Synopsis of "The Night Manager" by John LeCarre'
Le Carre's book takes thirty five year old Jonathon Pine, who is trying to escape uncomfortable memories from his past, into an undercover venture to attempt to bring the "worst man in the world", Dick Roper, to justice. Pine is a man of many parts, and eventually falls under the spell of Roper's mistress, Jebediah. They fail in their mission to get Roper, and Jonathon is beaten nearly to death, but they eventually find solace in each other on a rocky pinnacle in West Cornwall, hiding from both their pasts. Pine's recruiter is Leonard Burr, a down to earth Yorkshireman who is dedicated to destroying Roper, and his ilk.
The novel is one of LeCarre's most romantic, and is the beginning of his recent imaginings(?) of worldwide conspiracies among unlikely crooks. But I have always felt that I didn't read enough about the subsequent relationship between the confused, sensual, yet adorable Jeb, and the somber, multi-talented, brooding Jonathon.
Herewith, Whiff steps bravely into the vacuum.
One
His romantic demon coveted desperately these occasions when she would return from a surrepetitious visit with her ailing parents. She always contrived to arrive at sundown, in time for dinner, and he always went full out. The mussels ala Mama Low, the steak au poivre, the carrot cake. And afterwards, the long sweet night with no demands on tomorrow's time.
Jeb had the uniquely english beauty which came in a package, a tall, slender body with surprisingly heavy breasts, long legs, and chestnut hair which she was letting grow in a vain attempt to hide her lovely, sensual features. "A reasonably good looking girl gets a lot of attention, Jonathon, and I was never terribly certain of myself, as you have pointed out to me on occasion. I do think I have a sensual nature though. I must say I never expected you to be such a good fuck, you seemed so well controlled. Oh my, that's quite nice darling. Quite........ahhhhhhh.......nice."
When they first got to their little shack, two rooms and a loo, their love making was frantic and enthralling, trying to make up for time lost. Even though he was recovering, his stocky body healing faster than his damaged, pugnacious face, she would mount him as he lay staring up at her, his heart full of need, and she would smile as they climbed a ladder of desire they were still not sure they had. He would prod her self examination, and his own, as they lay gasping together afterwards, while she would worry that she was hurting him. He would reassure her, even though she did indeed touch the wrong places some times, but he found he didn't care. She liked to imitate the arch, high handed conversation she had practiced with Roper, as a way of showing him her disdain for a past that haunted them both, but quixotically nurtured the obsession they felt for each other.
At least that was what Jonathon called it, obsession. He was somehow afraid to call it love, for not only did he fear his own understanding of their bond, he wasn't sure she understood it as something outside the usual affection she slipped into so easily. Jeb avoided even a mention of their feelings, instead letting him jibe her gently about little habits from the past, affectations which had become second nature to her, and as she realized their artificiality, she would bite her lip and whisper, "I'm trying darling. You know I am. And its working, don't you think? I feel much more, oh, open. I'm not afraid to show myself to you. Imagine, me, an aristocrat, with an army sergeant. Really, darling, we should invent a more interesting past for you. You could play the role of a Prussian cavalry officer and noble quite nicely I think. Though Jonathon, now really, you must learn to sit a horse. That would go with the story. A Prussian cavalry officer does not bounce."
There were certain times, however, when he couldn't imagine life without her. Although she was not a sailor, as he became well enough to take the twenty foot skiff out into the bay, she would sit beside him and squeal with pleasure when they were racing before the wind, tilted nearly into the sea. Her shirt plastered to those lovely tits, squinting into the spray, with an excited smile as she imagined the situation was dangerous, yet never seeming to be afraid. "I can tell when someone's good at something dear, and you are good at this." They would kiss as the wind whistled, and the salt water in their mouthes made the contact unforgettable. It was then that he thought about love.
But tonight was about lust. She had arrived a bit unkempt from her long drive, kissed him briefly, eyed the kitchen's contents, smiled her blazing smile to him, and said "I must shower and dress for you, my love. Give me fifteen minutes." But she would always take thirty, emerging from the bedroom in clinging outfits designed to provoke him. Tonight was a red strapless silk thing she had retrieved from home, he supposed. Her nipples, pubic bone, and navel were on vivid display. She walked in that longstepped way to the chair he was holding for her, put her hand on his face, and sat herself, wiggling her butt. Then she looked over her shoulder with her fuck me smile and whispered "Can you wait, darling? I think I can, but just barely." They had ruined a couple of meals when they couldn't.
But they ate a relaxed, elegant meal in the rustic confines of the small, yet well maintained cabin which had had a few improvements courtesy of the Whitehall budget of 1991. She told him about her parents, about a man she imagined might have been following her, and the lengths she went to escape him. She had written down the number, so that Burr could check during his next visit. He described a walk during which a couple of the locals, in their countryside way, had quizzed him about his relationship to Jack Linden, an alternate identity now wanted in several countries. "I visited three stores to find the meat. I wonder if Burr can bring in a good butcher." It was one of their jokes, for surely they owed their lives to Leonard Burr.
