The meeting was hurriedly organised by Avril, who'd become Ritchie's informal PA whilst in the UK. He was due to fly back to Grenoble tomorrow morning. So if he was going to meet with Duncan it would have to be today. After the public car crash that the Night of Clairvoyance at the masonic hall had become, there had to be some sort of follow up. Having a private meeting one to one with Duncan was Malcom's idea, the very least he could do. He was genuinely concerned about the guy and his mental state. His own reputation as a medium, was a secondary concern he reassured himself. As he careful hair sprayed a wayward bit of his fringe back into place.
True, the movement to which he belonged, the MAC, tried not to do anything that would attract undue attention to itself. Knowing adverse publicity or a negative view of the movement. would be virtually impossible to correct or escape once it was acquired. They organised and kept themselves well under the radar. Malcolm didn't want to couch the purpose of his meeting with Duncan as 'damage limitation' though that was what the powers that be told him it was. Check him out. Is he likely to be a problem? If possible, try to get him on board. That was his brief, however uncomfortable he felt with it
Probably best not to meet at the masonic hall then, given the associations it now had. The lounge of The Swan Hotel where Malcolm was staying was thought relatively neutral ground by Avril. Pleasantly anodyne with plenty of concealing alcoves suitable for a private conversation. They weren't to know Duncan had once served tables there. The maître de had become a bit too interested in him, touching him up over the entrée. He'd not taken kindly to being told to f.... off and had subsequently made his life a misery. So let's just say his chosen vocation as a waiter was to be a brief one. It was a shame because he was good at it, and enjoyed working there. The tips were great.
So Duncan knew where to go as he entered through the inelegant revolving door. The maître de from his day had been dismissed for improper conduct with a Filipino sous chef. So no one was still working here that would be embarrassing to casually bump into. Except, he was meeting Malcolm Ritchie face to face. The whole Dermot O'Leary lookalike fetish had been somewhat dampened by the experience of his clairvoyance. Once fully remembered, he was left emotionally raw. His moods swung all over the show. Prone to fits of anger, then crying. Was he depressed? Yes, he was depressed, there was no avoiding that. Did he want to meet Ritchie, yes and no. Avril had talked him into it, reassuring him it might bring him some sort of 'closure'.
As he entered the hotel lobby he turned right into the lounge area. At first he couldn't see anyone. Then spotted a recognisable standing figure talking to someone behind a screen. That was Avril, and being Avril she was far from inconspicuous, in a short brocade cape, jodhpurs and horse whip, with an elaborate gauze fascinator, what looked like a cockatoo half in flight perched upon it. All in her signature black. Enough to make any drag queen weep with envy. Duncan found himself intregued by Avril, the more he saw of her. The bizzare, yet confident dress sense, thoroughly executed, the sheer organisational chutzpah of her being. The only thing that made him wary was a feeling, that perhaps this was all being put on for his benefit. To make him feel more at home, amongst like minded beings.
'Hello Duncan, lovely to see you again, glad you could make it. We were just saying how awkward this must feel for you. Come, come, let me introduce Malcolm to you.'
She gestured behind the screen.
Malcolm Ritchie, fit, with immaculately parted blonde hair, lounged in a high backed armchair, in a continental cut charcoal grey suit that probably was ridiculously expensive. Duncan had forgotten just how smitten he'd been by him, until he shook his hand, and it all returned in a massive wave of lust.
'Hi, Pleased to meet you'
'Well, please sit down, sit down, make yourself comfortable Duncan. Avril has filled me in a bit on your current circumstances, just to save time. I hope you don't mind about that'
Duncan didn't remember really telling her anything. But then there was the neatly organised paperwork in his flat. Someone, he now presumed it to have been Avril, had taken a good look through all of that whilst he was out cold. The unpaid bills, his dismissal notice, the rent arrears and council notifications. That was all there. It wouldn't have taken anyone long to compile a pretty clear dossier of his current predicament. Plus there had been Grannie Beryl's vitriolic appraisal of it from beyond the grave. Yes, his life had currently reached a teeny weeny bit of a crisis point.
