Sumiko had a car. A rather large, sleek, metallic-silver, executive-type of vehicle. Japanese, of course. Edward recognised the marque. If only he had put his inheritance into that company all those years ago, he would be sitting pretty by now. Actually, he was sitting pretty, embraced by all this luxurious, top-of-the-range, grey-suede upholstery as Sumiko effortlessly swung her monster of a machine down the steep roads from the museum.
‘Do you remember when you took me there?’ she asked as they passed yet another spa resort.
‘Yes, I do,’ he said, tapping the floor between his legs with his walking stick at the sudden flush of memory. ‘Bathing in hot springs is such a sensual experience,’ he added, trying to make the sentence sound matter-of-fact. But he knew he was testing her, reminding her of their intimacy, probing to see whether even with Jerome Fisk’s ring still on her finger, he could provoke her into a nostalgia for their sexual history.
‘It would be good for my arthritis,’ she said. ‘I have so much trouble with my left hand. Look at these fingers.’ She lifted the offending appendage off the steering wheel. ‘It is like a… like a claw. What am I to do with something like this?’
‘Perhaps we could visit one again.’
‘Please stop it.’
‘Stop what?’
‘You know what I mean. Making plans for us.’ She drove faster, her stare fixed straight ahead, the tyres screeching slightly on the bends. And then he saw she was crying.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. And he truly was. He had got carried away.
‘You can’t do this, Eddie. You can’t just walk back into my life and pretend everything is fine.’
She swung the car into the hotel forecourt, and immediately there was the familiar beetling of the bellboys around the vehicle, busy hands opening doors, searching for luggage. He waved them away, took her hand. ‘Would you like to come inside? Stay for dinner?’
She sniffed, nodded her head.
‘Good. That’s settled.’ He dragged his legs out of the seat, hobbled to his feet on his cane. The car was whisked off, leaving this empty space between them in the forecourt. He waited as she tied a silk scarf around her head.
‘Do you know what would be nice?’ she said, her eyes puffy from the tears but smiling now. ‘If we could take a walk in the garden. Could you manage that?’
‘The azaleas are very beautiful,’ Edward remarked, as they wandered slowly along the pathways. ‘I remember you were fond of them.’
She knelt down, the hem of her plaid skirt grazing the ground, placed her palm under one of the drooping heads, pulled in closer to the scent. He observed the still-graceful curve of her neck and seemed to recall watching her perform the same action those many years ago. Had he been truly happier then? Or was it all just an illusion? If he could go back to the past and place himself exactly on this path with Sumiko, would he have been the young writer full of ideals and passion and ambition he recalled with a wistful melancholy or would he be just the same sad and disillusioned human being he was now? He held out his hand and awkwardly helped her to her feet. They walked the rest of the way to the waterwheel in silence.
She let out just the slightest squeal when she saw it. ‘Oh, Eddie-chan. It’s still here!’
‘Yes, it is. Although it’s actually a rebuilt version of the old one. Look at how fresh the wood is. You can almost smell it from here. The substance has gone but the form still remains.’
‘We Japanese are very good at doing that.’
He sat down on the low wall and she came to sit beside him. He closed his eyes, breathed in slowly, trying to grasp some kind of internal feeling for her presence. The chill of the air chafing his cheeks, he could feel that, and the sound of the breeze sifting through the trees, lifting the leaf-laden branches, creating that wonderful rush-reedy sound.
‘Eddie-chan. Are you listening to me?’
‘Forgive me. What were you saying?’
‘This place brings back so many memories.’
‘For me too. I was happy here.’
‘Then why did you leave?’
‘I had to.’ These words seemed so weak now. But it was what he had always believed. A crossroads in his life. Stay in Japan with Sumiko or return to England to be a writer. That was his choice and if he hadn’t taken it then, he would never have had another chance. Only Aldous had sown any seeds of doubt on that decision. ‘If you were meant to be a writer,’ his friend had told him many years later. ‘You would have become a writer whether you had stayed in Japan or not. Destiny will always work itself out. Even if mere mortals like yourself want to fuck it up. Destiny will always win.’
Sumiko stood up, straightened her skirt. ‘I understood you had to go,’ she said. ‘I just don’t know why you didn’t take me with you.’
