A NIGHT TO REMEMBER

I suppose some of us have at one time or another met that one person that stands out amongst all others. This particular one need not have influenced us in any way, or changed our life at a critical stage. No. The person I'm referring to is one who in a fleeting moment came along and left you stunned. I met mine one stormy winter evening, an evening I shall never forget.

There I was standing by the bar three-quarters way through my pint of draught, minding my own business when he walked up alongside me and ordered a double whiskey.

"Can I buy you a drink?" he asked.

I turned. Beside me stood an immaculately dressed guy in an attractive beige jacket, and an open-neck navy blue shirt. And he had the looks to go with it: dark brown hair neatly in place, blue eyes, chiselled facial features that would have caught the roving eye of any female. I was impressed.

"Thanks all the same, but I already have one." I pointed to my drink.

"Filthy weather isn't it?" he asked.

"You're not wrong." I picked up my pint and drained it.

The barman returned and placed the double whiskey before him.

"And another double for this gentleman here." He nodded at him.

"No please don't," I protested.

"Perhaps something other than whiskey? Gin, brandy..."

"I'd rather you didn't."

He smiled and gave a little shrug of his shoulders. "Sorry, but I don't mean to come over all friendly like as if I'm trying to lure you into a business venture, or scam. The truth is I'm a stranger to these parts, and by good fortune had a three thousand pound windfall only today. I'd like to buy you a drink, simple as that."

"Okay," I said. He had that clipped educated accent. You know, the Oxford or Eton type of fellow. As for his age, it was hard to say. He had boyish good looks, but he could have been in his mid-thirties for all I knew. It certainly wouldn't have surprised me if he was. Nevertheless I found him to be rather charming.

"Whiskey?"

"Yes, that would be fine, thank you."

He ordered the most expensive whiskey on the shelf. I thought, God, now I'll have to order him the same in return!

As if reading my mind he said: "And I don't want you to shout. This is my night. In fact, doubt if there'll be any more like it for me."

I didn't ask what he meant by that. Somehow it seemed best not to. Besides I was looking forward to my Royal Salute double scotch. My drink arrived. I thanked him. He handed over a twenty-pound note. "Collar it."

The barman gave him a perplexed look.

"Keep it; it's yours."

"Why thank you, sir!" The barman left to serve another customer.

"That's some tip," I said. He ignored the comment.

"So are you a local, or are you passing through the same as me?"

I told him I was on my way to Birmingham, but the weather had turned so bad I decided to stay the night in Northampton.

"The rain was that heavy I couldn't see the road in front of me. And then came the fork lightening. If there's one thing that scares the hell out of me it's fork lightening. And you?"

"Well, after my windfall at Ascot I decided on a whim to travel. Always wanted to, you know. Yes, right up the backbone of Old Blighty, and then down the east coast and all the way to Land's end. Then up and along the Welsh border as far as Gretna. And all by hitchhiking."

"Hitchhiking, eh? Boy, that's some hike; and carrying that amount of dough on you might not be too safe, you know."

He laughed. "Oh, that's the least of my worries. And if I should lose or run out of money, I can always wire for sufficient funds. By the way, name's Eskerine Chichester, but just call me Jack. Everybody does." He handed over a business card. It read: Eskerine Chichester, Queen's Counsel, plus a row of letters after it. Now I understood why he wanted to travel.

"Bill Oately," I said, offering my hand. He shook it warmly. "I was simply visiting some relatives in London. Haven't seen them in ages. Nothing like what you've got in mind. Boy, that'll be some journey when it's completed."

"Yes, and I shall remember every face I meet along the way, every encounter however small. Might write it all down, just like Jack Kerouac."

"Who?" I asked.

"Jack Kerouac, the writer. Travelled the length of America in the fifties and wrote about it. Was a best seller."

I confessed I wasn't a reader as such and had never heard of him.

"Oh, he's well-known. I'm hoping perhaps one day I might be the British equivalent of Mister Kerouac. That's if they let me--if I get as far as the border that is." He looked into his whiskey glass and added in a mumbling voice. "More likely than not." Then he threw back his drink. "Another?"

"Sure, if you're shouting."

I watched as he ordered two more Royal Salutes, and wondered what he meant about getting as far as the border if they let him. But I decided to let the comment pass. I suppose I didn't want to spoil the night. Instead, I made a remark about his attractive beige jacket.

"That jacket you're wearing, Jack. Looks like it's made of silk. Is it?"

He laughed. "Well spotted, Bill. Yes, pure silk the whole damn thing. If you look carefully you can see the many slight variations on the fabric. Amazing isn't it to think that tiny silkworms eating nothing but mulberry leaves produced this masterpiece."

"Must have cost an arm and leg."

