Chapters (38)
- Cover
- Also by Philip Kerr
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
“You’re not a bad player, Herr Wolf. If I might give you a tip it’s this: Never take a card out of your hand before your partner has declared. It preempts his play. Don’t overreach for a card until it’s your turn to play.”
I nodded. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.”
When we’d finished playing cards Maugham sat next to me on the sofa with his legs tucked underneath him, revealing silk socks and sock suspenders, and asked me all sorts of personal questions.
“Are you married?”
“Three times. I’ve not had the best of luck with women, sir. The ones I married least of all. They’re odd creatures who don’t know what they want right up until the moment they decide on exactly what they do want, and when you don’t give it to them right away, they’re apt to get sore with you. The rest of the time, with the rest of the women I’ve known, it was my fault. My most recent wife left me because she didn’t love me anymore. At least that’s what she told me when she walked out with most of my money. But I think she was trying to let me down gently.”
Maugham smiled. “You’re bitter. I like that. Tra la la. Would you like another drink?”
“No, sir. I’ve had enough.”
We talked a while longer until, at exactly eleven o’clock, W. Somerset Maugham declared that it was his bedtime.
“I like you, Herr Wolf,” he said before he went upstairs. “Do come again. Come again soon.”
SIX
Anne French was thrilled when, the following night at her house in the hills above Villefranche, I told her that I’d been up to the Villa Mauresque to have dinner and play cards.
“How exciting. What’s it like? Is it very camp?”
“Camp” was not an English word I understood, and Anne had to explain.
“It’s very English,” she said, “although its origins are French, oddly enough. From the French term se camper, meaning ‘to pose in an exaggerated fashion.’ But in English we use it to describe anything outrageously or ostentatiously homosexual.”
“Then, yes, it’s very camp. Although I can’t fault the old man’s taste. He lives very well. Everything is the best. There’s a staff of about ten, including a butler and several gardeners. He doesn’t eat a lot and doesn’t drink much. Just talks and plays cards. Although there’s no talk allowed when we’re playing cards. He’s a ferocious player. We’re going to have to work hard to get you up to a standard where I can recommend that you take my place.”