by Kim Newman
Plumped in a rocking chair was Dr Ballance, in a velvet jacket with matching knickerbockers, a tartan cravat frothing under his chin, a yard-wide tam-o’-shanter perched on his head.
‘Veevee want to play-play?’ he asked.
She wasn’t sure any more. This game had been going on too long. She had forgotten how it started.
There were other children in the playroom. Miss Dove and Miss Lark, in identical sailor suits. And others: Miss Wren, Miss Robin and Miss Sparrow. Sergeant-Mistress Finch was home sick today, with an earache.
The friends sang ‘Ring-a-ring-a-rosy’ and danced around Veevee. The dance made her dizzy again. She tried to stand, but her pinafore was sewn together at the crotch and too short to allow her body to unbend.
‘You’re it,’ Miss Dove said, slapping her.
Veevee wanted to cry. But big girls didn’t blub. And she was a very big girl.
She was a grown-up. She looked at her hand to remind herself. It was an inflated, blubbery fist, knuckles sunk in baby fat.
The others were all bigger than her.
Veevee sat down and cried and cried.
ACT II: RICHARD IS RUMBLED
Alastair Garnett, the Whitehall man, had wanted to meet in a multi-storey car park, but Richard explained that nothing could be more conspicuous than his ShadowShark. Besides, two men exchanging briefcases in a car park at dead of night was always something to be suspicious about. Instead, he had set a date for two in the morning in the Pigeon-Toed Orange Peel, a discotheque in the King’s Road.
He sat at the bar, sipping a tequila sunrise from a heavy glass shaped like a crystal ball. An extremely active girl in a polka-dot halterneck and matching shorts roller-skated behind the long bar, deftly balancing drinks.
Richard was wearing a floor-length green suede Edwardian motorist’s coat over a tiger-striped orange-and-black silk shirt, zebra-striped white-and-black flared jeans and hand-made zigzag-striped yellow-and-black leather moccasins. In place of a tie, he wore an amulet with the CND peace symbol inset into the eyes of a griffin rampant. In his lapel was a single white carnation, so Garnett could identify him.
He lowered his sunglasses – thin-diamond-shaped emerald-tint lenses with a gold wire frame – and looked around the cavernous room. Many girls and some boys had Egyptian eye motifs painted on bare midriffs, thighs, upper arms, throats or foreheads. The paint was luminous and, as the lights flashed on and off in five-second bursts, moments of darkness were inhabited by a hundred dancing eyes.
A band of long-haired young men played on a raised circular stage. They were called the Heat, and were in the middle of ‘Non-Copyright Stock Jazz Track 2’, a thirty-five-minute fugue improvised around themes from their debut album Neutral Background Music.
A pleasantly chubby girl in a cutaway catsuit, rhinestone-studded patch over one eye, sat next to Richard and suggested they might have been lovers in earlier incarnations. He admitted the possibility, but sadly confessed they’d have to postpone any reunion until later lives. She shrugged cheerfully and took his hand, producing an eyebrow pencil to write her telephone number on his palm. As she wrote, she noticed the other number tattooed on his wrist and looked at him again. A tear started from her own exposed eye and she kissed him.
‘Peace, love,’ she said, launching herself back onto the dance floor and connecting with a Viking youth in a woven waistcoat and motorcycle boots.
Across the room, he saw a thin man who wore a dark grey overcoat, a black bowler hat and a wing-collar tight over a light grey tie, and carried a tightly furled Union Jack umbrella. Richard tapped his carnation and the man from Whitehall spotted him.
‘What a racket,’ Garnett said, sitting at the bar. ‘Call that music? You can’t understand the words. Not like the proper songs they used to have.’
‘“Doodly-acky-sacky, want some seafood, Mama”?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘A hit for the Andrews Sisters in the 1930s,’ Richard explained.
‘Harrumph,’ said Garnett.
A boy dressed in tie-dyed biblical robes, with an enormous bush of beard and hair, paused at the bar while buying a drink and looked over Garnett. The Whitehall man held tight to his umbrella.
‘That’s a crazy look, man,’ the boy said, flashing a reversed V sign.
A crimson undertone rose in Garnett’s face. He ordered a gin and tonic and tried to get down to business. Though the Heat were playing loud enough to whip the dancers into a frenzy, there was a quiet-ish zone at the bar which allowed them to have a real conversation.
‘I understand you’re one of the spooks of the Diogenes Club,’ the Whitehall man said. ‘Winthrop’s creature.’
