Never Tell (24 page)

‘I know,’ I said carefully. ‘Poor Maya.’

‘But he was also the problem when he was alive.’

‘In what sense?’

‘He was also her dealer.’

‘I see.’ I considered what he’d said. ‘To be honest, I wondered if Maya had some strong political beliefs too,’ I said as casually as I could.

Ash Kattan lit a cigarette and exhaled through his perfect white teeth. ‘Such as?’ He raised an eyebrow.

‘I saw her picture, on that Islamic march in London a few weeks ago. She was on the news, wasn’t she? And she said she was … learning about the history of her country. I wondered what that meant.’

‘You wondered if that meant she might be a potential terrorist?’ Ash Kattan laughed drily. ‘Well, why not? We all have brown skin; we were born Muslim – although actually my mother was a Christian. We are the infidels, no? And I expect Maya said my father’s politics are dodgy?’

My mind was reeling back and I tried to concentrate. The levers of the deadlock were starting to slide into place – but they weren’t there yet.

‘Maya was a little … lost a few years ago and she did turn to religion. My father tried to help her; he introduced her to what he calls the jet-set, the children of his business colleagues, the good-time gang. He thought it would distract her from her unhappiness. He does not believe in Islam any more; he lost his faith many years ago. Only unfortunately, she met Nadif.’ He turned to his assistant. ‘An ashtray, Taalah, please.’

The girl jumped up at once. She was in awe of him; I could see that much.

I cleared my throat nervously. ‘But Maya said – she said your dad, after 9/11, that he reclaimed his faith.’

‘You can’t believe anything she says at the moment. She is a very mixed-up girl. My father was angry that all Muslims were tarred with the same brush, that’s true to say. But it didn’t mean he wanted to blow up the world, Mrs Miller. It didn’t mean he began to follow bin Laden or any other mullah.’

‘I see,’ I said quietly. I studied his face again. Handsome, smooth. Too smooth really. Pretty almost.

‘And personally I see myself as British, first and foremost. All I want is to iron out Britain’s future. The rise of the BNP, that idiot Griffin, the English Defence League, the integration of the far right into Europe’s major political parties, it’s all a disgrace in the twenty-first century, don’t you think?’

‘Yes I do. Absolutely.’

‘So, Mrs Miller,’ he switched tack, ‘I would ask that you understand Maya’s sad predicament. And that you trust her family know what is best for her.’ He held my eye and I felt a strange hypnotic quality about him, a trait that would make Ash Kattan quite brilliant as a politician. Like his father, he was mesmerising.

‘Of course.’ I thought back to the death at the manor. To Maya’s glazed eyes yesterday. ‘So what was the doctor giving her?’

‘Methadone. She is withdrawing from heroin, Mrs Miller. That is our painful truth.’

I felt a rush of embarrassment. I thought of the addicts I’d met before; of Maya’s glazed eyes. How could I have been so dense? I thought of Oxford and the Society, of my own guilt at the part I’d played. I felt old and tired; weary of this mess. I just wanted to go home.

‘I’m so sorry.’ I stood to leave. ‘It must be very difficult for you.’

‘Maya has been weakened, that is all. She has lost her way but her family are there for her.’ Ash smiled his enchanting smile again. ‘We are there to help her back on track. The devil is within us all, but we need to learn to subdue him.’

I stared at Ash and he looked back at me.
The devil is within us …
Of course! I’d heard those very words in a previous lifetime. I felt a light sweat break out on my brow as it all came back to me in a flash. How could I have been so incredibly stupid?

He looked like his father as he stood now, taking my elbow lightly. ‘I’m so sorry, Mrs Miller. It has been a pleasure to meet you properly, but I have another meeting soon at the London Assembly.’

‘Of course.’

‘Thank you for your understanding.’

By the door I took a deep breath. ‘I wondered – did you go to Oxford?’

‘To the university?’

‘Yes.’

‘I did indeed. Oriel. And you?’

I didn’t know whether to feel relief or incredulity that he didn’t remember. ‘Yes,’ I mumbled. ‘Magdalen. I came down in ‘ninety-four.’

‘A little younger than me then.’ He bowed politely. ‘Amazing place, Oxford. Very – esteemed. What a shame our paths did not cross.’

