CORPSE REVIVER NO. 1 #2
It all fit better than a dream, and when I looked into the mirror, I could scarcely believe what I saw.
I was exactly what The Gentleman’s Guide said I should be: neat and elegant without fuss.
The pale brown of the suit contrasted with my black hair, the deep red of the tie was a splash of colour, just a hint of excitement.
There was a straw hat to go with the suit, trimmed with a brown band.
When I put it on, I had to blink hard to stop tears from falling on that perfect cloth.
No one would have recognized me as the person I was before, the scruffy, frightened kitchen girl of the Hostería del Potro. Here was my new face. Here was freedom.
I’m afraid I grew rather vain, and forgot all about Langham, and about lunch as I tried to style my hair exactly the way he did, swept back, using a few drops of olive oil in place of pomade.
I posed before the mirror, hands in my pockets, leaning as any young, handsome troublemaker might.
I was so preoccupied, I didn’t even realize anyone had returned, until Bouzid came looking for me.
When I opened the door, my face flushed, he paused before speaking, his eyes taking in the fine, new suit.
‘Lady Bailey has asked for an aperitif,’ he told me eventually. ‘She is beside the pool.’ He glanced at me a moment longer before striding away. I smiled to myself as I closed the door. It was as close to surprised as I had yet seen him.
Pernod, with very cold water, that was Lady Bailey’s afternoon habit.
Her slim figure was not a fashion statement, I knew now, but a consequence of her devotion to her pipe.
Most days, I would sneak extra things on to the tray with her drink: a bowl of salted almonds, or clean, brined olives, or tiny triangles of fresh baked bread from the casbah ovens.
Sometimes she would eat it. Often not. That day, I loaded up the tray with whatever I could find, my new, fine clothes making me feel generous towards her.
Since my arrival she had been distinctly cool towards me.
Perhaps I would finally crack her exterior.
It wasn’t until I stepped on to the terrace that I saw she was not alone.
Langham was kneeling beside her, one hand touching her arm. Where on earth had he come from? I hadn’t heard the car in the road, hadn’t heard the front gate open at all. My neck prickled. How long had he been back? Had I replaced everything properly in his wardrobe?
I was still standing there when he looked up. For a second, I couldn’t hide anything, not my surprise at seeing him, or my guilt at discovering the bloodstained suit. Hurriedly, I looked away.
‘Del Potro,’ he said.
Two words had never held so much meaning to me before. Were they a statement, a dare, a question? I said nothing. The silence bloomed between us.
‘Is that my drink?’ Lady Bailey’s voice was sharp.
‘Yes, madame,’ I murmured. Cheeks burning, I set the tray down beside her.
She said nothing more, only stared at me with her eyes shaded and her lips tight. I knew I should turn away, knew I shouldn’t look at Langham again, but it was impossible; it was as if my eyes were being pulled on a wire towards him.
‘You look very fine,’ he said. I opened my mouth to respond, but stopped, for he had stepped forwards until he was only a hand’s breadth away. ‘Though I’m afraid your tie is a little crooked.’
It was a lie: my tie was perfect. It was an excuse, a reason to come close.
‘Here.’ He pulled at the knot of the tie, to loosen the fabric. My heart was thundering and I knew he would see the pulse in my neck, feel my quickened breath on his skin. He smiled.
‘The red suits you,’ he murmured, hands still on my collar. ‘Though I think you would look better in green.’
I couldn’t move, I couldn’t even swallow. In any other moment, that comment might have been a coincidence. Not then. He knew that I had been in his rooms, he knew what I found there …
‘Where did you get those clothes?’ Lady Bailey asked, her voice breaking the taut silence between us.
Langham stepped away. ‘From a tailor, in the medina, madame,’ I managed to say.
‘And how did you pay for it?’
There was no pretence of politeness in her voice. She was suspicious.
Time to play my dangerous hand: ‘Monsieur Langham was kind enough to pay for a new suit.’ I glanced towards him. ‘He said I should look more gentlemanly.’
Langham just watched me, with that half-smile, and didn’t say a word.
‘Go and fetch another glass,’ Lady Bailey snapped. ‘And ice. What you’ve brought is half melted already.’
I nodded and made my escape, staring at the paving stones so as not to see Langham’s face.
I should’ve gone straight to the kitchen, but I didn’t.
I couldn’t. My whole body was trembling.
Instead, I ducked beneath the fig tree’s old branches and leaned my head against the trunk, trying to breathe, trying to slap out the heat that was threatening to burn me up.
The secrets we both held, they were like electric currents, charging us full of potential. What would happen if one of us was revealed? I squeezed my eyes tight. I had to be more careful.
‘What are you doing?’
Lady Bailey’s voice broke the quiet, and my eyes flew open. But she wasn’t talking to me. Her voice was coming from the terrace. I stayed perfectly still, out of sight, listening.
‘I don’t know what you mean.’ Langham’s tone was light.
‘You know exactly what I mean.’ I heard the sound of Pernod being poured. When she spoke again, her voice was soft, almost pleading. ‘We know nothing about the boy, Arthur. How do you know someone didn’t send him here?’
‘Oh Hilde.’
‘And why not? For all we know someone picked him up in Gibraltar after the accident. And how did he even get to Tangiers? Don’t you think it’s odd?’
Silence. My heart felt as though it was trying to punch through the brassiere. Hilde was nearer the truth than I liked. Finally, Langham spoke.
‘I left del Potro some money in Gibraltar. Along with the hat.’
‘You did? Why on earth?’
The silence stretched. Ten seconds, twenty.
‘I can’t stop you,’ Hilde murmured. ‘But please, Arthur, be careful. He isn’t who he says he is, I know it.’