I thought about waiting until next morning, Australian time, before calling Wilde, but I decided that if one of us was going to be disturbed at midnight, it might as well be him, so I dialled the number. It took around fifteen seconds to connect, but only five to produce an answer.
‘Sandy,’ a voice snapped. ‘Who the fuck is this?’
I switched identities. ‘My name’s Dylan,’ I lied. (Okay, sometimes I can’t avoid it.) ‘I’m calling from Monaco.’
‘Monaco?’
‘Yes, it’s where I’m based. I’m doing a background report on someone, and your name’s come up.’
‘Who?’
‘A woman named January, Madeleine January.’
I heard an intake of breath on the other side of the world. ‘You want good stuff, or do you want bad stuff?’
‘Bad stuff will do?’
‘That’s fine, ’cos there ain’t any other kind with that. .’ (I have to tell you that here Sandy used the C-WORD.) ‘I used to have a career. Now I don’t and it’s her fucking fault.’
I hadn’t been expecting this. ‘How come?’
‘I met the. .’ (He used that word again.) ‘. . in Edinburgh. She was with some small-time Scots bit player with a spot in the show I was in. She worked on the PR side. She made a play for me; all over me, she was. She told me she was hacked off with the other guy, but that she fancied me rotten. Normally, I don’t pitch for women, but this one really turned me on. I took her back to London with me, she got a job with an agency and everything was great for a while. Then it started to stall. She started staying out nights; I got suspicious, but she laughed it off. Finally I started staying out nights; I got close to a guy on my show, got back to my old style. I didn’t tell her, though: I wasn’t sure how she’d react, but I knew it wouldn’t be good. She’s a strong woman and I didn’t fancy losing any important bits. So I decided that the only way was for me and Byron to come back down here. I left her, just like that. My agency played ball, they came up with a great part in a TV show, and Byron got a gig in Les Mis too, out front of the chorus, billing, everything. We were top of the world, man, like Cagney, and then it all went up in flames, just like him.’
‘How?’
‘The part I had in the show, I played an outback hunk, a real stud. I was a big hit, and I’d just signed a recording deal, the kind I’ve been after all my life. Then some pictures appeared in a scandal sheet down here. No warning, no nothing. I woke up one morning and there they were. Me and Byron, naked, nothing left to even an Aussie’s imagination. That was that. The show dropped me, the record contract was torn up, my agency blew me out and, to top it off, Byron got fired too. You know where I am right now, mate? I’m between shows in a fuckin’ gay club. That’s all the work I can get.’
‘That’s a sad story, but how does it relate to Madeleine January?’
‘Are you fucking thick?’ No, I’m not, but I wanted him to tell me the whole story, for the tape on which I record all my phone conversations. ‘I don’t know how she got those pictures, but she got them. Maybe she snooped on us herself, for she was a good photographer, or maybe she paid someone to do it, but she was behind it, no question.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘I know, because after it’s all done, and Byron and I are sitting at his place. . we were discreet, Mr Dylan, we didn’t live together. . still in shock, I had a call, on the very fucking phone I’m talking to you now on. It was Maddy, and you know what she said? She said, “Gotcha!” in the most vicious, scary voice I ever heard, and then she hung up.’
‘Jesus!’ I whispered, and not for Sandy’s benefit.
‘This report you’re doing?’ he asked. ‘Who’s it for?’
‘I can’t tell you that,’ I replied, very sincerely.
‘Well, whoever it is, you tell him that if he’s crossed Maddy in any way, he should be in fear of his life, or at least of the bits of it that he loves.’
I thanked Sandy and wished him well. Before I hung up I had him give me all his contact details; I told him it was in case I needed a formal statement from him, but the truth was that I felt sorry for him and intended to do what I could to revive his career. I was pretty sure that when Miles Grayson heard the story, he’d want to help him too, and a good word from Miles is the Aussie equivalent of a papal blessing.
I decided I had to call my brother-in-law to give him an update on my progress. When I told him where Dylan and I were going he announced that he would be picking up our costs. . as if I’d have allowed it. When I told him what Maddy had done to Sandy Wilde he fell silent for a while.
‘I may not be able to sort this by being nice, Harvey,’ I said. ‘In fact, I really don’t want to. I promise you that I will protect and preserve your reputation, but after what I’ve learned about this lady, my strong inclination is to crush her like a nut.’
18
We left on Friday morning. I didn’t enjoy it, but I knew I couldn’t just send Dylan out there alone and hope. I didn’t trust him that much; in fact, I barely trusted him at all. I tried again to talk Susie into coming with us, and leaving the kids with Ethel, Audrey and Conrad, but she still wouldn’t have it.
‘I’ll trust you not to make another drama out of it,’ she said. ‘Your idea’s sound, and Mike’s the ideal guy to play the part of a duplicitous sleazeball. Get the business done and get home as quick as you can.’
Audrey had booked us on Lufthansa; we could have gone KLM, through Amsterdam, but I didn’t even suggest that to Mike. Officially he might be dead, but in my experience the security guys there are real sharp bastards, and I didn’t fancy taking even the outside chance that one of them might recall a face from the past, especially if he saw it alongside mine.
There’s no quick flight to Singapore, even in first class. When we took off, I popped a couple of melatonin pills, not just to help me sleep on the flight but to minimise the jetlag when we got there. For some reason, melatonin isn’t encouraged in the UK, but you can buy it everywhere else in the world.
Even with a couple of hours’ sleep I had time to watch three movies, before the information system told us that we were flying down the Malaysian coast and beginning our descent towards Changi Airport. It was mid-afternoon when we touched down and began the long taxi to the gate. I looked out and saw blue skies, acres of grey tarmac and some very modern terminal buildings.
When we disembarked, the interior lived up to the promise of the rest. I’ve been in more than a few international airports in my time, but I have never arrived in more pleasant surroundings than Singapore. The whole atmosphere was welcoming, from the helpful guys who directed us to the carousel, and through to the immigration process, where we were greeted with a smile and a welcome, in complete contrast to the grim-faced people who guard the gates of the USA and appraise you on the basis that you, and everyone else on the flight you’ve just come off, are a terrorist until they say that you’re not.
I’ve often wondered why Americans are surprised that they’re unpopular abroad when their immigration officials show such open hostility towards every other nationality on the surface of the planet. . and sometimes their own, if they happen to be black or Hispanic. I thought this aspect was exaggerated until Roscoe Brown explained to me what ‘DWB’ means. It stands for Driving While Black, and it’s a common reason to be pulled over in the US, if your face fits, so to speak.
There’s none of that in Singapore.
We stepped out into the airport concourse and straight into a big mistake. A limo driver stood there, in lightweight grey suit and peaked cap, holding up a sign that read ‘Mr Os Blackstone’. It hadn’t occurred to me until that minute, but I’m a pretty big name internationally these days (misspelled or not) and the last thing I needed at that time was to advertise my presence in Singapore, or to have someone else do it in a public place.