Fidelity

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When Malcolm came down with the news, Neal had already been at work for two hours and had finally got his new novel moving again after a sticky patch. Malcolm sauntered into the room and said, in his offhand manner: “Claire’s in hospital. Attempted suicide.”

It was the kind of bad news he had almost expected.

“Is she all right? What did she try?”

“Pills. They’ve pumped her stomach and she’ll be OK. The hospital says she doesn’t want to see you.”

His immediate reaction was one of annoyance that he’d have to suspend work on the book just when he had it moving again; but his irritation was quickly swamped by his concern for Claire.

“Can I take the car?”

“Feel free,” Malcolm said.

It was a two hour drive from the lodge to central London. Neal would have liked company for the journey, but Malcolm was negotiating an import deal for Korean antiques and he hadn’t wanted to impose further on him. He had been staying at the lodge for the past week, having fled there immediately after his latest bust-up with Claire to subsist on Malcolm’s ever-generous hospitality. The basement room was hermetic and he’d produced some of his best work there. He and Claire had regular fallings-out and he felt greatly in debt to his wealthy patron. “Don’t worry,” Malcolm would insist whenever Neal showed up, as big-hearted as he was large of frame. “Stay as long as you want. You know how much I enjoy having you around”. Malcolm would then tell him that the only way he could really repay him would be to abandon Claire and become his lover, a submission he was constitutionally incapable of making.

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