'First, I want to apologise to you, again, for what happened the other evening. I was not at all prepared for that. I misread your Grannie's real intent'
'Everyone always did. She'd come across in public as so sweet, butter wouldn't melt. But could be roused into being truly horrible in private.'
'I felt her strength of character. Yes, a force to be reckoned with. Overbearing, you could say.'
Duncan's head dropped, not sure he wanted to go there again so soon. Grannie Beryl was terminally unforgiving of the failings of men. Any man who fell short, would receive her withering appraisal of them, at some point. But in truth, she had also fished Duncan out of many a self inflicted financial crisis. It was probably no coincidence that since she died, and the safety net she'd provided gone, his life had quickly taken a downward turn. Like many matriarchs before her, though domineering and potentially cruel, it was in the perverted order of being kind. The Grannie Beryl's of this world had to take tight control over managing the money. In order to keep everything on an even keel. Whilst their men went out and drowned their bathetic existential sorrows in the pub. Or like his own Father, in the canal .
As if he were reading what was going through his mind, Malcolm chipped into the silence that had opened up.
'Did you love your Dad Duncan?
'Yes, though my memories of him are quite general. I was quite young when he died. My Mum had cancer, and Dad couldn't handle seeing the woman he loved slowly shrivel away week on week. The day she died was when he threw himself in the canal'
'Though he didn't die that time. did he'
Duncan frowned, gob smacked, how does he know that? His Dad had tried several times ineffectively to take his life, much to Grannie Beryl's ire. She'd throw this back at Duncan repeatedly, about how much like him he was.
'Couldn't even slit his wrists properly' she'd say,
then erupt into an uproarious cackle, one burnished by a sixty a day cigarette habit.
'No, he didn't, how did you know that.'
'Well, let me just say, I have an ability Duncan to read people, psychically speaking. I know your Father eventually took his life, because I sense him near me right now. Via a gas oven, someone is telling me. Your Grannie was furious with him because you could so easily have died with him. You were playing outside, apparently'
'Yes, Grannie found him. Madly opened the doors and windows and searched the house trying to locate me. I turn up to find her kicking my Father's dead body hard, screaming 'You useless fuckin bastard' over and over.'
Duncan's voice broke, the emotions broke and then there were tears.
Malcolm decided maybe this was the time to change the subject. Move the conversation on.
'Duncan, I wanted to apologise. But also to make a suggestion to you. I understand you're out of a job at present. Now, I must emphasise, you don't have to give an answer to what I'm about to propose right away. You can think about it, there is no hurry. We have a business that is about to expand into premises in Seven Dials in Central London. They need to enlarge their staff. Training would be provided, so don't worry about not having the skills. Though I'm sure you'd have some transferable ones to bring. Some one is yelling at me that you worked in this hotel.'
'Yes, I was a waiter here, for a little under six months. I've done office work mainly, worked in a call centre, cleaning jobs. That sort of thing.'
Malcolm stared directly, almost hypnotically into his eyes. Duncan felt himself being soothed of all his upset. Any reservations, just melting away.
'So, would you be interested in going along just to see if you like the vibe of the place? Its run as a collective, so everyone who works there gets paid according to their need. Have a chat with Avril about arranging a day and time. If you would like to contact me in future, Avril has my details, we can always Zoom or Skype, if I'm not in the UK.'
'What sort of business is it?'
' Its a bespoke and original print and fabric company, called Retinal Hemorrhage. Its funky cutting edge stuff they do. Not really to my taste, I have to say. Really modern though, quite intentionally provoking. Just pop by, no commitment, take a look.'
Again he felt a pacifying wave flowing out of Malcolm Ritchie. Duncan hadn't ever felt this relaxed without the help of drugs. It was as though he no longer had a problem in the world. More than happy to say:-
'Yes, let's do that.'
NEXT EPISODE - Duncan's Site Visit (Episode 6 / 12 )
Will be posted on Friday 7th October
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