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he laughed him out of it.  Oh blimey, might have known, hope one of you knows what all this
means. Last time this happened to me we all ended up eating some sort of stomach-churning
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casserole, tripe and goose gizzards or something unmentionable.
 Don t worry, Lizetta said,  Mark speaks fluent French.
 Might have known, bloody know-all. Vincent s choice of words may have been
confrontational, but his tone of voice was warm and gentle.  Come on then mega-brain,
what s it say?
Tom started to laugh, very quietly at first, but he couldn t stop himself. When I began to
translate the menu he laughed even more, as though instead of saying Lamb Steak with
Rosemary Jelly or Sliced Duck Breast I was reading out a series of extremely funny one-line
jokes; Vincent started laughing with him, and Lizetta and Andrew were soon infected too.
Keeping my face straight, I continued, looking up and glancing around the table occasionally,
trying to look mildly put out. A concerned waiter came over to offer us copies of the menu in
English. Lizetta coughed and swallowed to regain control of herself and asked him for a bottle
of mineral water. Pouring this out and sipping the contents they recovered themselves
sufficiently to decide what to order.
On the phone the next day I mentioned to her how fortunate we had been to have avoided
one of Tom s moods. She said,  That s one of the great things about Vincent, he has the knack
of putting everyone at their ease. Doesn t matter who he meets, a car park attendant or a
captain of industry, a few minutes later he ll be chatting away with them as though they re
close friends.
On my last day at the firm I had to return the Mercedes. My Chiswick flat had been sold
by then and I had moved into the newly damp-proofed and renovated  garden flat of
Goodmans Villa. Waking up on my first Monday morning, with no congested journey to work
to endure, no need to observe a rigidly imposed pecking order, and no senior partners to
answer to, I revelled in the fresh, new, as yet unblemished world of being my own boss in my
own guest house. I had never felt happier.
The decorators would not finish their work on the upper floors for another fortnight, but
otherwise the hotel was ready for its first guests. Tom had completely rewired the building,
and a small company he recommended did the rest, ripping out the old partitions and
installing new plumbing and fittings to create twelve double en suite rooms. The cost of the
lease and all the work had absorbed my savings, the generous pay-off from Lindler &
Haliburton, and the proceeds from the sale of my Chiswick flat. Andrew had to guarantee an
overdraft at the bank to provide me with cash for running costs.
As well as being my living accommodation, the basement housed two big commercial
washing machines and a dryer. The breakfast room, lounge, kitchen, and a little office were on
the ground floor. Breakfast and Sunday dinner would be available, and for other meals guests
could use local restaurants and take-aways or the Beckford Arms, all within a few minutes
walk.
The landlord at the Beckford Arms introduced me to an old friend of his who managed a
long established gay hotel, Housmans Hotel, near King s Cross. During several evenings in the
pub and a couple of meals together he talked to me about the business, advising that as an
absolute minimum the hotel would need a part-time cook for breakfasts and at least one part-
time cleaner. Over the years he had had lots of interesting people come to stay, actors,
musicians and visitors from all over the world. He told me about a married man whose wife
tracked him down to the hotel and screamed accusations of perversion and betrayal at him in
the hall, about a masseur who booked a room for a week and had to be asked to leave when
client after client came in asking for him, and about guests who seemed to think sex with the
hotel s staff was included in the price of the rooms. He gave me lots of tips, for instance
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always to confirm times of arrival and departure when taking bookings, and how to deal with
allegations of theft from rooms and the various ruses used to evade payment. The thirty-four
rooms of his hotel were, he claimed, occupied most of the time; he offered to refer clients to
me when he was fully booked, and I promised to do the same for him if Goodmans Hotel was
successful.
He came to see it when the decorators had finished, and as we stood outside looking at the
restored and repainted stucco facade, the tidy garden, and new signs in gold lettering on a
green background big enough to stand out, but not so big as to look like advertisement
hoardings, the appearance of the premises filled me with joy. Everything was the way I wanted
it.
Except, that is, for one thing: the tenant in the attic. Andrew had befriended the gawky [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]