The Moors Last Sigh

figure, put her hands on his shoulders, and kissed him on the mouth.
    Which had an unexpected effect. Instead of being grateful – and there were many in that salon, myself included, who would very happily have received such a kiss – Vasco rounded on Uma. ‘Judas,’ he said to her. ‘I know you. Devotee of Our Lord Judas Christ the Betrayer. I know you, missy. I’ve seen you in that church.’ Uma coloured deeply, and retreated. I sprang to her defence. ‘You’re making a fool of yourself,’ I told Vasco, who stalked out, nose-in-air; and a moment later, fell noisily into the pool.
    ‘Good, that’s that,’ said Aurora briskly. ‘Let’s play Three characters, seven sins.’
    It was her favourite parlour game. Random selection by coin-toss determined the sex and age of three imaginary ‘characters’, and papers picked from a hat were used to specify the deadly sin of which each was ‘guilty’. The assembled company was then required to improvise a story involving the three sinners. On this occasion the characters came out as Old Woman, Young Woman and Young Man; and their sins were, respectively, Wrath, Vainglory and Lust . No sooner were the choices made than Aurora, sharp as ever and possibly more affected than she seemed by Vasco’s latest little hurricane, cried: ‘I’ve got one.’
    Uma applauded, admiringly. ‘Tell, na.’
    ‘Okay, here goes,’ said Aurora, looking straight at her young guest of honour. ‘A wrathful old queen discovers that her lustful fool of a son has been seduced by her young and vainglorious deadly rival.’
    ‘Great story,’ Uma said, beaming serenely. ‘Wah-wah! Plenty of meat on that bone. Yes, sir.’
    ‘Your turn,’ said Aurora, her smile as wide as Uma’s. ‘What happens next? What should the Wrathful Old Queen do? Should she maybe banish the lovers for good – should she just let rip and drive them out of her sight?’
    Uma pondered. ‘Not good enough,’ she said. ‘I think so some more permanent solution would be needed. Because such an opponent – e.g. this Vainglorious Young Pretender – if she was not finished off, and I mean completely funtooshed, would certainly set out to smash the Wrathful Old Queen. Sure! She would want the Lusty Young Prince all to herself, and the kingdom, too; and she would be too proud to share the throne with his Ma.’
    ‘What do you suggest, then?’ Aurora asked, glacial sweet in the suddenly hushed drawing-room.
    ‘Murder,’ said Uma, shrugging. ‘Obviously it is a murder story. One way or the other, somebody-tho has to die. White Queen takes Black Pawn, or else Black Pawn, reaching the queening square, becomes a Black Queen and takes the White Queen instead. No other ending that I at least can see.’
    Aurora looked impressed. ‘Uma, daughter, you’re a secretive one. Why didn’t you tell me you’d played this game before?’

    You’re a secretive one  … My mother could not let go of the idea that Uma had something to hide. ‘She comes out of nowhere and chipkos to our family,’ Aurora constantly worried – as, it must be said, she had never worried, in the old days, about Vasco Miranda’s equally questionable past. ‘But who are her people? Where are her friends? What is her past life?’ I conveyed these doubts to Uma as the shadows of a Retiring Room ceiling fan stroked her naked body and the fan’s breeze towelled her dry. ‘Your family can’t talk about secrets,’ she said. ‘Excuse me . I hate to speak badness about your loved ones but I am not the person with one crazy sister already dead, another seeing talking rats in a convent and the third trying to untie the cord of her lady-friends’ pajamas. And please: whose father is up to here in dirty business and under-age tarts? And whose mother – forgive me, my love, but you must know it – is currently having not one, not two, but three different love affairs?’
    I sat up in bed. ‘Who have you been talking to?’ I cried. ‘Who has been pouring this snake poison for you to swallow down and then throw up?’
    ‘The whole town is talking,’ Uma said, embracing me. ‘Poor softo. You think she is some sort of goddess or what. But it is common knowledge. Number one, that Parsi retard Kekoo Mody, number two Vasco Miranda the fat fraud, and the worst is number three: that MA bastard Mainduck. Raman Fielding! That bhaenchod! I am sorry but the lady has no class. People even whisper that she has seduced her own son – yes! my poor