I nodded, my mouth dry. The memories of that cold November night came flooding back: the debating chamber at the Union, denouncing Lucifer and the idea of fallen angels. How young I’d been, how utterly naïve.

‘Yes, it is a shame,’ I mumbled.

He didn’t seem to notice my disquiet. ‘I miss my time there, I must say. Such freedom. Such opportunity.’

‘Yes. Wasted on us when we’re so young, I sometimes think.’

‘And, please, can I ask for your discretion?’ He escorted me to the door. ‘I know what you journalists are like with a story, like a dog with a bone. But it will only bring shame on my family, you see.’

‘Of course.’ I glanced back at the bedroom door, still shut. ‘I’m not interested in shaming anyone, really.’

‘Good.’ He half-bowed. ‘Thank you. We have suffered enough, I think.’

‘Where’s Maya now?’ I asked casually.

‘At my father’s house, I hope.’ He extended his hand. I took it. His skin was hot. ‘Being cared for.’

I didn’t doubt that if they wanted to keep Maya locked up at Albion Manor, they could. But maybe, with her history, it was for the best. I cursed my journalistic greed for misreading the story; for believing the words of a junkie. But as I closed the door quietly behind me, I remembered the words of my first ball-breaking editor at the
Guardian
. ‘Follow your gut – ninety-nine per cent of the time it’ll be right.’

Something here still didn’t quite add up. Someone was lying.

UNIVERSITY, MICHAELMAS
TERM, NOVEMBER 1991

Brighter once amidst the host

Of Angels, than that star the stars among
.

Lucifer,
Paradise Lost
, Milton

I was late for the debate. I’d been immersed in writing lastminute notes for Dalziel, who’d finally summoned my help after I’d helped him dress Jesus in the cathedral, and my watch had stopped so that I’d run like crazy through the chilly November streets and still I was late. By the time I’d slipped into the heaving room, Dalziel was already speaking on
Lucifer: fallen Angel and misunderstood hero – or God’s worst enemy?
He was surrounded by his adoring entourage, the girls all dolled up in flicky black eyeliner, most of the boys in velvet trousers like Dalziel’s own.

My own churchgoing experience had been limited to once a year at Christmas, when my father, usually after half a bottle of sherry, made his annual attempt to ensure everyone in town knew he was a ‘good bloke’ and therefore ‘very generous’ (his words), which involved marshalling the whole family into a pew for an hour and a half of carols and alerting everyone loudly to the fact he was sliding a crisp fifty into the money bag they passed round. Occasionally, if my mother had a new outfit she fancied airing, we went at Easter too; and my Catholic grandma had taken me to Mass a few times in Rouen during family holidays, mainly to adore the priests. These inauspicious occasions, plus the rather desultory attempt my school had made to foist some kind of religious education onto largely uninterested adolescents, were about the sum of it.

The few debates I’d attended so far at the Oxford Union had been rather dull – over my head, to be honest. I’d been to one unimaginatively entitled
State or Public: Which education serves you best?;
and also heard Vanessa Redgrave be terribly serious and starey-eyed about communism. Frankly, I found the place intimidating, the confidence of the student speakers alarming, a confidence I couldn’t possibly rival. But tonight I had a vested interest.

Arguing for Lucifer, the fallen angel and hero was Dalziel. I willed him on mentally but although his argument was interesting, even I could tell it was somewhat confused. Too late, the notes from my own reading of
Paradise Lost
sat wasted in my bag.

‘Sure Lucifer missed his way for a while, and boy, didn’t he pay the price. But he was the ultimate bringer of light,’ Dalziel rounded off calmly. ‘The morning star. He just got a bit big for his boots, therefore I’d argue that no one can say he was evil. He only wanted what everyone wants: a fair democratic system, not one where someone is better than others. So Lucifer didn’t want to bow down to Adam; well, why should he have done? He was around first. And he was a lot more cool. I rest my case.’

The dark-haired young man who opposed him stood now, wearing a suit cheaper than he made it look. I missed his name as Dalziel’s groupies were whooping loudly, but his case was compelling. Succinctly he argued for a Devil who wanted too much, who introduced the selfish ‘I will’ into the world as he refused to bow to God.

