gracefully. âI enjoy my work. I live in comfort. I have as many women as I want. Iâve chosen this, Mike. I could have had a number of other careers. But Iâve decided on this one. I donât spend time wondering what life might be like if I had another job, in another place. In that respect Iâve learned from Candide. Iâve created this environment, this world for myself.â
Brodie had only a vague idea who Candide was, and he wasnât going to disclose his ignorance by asking. He couldnât determine what it was that brought a clever middle class kid from Perth, to embrace the Colony so wholly; perhaps a spirit of adventure, or a rejection of the, as Marsden described it, boring suburbia of his native Perth, with its immaculate houses and gardens, where nothing ever happened.
âI donât need to lean on others for approval of my taste or friendships. I donât want approval. I think youâre a lot like me, Mike. Thatâs why I like you. You have a will of your own. You stand up to the morons. What I canât understand is why youâre so friendly with a loser like Sherwin.â
Marsden grinned at Brodie from his solitary, oriental spiced comfort. Brodie remained silent, swigging the cabernet sauvignon, avoiding the chopsticks, and spooning more pigeon into his bowl.
âYou donât fancy Paul Sherwin, do you? I mean he has no other attractions.â
Again, Brodie didnât respond, treating the remark as a jibe rather than a serious enquiry.
Marsden reached across and placed his hand upon Brodieâs hand, which lay palm down on the table at that moment. âI despise dissipation, Mike but Iâm a great advocate of pleasure consciously pursued. I think Lord Chesterfield said that in one of his letters to his son.â
Brodie smiled agreeably, and ignored the message. But he knew that there would come a time when he would have to declare himself. He had allowed a wrong impression to be created, and he was confused at the prospect of how to tell Marsden without giving offence.
After the meal, they were sipping cognac and listening to Ella Fitzgerald on the stereo. Marsden opened a drawer in his carved chest. Inside lay many photographs, perhaps more than a hundred. âYou havenât seen these. All girls. Take a look.â
Marsden ran his fingers through the loose cards, cackling. To be polite, Brodie picked up a handful; they were casual shots taken in the street or on the beach, beautiful young Chinese and Filipino girls.
âWhere do you meet them?â Brodie asked, knowing the answer, and without real interest.
âItâs as I said, speaking the language; mostly bars and ballrooms. All of them give you a snap. I never ask.â
âAnd where are the rest from?â
âShops, offices. Theyâre not the daughters of merchant princes.â
âWhatâs happened to all these beauties?â
âAs soon as things get complicated I chuck them. Some see thereâs nothing in it and drift off. They go to bed easily. They donât bargain with their cunts like our women. I get bored with them. Intelligence and depth arenât easy to find, Mike. I could have more companionship with somebody like you.â
Brodie bowed his head sagely, and attempted to return to the girls. âYouâre getting on a bit now for all this cradle-snatching, Andy.â
But Marsden had no thought that time was running against him. âMen get more attractive to woman as they get older. You lose a little hair. You look more worn. Women donât care. They like an experienced man.â
It was one of Marsdenâs many certainties which Brodie did not share. When he studied his visage he could see the skull beneath advancing through the skin.
âI think Iâve worn rather well,â Marsden said, producing two photos from his wallet. âTell me which you think is the more attractive of these two