Last Tango in Aberystwyth

they gave me. Such wonderful times, such deep joy ... I cannot speak now of ... of ... what does the poet say? Glory of youth glowed in his soul: Where is that glory now?'

He paused and gave the shoe in his hand a wan look; then placed it down by his foot as gently as if it were a sleeping infant.

'They closed them, you know. Closed them all, those wonderful glittering ballrooms. The people had no use any more for sophistication, or elegance, or courtly manners. They wanted rock and roll, and television and bingo. I was left with nothing but my shoes. And one other thing, a thing that every man in this world craves, but very few ever truly possess: the knowledge of how to please a lady. The people who recruited me for the Ravens understood this.'

'But you used it to kill Mrs Bligh-Jones.'

His features hardened. 'Spare me the catcalls, Mister Knight. You dishonour my death-bed.'

'I'd like to know why you killed her.'

'Because my orders told me to of course. Because I am a Raven, it is my job. Do you ask the postman why he bears bad news?'

'Yes but why did she have to die?'

'Why do any of us have to die? The important thing is that we all do and the various reasons are of little consequence when set against such an implacable fact.'

'You killed her because of some corny piece of philosophy?'

'No I killed her, if you must know, because her methods had become unsound. Brilliant, but unsound.'

'You mean Pumlumon?'

He nodded.

'So it's true then? My God. My God!'

Jubal threw the book to one side. 'Personally, I do not share the general revulsion. To me what happened on Pumlumon was nothing, just a piece of routine cannibalism —'

I gasped.

'I'm at a loss to understand such fastidiousness in the face of death. In a situation such as this, a matter of survival, such things arc accepted. The literature of nineteenth-century seafarers is full of references to the practice. After sodomy it was the greatest occupational hazard a cabin-boy had to fear. Seafaring folk understand these things, but the city people get jittery. It is the one crime they do not forgive. And thus she had to die; thus once she had embarked on that road, the order, the inevitable order came: Terminate Mrs Bligh-Jones's command -with extreme prejudice.'

'And yet you were her lover?'

'How else does one ensnare the heart of one's victim? Oh I admit that it was not without its pleasurable side. Mrs Bligh-Jones is a fine woman. A feisty woman, with passion and scalding-hot fire in her veins. I found much to admire in her. That clean, sharp purity of vision, that exquisite mixture of beauty and cruelty and ... and ... and certainty. Yes that was what I most admired. A woman of action, a woman unfettered by doubt who could eat her bowling partner of twenty years because she knew there was no other way ...'

'How can a man love a woman he knows he is going to kill?'

'Don't be such an arse! I am a Raven, it is my mission to spring the honey-trap, it would be impossible if I did not enjoy the taste of the honey, even Mrs Bligh-Jones's honey. And now it is my turn to die. I do not complain.'

'But why?'

'Because my work is over.'

'Who do you work for?'

He raised his head slightly and smiled a smile of pure evil. 'Mrs Llantrisant, who else? You see they call me a Raven but really my true nature is different. A soldier ant would be more appropriate. I mate and die. Steadfast in the service of my queen. Her survival is all that matters. Now that I have done my task I am content to make my exit. Although sadly I will miss the final act in Mrs Llantrisant's masterful plan.'

'Calamity.'

'Ah yes, Calamity.'

'This was Mrs Llantrisant's plan?'

'Of course, who else would have the genius to conceive of such a mission? In this respect, brilliant though I am, I am a mere puppet. My job was to eliminate Bligh-Jones, facilitate the escapes of Herod, Custard Pie and Mrs Llantrisant; and then arrange Mrs Llantrisant's piиce de rйsistance, the Little Red Riding Hood murder. Masterly. We have a special agent up from Cardiff to play the wolf. When it is finished Mrs Llantrisant will send you the tape to watch in your long lonely hours of self-hatred.'

'But what has Calamity ever done to Mrs Llantrisant?'

'Nothing at all! Absolutely nothing. That's the beauty of it, don't you see? The pure blinding joyous beauty of it. It's not Calamity she hates, it's you, Louie, for destroying her dream and putting her away on that island. But how can she get back at you? Kill you? Pah! Too feeble! Too altogether paltry an act — a mere spoonful of liquor with which to assuage Mrs Llantrisant's ravening thirst for revenge. No matter how slowly you died it would still be too quick. Whereas the death of Calamity, an innocent who placed her trust in you — whom you love like a daughter — ah! Think of that! No matter how quickly she died, the torment would last for ever. In your own soul, Louie, your own soul! It will burn like quicklime eternally inside you and there will be nothing you can do to undo your folly or soothe the pain. And should you ever try and forget you will always have the little tape to remind you. Oh, Louie, the beauty of it! The sheer spectral beauty of her genius!'

'Except of course that none of this is going to happen. It's fantasy.'

'You think so? I think it will happen tomorrow night.'

'You will tell me where they are. I'll make you.'

'And how will you do that? Threaten to kill me? I've beaten you to it! What possible threat could you wield with any power against a man who has taken his own life?'

I stood up and rushed to the door. 'Then I'll have to save you.'

The phone had been torn from its socket so I ran down four flights of stairs to the desk and called Doc Thomas. He wasn't in so I called an ambulance and as I shouted instructions into the mouthpiece, telling them we needed an urgent blood transfusion, I saw Llunos walking up the steps of the hotel towards me. Together we rushed back to the suite on the top floor, burst through the door and found the room empty. The discarded bandages were lying on top of the TV set. Llunos picked them up and touched the red stain with his fingertip, then dabbed his finger to his tongue. He looked over at me. 'Damson jam.'

Pointlessly we searched the apartment. There was nothing apart from the dirty plates, the sticky glasses and the discarded clothes. Behind the sofa Llunos found the lid of a box and threw it to me. It said: The Essential Mr Kurtz. The Pro Agent's Guide to simulating moral collapse.

'The old Mr Kurtz routine,' said Llunos. 'Haven't seen that one for a while.'

I turned it over and read a list of contents. Digests of Kierkegaard, Nietzsche, Eliot, Sartre ... Hamlet's soliloquy. Posters of Mao, Guevara, Papa Doc. Recordings of Kurt Weill, Stravinsky, Marlene Dietrich ... A concordance of degenerative diseases of the Self. The Dummies' Guide to Despair. I threw the box at the wall.

Llunos walked into the bedroom.

'They're going to kill Calamity,' I shouted after him. 'Little Red Riding Hood. Tomorrow night at full moon.'

I heard him rooting around in closets and drawers and I walked over to the bay window and looked out over Aberystwyth Prom. Was Proteus the name of the Greek god who came from the sea and could change his shape at will? How many incarnations were there left? Jubal Griffiths, film-maker, and Raven, and black widow spider of the ballroom, and soldier ant ... I picked up the dancing-shoe that was lying on the floor. Inside, the words engraved in silver were still faintly discernible: Property of the Pier Ballroom, 1947.

'He said there's a special agent up from Cardiff to play the wolf,' I shouted.

Llunos reappeared carrying a flesh-coloured, saddle-shaped piece of plastic, with straps.

'What's that about a wolf?'

'A special agent from Cardiff.'

'I think I know who it is. I got a phone call first thing this morning from the Bureau. They fished some chap