I studied it closely. It was true. There were many slight variations in shade. I nodded in appreciation. "And it fits you like a glove too."

"Hope so. Tailor-made to my specifications."

For the next couple of hours we conversed. He opened up about his background. Mentioned his father, Lord something or other, and the family manor in the Buckinghamshire countryside, and his painful stint in the army as a commissioned officer.

"Hated it. Bloody family traditional thingy, you know. Littered with colonels and majors. Think some made it to general, but that was back in the sixteen century or other. Course it was because of my brother's sudden death."

"I'm sorry," I said.

"So am I." He threw back his drink. "Yes, if he hadn't bloody well managed to drown himself, I wouldn't have been ordered into the armed forces at all. Damnedest luck all round, what? Another salute?"

I shook my head. I had hardly touched my drink, and to tell you the truth, I was feeling the effects of one too many. Boy, could he threw them back. I stuck to nursing half-pints. There was no way I could keep up with him.

When the barman called last drinks we decided to leave, but not before he ordered a last double. I told him I was done.

"Not even one for the road, Bill?"

I shook my head. "Not for me."

I didn't have to wait for him to finish his drink. He simply threw it back in one gulp. "Let's go," he said.

As we were heading for the exit, he asked: "By the way, where are you spending the night?"

The Langham Hotel. It's a short walk from here."

He stopped. "You don't say? Why that's where I'm staying! Tried to get a room at the Marriott. No luck. Damn convention I'm told."

We walked the short distance in conversation. I told him I could drive him in the morning as far as Lutterworth before turning off for Birmingham.

"We'll see," was all he said.

As we walked up the entrance path to the Langham, he asked: "What floor are you on?"

"Second."

"Good for you, Bill. Should be safe there."

"And you?"

"Third."

I knew I should have asked him what he meant by 'being safe there.' But you see, I was feeling rather groggy, so I dismissed it. We collected our keys from the night porter and bade each other good night.

"See you at breakfast around eight," I said.

"We'll see."

"You do want me to give you a life, don't you?"

"We'll see, Bill."

I went to my room and immediately went to bed, and no sooner had my head hit the pillow than I was asleep. It was the fire alarm that woke me. I fumbled for the light switch above my head until I found it. The radio clock read: 2.39. People were moving about in the corridor, and all the while the alarm rang out incessantly. I threw on my shirt and trousers, slipped into my shoes, grabbed my jacket and left the room.

There were people hurrying towards the stairs, many of them in their pyjamas. I followed. Down in the foyer we all gathered. The mood was actually quite calm, but we were all confused. The night porter told us the Fire Brigade was on its way, and that we should quietly leave the premises. I searched the many faces for Jack. He wasn't present, so I called the porter. "There's at least one person missing. His name is Eskerine Chichester. I was drinking with him only hours earlier."

He searched the registrar, and while he did the Fire Brigade arrived. We watched as they climbed their ladder to the third floor where smoke was billowing out of a window. The third floor, I thought. My God, Jack!

Within a short time the fire was out. I kept asking about my friend Jack. Then the Police arrived. To cut a long story short, we were all put up for the night at various locations. As for Jack, no one seemed to know where he was. That was when the Police approached me. They had picked up a fellow called Gonville Glummerdom, who had mentioned me for some reason. They asked if I would accompany them to the Police Station. I could hardly refuse.

Gonville Glummerdom turned out to be Jack. There he sat smiling, waving to me in his silk jacket. All in all quite relaxed as if it was a case of mistaken identity. And then it was explained to me who he was, and what he'd done. You see Jack, or should I say Gonville, had escaped from a mental institution the day before, broke into a manor, and stole some clothes and money. The fellow was a danger to the community because poor Gonville was a pyromaniac. Yes, it was him who set fire to the hotel, and to a number of other properties before been interned as criminally insane. He was also a pathological liar, thief, and an alcoholic. I can tell you the whole thing shook me up!

"But isn't there any truth behind what he told me?" I asked the copper who drove me to my lodgings for the night.

He laughed. "None of it. It's true Glummerdom's great grandfather was once well off until he torched the family manor about a hundred years ago. Spent his last days in a lunatic asylum, which he also managed to raze to the ground killing himself and many others. Seems the great-grandson is a chip off the old block, eh?"

"Yes. But I'll tell you this much, constable. The guy's got good taste."

"How do you mean?"

"That jacket he wore was made of pure silk."

"And stolen, remember."

"I know. But nevertheless it showed he had an eye for only the best. As for liquor, his favourite was one of the most expensive whiskies around. Must say I feel rather honoured to have run into him, because I know I'll never again be shouted all night to Royal Salute--the connoisseur of all single malt whiskies.

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