‘The devil is within us all,’ he suggested with silky persuasion, smiling an elegant smile that never quite reached his protuberant light eyes. He spoke with an almost imperceptible accent I wasn’t well-travelled enough to place. ‘But so is God, and not just because you go to church on Sunday or pray to Mecca every morning or don’t play on the Sabbath. God is in here.’ He tapped his chest. ‘Satan or Iblis, or however you name the devil, is in here.’ He tapped his head. ‘But it is up to us to fight the temptations. And I suggest that if we fight them, it’s far more heroic than descending into Chaos and Pandemonium, as Lucifer and his fallen angels chose to.’

‘Really?’ Dalziel yawned with feigned boredom. His cronies laughed appreciatively.

‘Yes, really, my friend,’ his opponent answered calmly, but undisguised frustration blazed across his face.

‘The thing is, old stick, I think God sodded off a long time ago. Just take this century, for example. A couple of world wars, Hiroshima, the Holocaust, Pol Pot – where was he then? So Lucifer can hardly be blamed for getting fed up.’

‘Didn’t Lucifer who became Satan bring these things? Your God perhaps is gone. Mine is still here.’ The dark-haired boy closed his fingers into a fist over his heart.

I felt a stab of annoyance at his conviction – and the fact that Dalziel was clearly about to lose to a better, more articulate speaker.

‘Marvellous,
my friend
. So,’ Dalziel batted his lashes at the President; she flushed unbecomingly, ‘is it time for the vote? I’ve got some very devilish drinking to do.’ He resisted winking at the audience, but was greeted by cheers and catcalls anyway.

The vote was close, but as I’d predicted, Dalziel lost. Despite his supporters, the other argument had been far more compelling – and watching him closely now, I saw the anger blaze up inside. It was almost tangible, the fury, like a virtual life-force stippling him; I felt him struggle to push it down again as the beautiful dark girl called Yasmin slipped a comforting hand in his. He managed to smile elegantly as the other boy bowed to her and then departed, his largely male entourage following.

I spent as long as I could fiddling around with my bag while Dalziel flirted with the President but his humiliation was obvious, and he soon disappeared with the beautiful girl and the tall clumsy one in tow, the girls he’d been with in the pub the first night I’d met him, without so much as a backward glance at James or me.

‘Why’s he so angry?’ I asked James, fighting my disappointment as we headed for the bar. ‘He didn’t look like he was taking it very seriously.’

‘Dunno. That was some sort of grudge match, I think. And he hates losing anything.’

‘What grudge?’

‘Not sure. Dalziel doesn’t give much away. Think that bloke and Dalziel went to school together or something. Don’t like each other much, that’s clear.’

We had one drink, but neither of us was really in the mood.

‘Come on, I’ll walk you back,’ James said, retrieving his guitar from behind the bar. I realised I’d left my umbrella in the Debating Chamber and trotted upstairs to fetch it.

Passing the darkened pool room, I thought I heard a murmuring and a moaning. I peered through the glass door.

I couldn’t be sure but I thought I could see Dalziel, his hair ghostly white in the dim light. In the corner, someone else sat smoking. The tall girl, Lena. I blinked. Dalziel was bending something over the pool-table before him. As my eyes got used to the dark, I realised his trousers were unbuttoned.

Accidentally I nudged the door with my shoe as I craned to see, and it swung open a tiny bit. Dalziel turned and smiled over his shoulder at me, a triumphant kind of smile, and I saw that he was rhythmically screwing whoever was before him, holding their head down as they sighed, their arms splayed across the green baize. I realised it must be the other girl, the lovely dark one with the streaks in her hair. And for a moment I thought he looked like the devil he had just revered, that beautiful angel Lucifer, fairest of them all, bathed in unearthly light: the morning star.

The portraits of the robed men who’d hung on the Union walls for ever watched unperturbed as I ran down the stairs, my cheeks scarlet with shame.

‘Let’s go.’ I shot past James and ran out into the rain.

At the porters’ lodge James tried to kiss me for the first time, but I ducked his attempt and dashed inside, utterly confused. I was frightened by my futile desire to be near Dalziel. I was frightened by how much I was attracted to him – an attraction I felt in my very core, despite the fact I knew he was dangerous. I saw the power he had over people, a power that I could not pinpoint properly, and it filled me with a kind of terror. It filled me with terror because it made me want to abandon myself; it made me want to fling myself at his very feet.

Chapter Sixteen
LONDON, MARCH 2008