The question ‘What happened that night?’ must be answered. I can only tell you what happened to me. One day, perhaps, wherever she is, Virginia will tell it from her point of view.
What did I expect at the start of the evening? Not a lot. Fun and flirtation. Though I’d invited Kuyperman to please Virginia, I was half-relieved she was out of the picture. I had had the most exhausting day, beginning with the terrible row with Edward – then the ramp in Aya Sophia – then the riot …
Now the consolation of male attention. I was glad I had washed my hair. I decided to wear my Afghan coat, which made me look hippy, alternative, young.
(Was Ray … possible? I didn’t see why not. He had sought me out at a conference before, he had praised my novels, albeit rather vaguely.)
Long before dessert, I was disabused. Over starters, he first mentioned ‘Jimmy’, who seemed to accompany him on long walks. I was going to ask him what breed he was, but by the main course, I knew Jimmy was human.
‘It’s a bore being categorised,’ he said to me, ‘and things are still a little touchy in Jo’burg, but I realised, of course, in retrospect, after I saw you and your friend in Ida’s, that you were probably there for the same reason as me.’
‘Which is?’ A slight pause. It dawned on me. ‘Oh, I see. No, she’s … No. Yes, the cafe. Yes, yes.’
He carried us over the awkwardness. ‘Jimmy didn’t come with me, on this occasion, but we love Ida’s, we always go.’
I felt obscurely cheated, though, as if he’d taken something away from me, and started laying into the wine. He wasn’t even paying! We were going Dutch! I hadn’t forgotten the conference next day, but by the time we left, I was no longer sober.
It was twelve o’clock. Virginia must be back. Prodded by the same unsatisfied desire for some kind of reward or recognition, a simple nod, a word of praise, I marched upstairs, bumping into the wall because the stairs were stupidly narrow, and knocked on her door. By now she would have read it.
I knocked again, a little louder.
There were noises inside. Laughter, movement.
Perhaps she was talking in her sleep. I did not want to wake the hotel. The landing light was very bright, so I could not see if her light was on.
‘Virginia?’ I called, quietly. I could definitely hear a creaking of furniture, two voices, surely, and someone coughed.
But Room 13 was directly adjoining. Probably the sounds were coming from there.
I took what seemed like the easiest course, though in retrospect, it lacked dignity, and got down on all fours on the floor of the landing to see if there was light under her door.
In that instant it opened, and I was exposed.
Kneeling on the landing like some kind of goat.
In the Afghan coat I had put on to go out.
What did I see? It’s not easy to be clear, for I wasn’t expecting the door to open, it was dim inside, I was hauling myself backwards and scrambling upright at the same moment – the figure who emerged was not Virginia, but the slim pale Muslim girl who’d seen me before, when I’d just poked my paper underneath the same door.
‘Room service,’ she said. ‘I bring your friend tea.’
‘I was trying to see if the light was on.’
We had both talked at once. We stared at each other. She looked compassionate, as if I were insane. It was the second time, to be fair, that she’d found me on the landing with my head jammed against the crack beneath Virginia’s door.
Then I saw a large black shoe on her floor.
‘Are you all right, Virginia?’ I called.
‘Go away.’
The voice that answered was fuzzy with sleep. Or perhaps tipsy, or I was tipsy.
‘She is well,’ the Muslim girl asserted, blocking the door, almost protective.
What was I to do? I was unwelcome. I had been assured that Virginia was fine.
Perhaps she was lying on the bed naked! I could not bear to see my hero naked.
When we’d shared a room, I never saw her naked (though was she my hero anymore?).
I shuffled away, backwards, defeated. I had missed something, I knew, I was sure.
‘Thank you,’ I said to the maid as I went, trying to reassert my authority. Why had she taken her headscarf off?