Richard shrugged, allowing the truth of it. The Diogenes Club was loosely attached to the Government of the day and tied into the tangle of British intelligence agencies, but Edwin Winthrop of the Ruling Cabal had kept a certain distance from the Gnomes of Cheltenham since the War, and was given to running Diogenes more or less as a private fiefdom.
It was said of one of Winthrop’s predecessors that he not only worked for the British Government but that under some circumstances he was the British Government. Winthrop did not match that, but was keen on keeping Diogenes out of the bailiwick of Whitehall, if only because its stock in trade was everything that couldn’t be circumscribed by rules and regulations, whether the procedures of the Civil Service or the laws of physics. Richard was not a civil servant, not beholden to the United Kingdom for salary and pension, but did think of himself as loyal to certain ideals, even to the Crown.
‘I’m afraid this is typical of Diogenes’ behaviour lately,’ Garnett said. ‘There’s been the most almighty snarl-up in the Pleasant Green affair.’
Garnett, Richard gathered, was one of the faction who thought the independence of the Diogenes Club a dangerous luxury. It was waiting patiently for Winthrop’s passing so that everything could be tied down with red tape and sealing wax.
‘Pleasant Green is being looked into,’ Richard said.
‘That’s just it. You’re jolly well to stop looking. Any expenses you’ve incurred will be met upon production of proper accounts. But all documentation, including notes or memoranda you or your associates have made, must be surrendered within forty-eight hours. It’s a matter of national security.’
Richard had been expecting this curtain to lower.
‘It’s ours, isn’t it?’ he said, smiling. ‘Pleasant Green?’
‘You are not cleared for that information. Rest assured that the unhappy events which came to your notice will not reoccur. The matter is at an end.’
Richard kept his smile fixed and ironic, but he had a gnawing worry. It was all very well to be cut out of the case, but Vanessa was inside. If he wanted to extract her, there would be dangers. He had been careful not to let Garnett know exactly what sort of investigation he had mounted, but it had been necessary to call in favours from the armed forces to kit the girl up with a snakeskin. Garnett might know Vanessa was undercover at Pleasant Green, and could well have blown her cover with Dr Iain M. Ballance.
Garnett finished his g and t and settled the bar bill. He asked the surprised rollergirl for a receipt. She scribbled a figure on a cigarette paper and handed it over with an apologetic shrug.
‘Good night to you,’ the Whitehall man said, leaving.
Richard gave Garnett five minutes to get clear of the Pigeon-Toed Orange Peel and slipped out himself.
The ShadowShark was parked round the corner. Vanessa usually drove for him, and Fred was occasionally allowed the wheel as a treat, but they were both down in darkest Sussex. He slid into the driver’s seat and lowered the partition.
‘You were right, Edwin,’ he told the man in the back seat.
Winthrop nodded. Though he wore a clipped white moustache and had not bulked out in age, there was a certain Churchillian gravity to the Old Man. He had fought for King and Country in three world wars, only two of which the history books bothered with.
> ‘Ghastly business,’ Winthrop snorted, with disgust.
‘I’ve been asked to cease and desist all investigation of Pleasant Green and Dr Ballance.’
‘Well, my boy, that you must do. We all have our masters.’
Richard did not need to mention Vanessa. Winthrop had made the call to an old army comrade to help outfit ‘Lieutenant Vail’ with a believable life.
‘The investigation was a formality, anyway,’ Winthrop said. ‘After all, we knew at once what Ballance was up to. He drives people off their heads. Now, we know who he mostly does it for. He has private sector clients but his major business is to provide tailor-made psychopaths who are placed at the disposal of certain official and semi-official forces in our society. It’s funny, really. The people behind Ballance are much like us, like the Diogenes Club. Governments come and go, but they’re always there. There are times when any objective observer would think them on the side of the angels and us batting for the other lot. You know what our trouble is, Richard? England’s trouble? We won all our wars. At great cost, but we won. We needed a new enemy. Our American cousins might be content to clash sabres with the Soviets, but Ivan was never going to be our dragon. We made our own enemy, birthed it at home, and raised it up. Maybe it was always here and we are the sports and freaks.’
Richard understood.
‘I know what Garnett wants me to do,’ he said. ‘What does Diogenes want?’
‘Obviously, you are to stop investigating Dr Ballance’s business. And start dismantling it.’
ACT III: VANESSA IS VALIANT
In the morning room, comfortable armchairs were arranged in a full circle. Group sessions were important at Pleasant Green.
In the next seat was a middle-aged man. Dr Ballance asked him to stand first.
