The Curious Charms of Arthur Pepper(35)

Arthur sipped his tea, pondering on the word relationship.

“I hope you do not mind me talking to you, Arthur,” Sebastian said. “My words run away with me. I have kept them inside for a long time. So many people hate him. His friends and family don’t care any longer. He changed agents and the new one did not care, only for making money. There is only me left. I can’t walk out. So I stay and care for him. I cannot leave. I am twenty-eight and stuck.”

“Are you his...carer?”

“I am now, for there is nothing else between us. Not like there was. When we met he was magnificent. He was free. That is what I liked about him. I helped him to type up his words, with day-to-day chores, helped with his diary. He said that I reminded him of a poodle, so pretty and eager. I laughed at this and he liked that I wasn’t offended. He could say nasty things, be grumpy and awkward, but he gave me a home. He gave me confidence. I had money to send back to my family. I feel I owe it to stay and care for him. If I go, who will look after him? I have all these...worries.” He spun his hands around the sides of his head.

“There must be others who can help out?” he asked.

Sebastian shook his head. “Not for me.”

“Do you have someone to talk to?”

“I have a couple of friends, but they are not close. It has helped to talk to you, Arthur. To get my words out of my head. I needed to speak and I feel a little better now. I know that I will have to leave one day...or else I will go crazy.”

“I feel better for leaving my home and meeting people,” Arthur admitted. “I never thought I would.”

Sebastian nodded. “Thank you for listening to me.”

They finished their tea and Sebastian gathered the cups. He put them on top of a sideboard with four others. “Do you think that Fran?ois and your wife were lovers?” he asked.

It was a direct question, but one that Arthur had been mulling in his head since Kate Graystock had shown him the photograph. “I think they might have been,” he said.

“And this makes you feel sad, yes?”

“Not so much sad, but confused. I didn’t know that she had lived with a man before me. I’m not sure how I could live up to a man with such a voracious reputation.”

“Hmm,” Sebastian said thoughtfully. Then, “You do know that Fran?ois is a homosexual?”

Arthur shook his head. “No. How can he...?” He had guessed that Sebastian was gay, but De Chauffant? Kate had depicted him as a promiscuous playboy.

“He and your wife might have been lovers. In the sixties, the seventies, he could not, how you say, keep it in his trousers. But he liked men, too. But to say so then would have ruined his work, his reputation. He liked to think of himself as a legend, so there were lots of girls and women. Too many. I do not think he was with anyone long enough to break their heart—only if that person was very needy.” He said it as though it were a question.

“Miriam was a strong woman.”

“Then I doubt he would have left her brokenhearted...if that helps you at all...”

It did not. “Do you think I could meet him?”

“I can tell him that you are here... He doesn’t get many visitors. He might be pleased.”

Arthur wanted to see for himself this man who had lied to women, to his wife, who had stolen Lord Graystock’s idea. This enigma. “Yes.” He stood. “I want to see him.”

He followed Sebastian up two flights of stairs. When they reached a door at the top of the house he found that he was clenching his fists. But he had to confront this part of his wife’s past, this man who was the antithesis of everything he himself was. Had this wild, reckless genius stolen Miriam’s heart?

Sebastian pushed the door open. He stepped inside first. “He is awake,” he said. “Do not stay long, though. He tires easily and I will be the first in the firing line.” He made a gun with his finger and then fired it at his own temple.

Arthur nodded. He hesitated outside the room for a moment and then walked inside.

Although he knew about De Chauffant’s illness, it hadn’t prepared him for the sight of the man who sat hunched in an armchair in the corner of the room. He was small with white straggly hair and overlong eyebrows. His hands were clawed, his face distorted. His eyes were staring and hollow—a mere echo of the swaggering young man in the photograph given to him by Kate Graystock. He didn’t acknowledge Arthur’s or Sebastian’s presence.

The room smelled of piss and disinfectant, poorly masked by rose air freshener. There was a single bed with gray woolen blankets and a used ceramic chamber pot at the side. A bedside table was piled with books and a baby monitor. The red light was on. He can still read, Arthur thought, relieved that this poor creature had at least this pleasure left.

He stepped forward and Sebastian backed away and out of the room. “I will return in five minutes.”

Arthur nodded then turned back. “Mr. De Chauffant. I am Arthur Pepper. I believe that you knew my wife.” His hand shook as he presented the photograph. “I’m afraid this is from rather a long time ago—1963. She is standing here with you. Can you see? When I saw this I grew rather jealous at how intently she is looking at you.” He gently tapped the top of Miriam’s head in the photograph. He waited to see if De Chauffant responded. Arthur studied his wizened face for the flicker of a smile or the widening of his pupils. There was nothing.