The Other Side of Silence by Philip Kerr Read Free Book Online

some extent, a compulsion, but I certainly wouldn’t give what I write to anyone for free.”
    â€œAre you working on anything at the moment, sir?”
    â€œA book of essays, which is to say, nothing at all of any consequence. Essays are like politicians. They want to change things and I’m not much interested in any change at my age.”
    A large and lumpish man with bad psoriasis and wearing a garishly colored shirt appeared and went straight to the drinks tray, where he mixed himself a drink as if too impatient to wait for the butler to fix one for him.
    â€œThis is my friend Alan,” said Maugham, reverting to English. “Alan, do come and say hello to a friend of Robin’s. Walter Wolf. He’s German and we’re hoping he’s going to play a couple of rubbers with us after dinner.”
    The lumpish man came and shook hands just as Robin Maugham reappeared and announced that dinner was ready.
    â€œThank God,” said Maugham.
    â€œRonnie Neame rang when you were in the bath,” the lumpish man told Maugham. “It seems that MGM are going to make
Painted Veil
but want a different title. They want to call it
The Seventh Sin
.”
    â€œUgh.” Maugham grimaced. “That’s a fucking awful title.”
    â€œIt’s the seventh commandment,” said Robin.
    â€œI don’t care if it’s in the Treaty of Versailles. No one’s shocked by adultery these days. Not since the war. Adultery’s common. After Auschwitz, adultery’s a minor misdemeanor. You mark my words: The film will make a loss.”
    We went into dinner.
    Robin Maugham had not exaggerated; his uncle kept an excellent table. Dinner was eggs in aspic jelly, chickenMaryland, tiny wild strawberries, avocado ice cream—which I didn’t care for—all washed down with an excellent Puligny and then an even better Sauternes. Afterward, Maugham lit a pipe, fixed a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles onto his nose, and led the way to the card table, where I partnered Robin and we played and lost two rubbers. The old man was a bridge demon.
    â€œYou’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.”
    â€œDon’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.
    â€œAre you married?”
    â€œThree 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?”
    â€œNo, 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.
    â€œI like you, Herr Wolf,” he said before he went upstairs. “Do come again. Come again soon.”

SIX
    A nne 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.
    â€œHow exciting. What’s it like? Is it very camp?”
    â€œCamp” was not an English word I understood, and Anne had to