Ghosting by Jennie Erdal Read Free Book Online

emperor's exactitude came over as an amazing thing, a glorification of reverent observance. At the touch of a button, a maid on stiletto heels delivered an apple cut into eight segments and carefully arranged on a silver plate. A differentsignal summoned a beautiful vision bearing a tiny gold-encrusted cup containing black coffee to which, under her master's gaze, she added two drops of rose water in the manner of a holy rite.
    Life at court was ordered in such a way as to delight the emperor. Mastery of detail was ranked highly, and if ever the detail was mismanaged a heavy price was exacted. Even the minutiae of the court were accorded great importance: the way an envelope was sealed, the positioning of the blotting paper on the leather desk, the hanging of an overcoat in the cloakroom—each task was managed with painstaking care. Everything was codified into a precise system on which the smooth running of the empire depended.
    The emperor's personal grooming was also a matter for the most careful attention. Each morning before arriving at work he went first to the barber and then to the hygienist. In those days I was a bit unsure of what a hygienist might do—it is one of those words that sounds so very clean that it might actually be dirty. As far as I knew we didn't have hygienists in Scotland, but so frequently and cheerfully did Tiger say, “I have just come from my hygienist” that I was fairly certain there could be nothing shameful involved. Eventually I asked one of the girls in pearls, who said matter-of-factly, “Oh, it's teeth. He goes to get his teeth cleaned.”
    The barber was an even more important figure in Tiger's life, a man of near magical powers. Throughout the eighties Tiger had one of the most spectacular cover-ups in the country. He was not yet ready to accept that he was bald on top—that would take another dozen years or so—and the concealment of this fact must have presented a serious challenge. But the challenge was well met: the hair, crinkly and wiry like a pot-scourer, was persuaded totravel from a line just above his ear to be pomaded into place over the crown. It was a substantial thatch, by no means the few lean strands that are combed over many a male pate. People in ancient times used to believe that good and bad spirits entered the body through the hair on one's head. But Tiger's canopy was thick enough to prevent any spiritual traffic, good or bad. In fact it looked as if it could be its own biosphere, capable of supporting diverse organisms. In fresh winds, it became separated from its base and hovered independently, like a flying saucer preparing to land. In addition to having his hair fixed every day, Tiger had a shave there three times a week. He had complete faith in his barber. “He is wonderful,” he would purr. “I adore him. You know, he heats the shaving cream and wraps my face in a warm towel.” Whenever he spoke of his barber, a beatific smile crept onto his lips. “He looks after me so nicely. I feel soothed by him.” Long ago the barber was regarded as the most important man in the tribe— medicine man and priest rolled into one. Some of this belief lived on in Tiger.
    It was with Napoleonic thoroughness that Tiger controlled every aspect of the day-to-day running of his empire. He maintained absolute authority in a number of ways: by keeping the court guessing about his next move, by never showing his hand completely to anyone, and by possessing a medieval
savoir-faire.
There were at least two Tigers: one was the exotic, flamboyant, quixotic, lovable character, defined by his generosity, compassion and energy; the other was a vainglorious dictator. The latter was generally in the shadow of the former, but both versions were real.
    His natural inclination was towards lavish extravagance, and he encouraged immoderation in others. “How much will it cost?” he often asked when a member of staff went to see him about something,usually to do with publicity or