‘Ah, Enid. Forgive me for having abandoned you. Please let me introduce you to an old friend from this hotel. Sumiko, this is Enid. The woman I cannot live without.’ He saw that Sumiko looked confused. ‘My personal assistant,’ he added. The two women nodded to each other. Sumiko with a certain politeness. Enid, he noticed, with just a shiver of disdain.
‘I have had more than enough to occupy myself,’ Enid said. ‘And when I had a few free moments, Mr Takahashi was kind enough to arrange for a guide to take me down to Hakone. The marquetry is quite exquisite. I bought some lovely souvenirs.’
‘Hakone is blessed with so many different kinds of trees,’ Sumiko said. ‘Did you buy one of the puzzle boxes?’
‘Actually, I preferred the mosaic bowls and dishes. Now, Sir Edward, I need to talk to you about a more important matter.’
‘I’m afraid it will have to wait. I have promised to escort Sumiko to dinner.’
‘It really is most pressing.’
‘Later, Enid. Now if you will forgive me again, I’m sure my chatter with Sumiko about old times will bore you.’
‘It is quite all right. I am happy to dine quietly in my room.’
The evening sparkled. His conversation sparkled. Sumiko sparkled. And when Takahashi joined them for coffee, Edward was so proud of her, this former chambermaid, holding her own so eloquently in English with the manager of this grand hotel. He sucked shamelessly on his cigar, savoured his peaty malt, absorbed the warmth of it all. He could almost say he was content. It was a state of being he had never really wanted to achieve until about two minutes before he was ready to die. After all, what kind of life was there to live in a state of contentment? A boring one was all he could imagine. Life was all about the struggle for fulfilment, the desire to fill the void. ‘All creativity comes from loss.’ But once the void was filled, what else was there? Yet, in this moment, he felt very close to that state of being.
‘It has been a great pleasure to converse with you, Sir Edward,’ Takahashi said, rising from his chair and bowing. ‘It has reminded me so much of the old times. The once great days of this hotel.’
‘The dining room looks quite full to me. It seems you are still doing very well.’
‘Ah yes. But there is so much competition these days. And it is hard to attract the…’ Takahashi coughed lightly into his closed fist. ‘The same exceptional quality of clientele as we used to.’
‘Takahashi-san. I am sure you understand I would like a few quiet words with Sumiko before she leaves.’
‘Of course. How unthoughtful of me. Yes, I must go. There are matters to which I must attend. Sir Edward. Sumiko-chan. Please enjoy the rest of the evening.’
‘He is a very kind man,’ Sumiko said, once the manager had left. ‘But such a busybody, don’t you think? Busybody. That is the right word, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, it is the right word.’ He drew on his cigar and observed her through a cloud of his own making. ‘Tell me. Are you happy now?’
‘You mean, now at this moment? Or now in my life?’
‘Both.’
‘Yes, I am happy to see you again. And in my life? Well, I live with my two dogs in the mountains, Jerome is very generous, and I was the lover of a famous writer who named a prostitute after me. That is not bad for a poor Japanese chambermaid.’
‘Not bad at all.’
She picked up her napkin off her lap, folded it neatly. ‘Eddie. It is getting late. I must go.’
He rose with her, escorted her into the foyer.
‘I have taken the same room,’ he told her.
‘The Fuji Suite?’
‘Yes, the Fuji Suite. Would you like to see it?’
He gave her the key and she went on ahead of him, almost running down the corridor in her excitement. Hobbling after her, he felt as if he was following in his own ghostly footsteps, their ghostly footsteps. By the time he had caught up with her, she had already pulled back the curtains. She opened and closed the door of the walk-in cupboard.
‘See,’ she said. ‘The light goes on automatically when you open the door. Just as always.’
He felt so happy watching her, but also so immensely weary. He sat down on the side of the bed, slipped off his shoes and jacket, loosened his tie. She had gone into the bathroom and he could hear her turn on the taps just to delight in the clunk and gasp of the old pipework. He felt as if his world was closing in on him and all that was left for him was this room, a tiny speck of warm light in a universe of cold darkness. With difficulty, he managed to bring his legs over on to the bed, laid his head down on to the coldness of the quilt. He felt Sumiko’s presence.
‘Are you all right?’
‘I am fine. Just tired. So tired.’ He raised his head slightly from the pillow. ‘Please lie with me. Lie with me and hold me. Just for a few minutes. Hold me, Sumiko. Please.’