I began thinking of leaving. Just one more load I thought but this time it’s the last one. The doors opened and I came face to face with Diana and Edgar. It was obviously Edgar from Omar’s description. Just slightly taller than Diana and broad, an uncanny resemblance to round-faced Mickey Rooney and his black hair plastered coming down to his forehead. He wore a blue shirt, worn out baggy jeans and tennis shoes. Diana’s eyes widened when she saw me and if her complexion was not so white I think she must have initially turned pale before blushing furiously. Had she pretended she did not know me it would have been the end. That was an obvious, foregone conclusion. She looked at me, tried to smile and said, hello George. Hello, Diana, I answered. Edgar stopped and looked at me. He turned to Diana and said, isn’t this the sissy boy that went into hiding so you wouldn’t find him? I looked at Diana and she lifted her eyebrows slightly urging me not to respond. She did not answer his question and he continued looking at me, I remember his bloody face from that day at the cinema. Let’s go love, no sense wasting our time being polite to sissies. He took hold of her arm and pulled her towards the Fulham Road bus stop. I saw her walk away next to him cowed, almost reluctantly. Her light and easy step, suddenly heavy and labored. Or was that my imagination?
I was stunned and confused. I think I did not move from my position in front of the lifts for ten minutes despite the crowds milling around me. After a while I started walking towards Queensgate, a thousand conflicting thoughts crossing my mind. To start with I felt my reaction was cowardly. Why was I so passive? But then, what could I have done if Diana herself didn’t react. At that moment I could not have known why she was with Edgar or why it was on a Tuesday which had become our standing rendezvous? I did not know if she wanted a showdown. On the contrary, she showed me she did not, by the upward lifting of her eyebrows. What were her reasons, motives and intentions? Suddenly I felt the whole edifice of our passion and love collapse like a house of cards. My thoughts kept racing; one following the other, then their opposites demolishing them. It is so common in affairs of the heart to have these wild oscillations of feeling, of confidence, of certainty, of trust and their antitheses towards the person so desperately loved. If only I could switch off my brain and keep it in neutral until some explanation ensued, I would be blessed. I found myself in my room all of a sudden. I did not remember reaching our doorway, climbing the stairs or opening the door of my room. Even worse, I saw my suitcase almost ready for tomorrow’s flight. Flight to Cairo or flight from Diana? I asked myself with a wry smile. Would she call me to say goodbye and offer an explanation or even a plausible lie? Because I had reached the lowest rung, I could not possibly debase myself further by calling her. I lay on my bed for hours waiting for her call, my brain whirring like a machine. It never came.
At around ten Omar came in my room to deliver his father’s medicines and clothes. What’s wrong? he asked. Nothing, I said. I’m just a little tired. Come on, George, he said, you can’t fool me. Oh leave me alone, Omar, I said dejectedly. He smiled with satisfaction. It’s that bloody, skinny bitch, isn’t it? he said. Something’s happened. I can tell. I’m glad, very glad, and it serves you right. However, two months away from her will cure the illness and when you’re back I’ll take charge of you. Have a good trip, George. I’ll miss you.