‘My name is Mr Ease,’ he said.
‘Hello, Mr Ease,’ they all replied.
‘…and I cheat and steal.’
‘Good show,’ murmured an approving voice, echoed by the rest of Group. She clapped and smiled with the rest of them. Dr Ballance looked on with paternal approval.
He was a businessman. It had apparently been difficult to wash away the last of his scruples. Now, after a week of Pleasant Green, Mr Ease was unencumbered by ethics or fear of the law. He had been worried about prison, but that phobia was overcome completely.
‘My name is Captain Naughty,’ said a hard-faced man, a uniformed airline pilot. ‘And I want to punish people who do bad things. Firmly. Most of all, I want to punish people who do nothing at all.’
‘Very good, Captain,’ said Dr Ballance.
Next up was the patrician woman who always wore blue dresses, the star of Group.
‘My name is Mrs Empty,’ she announced. ‘And I feel nothing for anyone.’
She got no applause or hug. She earned respect, not love. Mr Ease and Captain Naughty were clearly smitten with Mrs Empty, not in any romantic sense but in that they couldn’t stay away from the sucking void of her arctic charisma. Even Dr Ballance’s staff were in awe of her.
‘My name is Rumour,’ drawled a craggy Australian. ‘And I want everything everyone thinks to come through me.’
‘Good on you, sir,’ Captain Naughty said, looking sideways to seek approval, not from Dr Ballance – like everyone else in Group – but from Mrs Empty.
‘My name is Peace,’ said a young, quiet Yorkshireman. ‘I like killing women.’
Peace, as always, got only perfunctory approval. The others didn’t like him. He made them think about themselves.
She was last. She stood, glancing around at the ring of encouraging faces.
Group was supportive. But this would be difficult.
‘My name is Lieutenant Veevee,’ she said.
‘Hello, Veevee,’ everyone shouted, with ragged cheer.
She took a deep breath, and said it.
‘…and I will kill people.’
There. She felt stronger, now.
Mr Ease reached up, took her hand and gave a friendly squeeze. Miss Lark gave her a hug. She sat down.
‘Thank you all,’ said Dr Ballance. ‘You are very special to Pleasant Green, as individuals and as Group. You’re our first perfect people. When you leave here, which you’re very nearly ready to do, you’ll accomplish great things. You will take Pleasant Green with you. It won’t happen soon, maybe not for years. But I have faith in you all. You are creatures of the future. You will be the Masters of the 1980s.’
Already, complex relationships had formed within Group. Mr Ease and Captain Naughty competed to be friends with Mrs Empty, but she liked Rumour best of all. Peace was drawn to Veevee, but afraid of her.
‘Would anyone like to tell us anything?’ Dr Ballance asked.
Captain Naughty and Mr Ease stuck hands up. Mrs Empty flashed her eyes, expecting to be preferred without having to put herself forward.
‘It’s always you two,’ Dr Ballance said. ‘Let’s hear from one of the quiet ones.’
He looked at her, then passed on.
‘Peace,’ the doctor said. ‘Have you thoughts to share?’
The youth was tongue-tied. He was unusual here. He had learned to accept who he was and what he wanted, but was nervous about speaking up in the presence of his ‘betters’. Whenever Mrs Empty made speeches about eliminating laziness or what was best for people, Peace opened and closed his sweaty hands nervously but looked at the woman with something like love.
‘I was wondering, like,’ he said. ‘What’s the best way to a tart’s heart. I mean, physically. Between which ribs to stab, like?’
Captain Naughty clucked in disgust.
Peace looked at her. She lifted her left arm to raise her breast, then tapped just under it with her right forefinger.
‘About here,’ she said.
Peace flushed red. ‘Thank you, Veevee.’
The others were appalled.
‘Do we have to listen to this rot?’ Captain Naughty asked. ‘It’s just filth.’
Peace was a National Health referral, while the others were Private.
‘You’ve just run against your last barrier, Captain,’ Dr Ballance announced. ‘You – all of you – have begun to realise your potential, have cut away the parts of your personae that were holding you back. But before you can leave with your Pleasant Green diploma, you must acknowledge your kinship with Peace. Whatever you say outside this place, you must have in your mind a space like Pleasant Green, where you have no hypocrisy. It will ground you, give you strength. We must all have our secret spaces. Peace will get his hands dirtier than yours, but what he does will be for Group just as what you do will be for Group.’
Mrs Empty nodded, fiercely. She understood.
‘That will be all for today,’ Dr Ballance said, dismissing Group. ‘Veevee, if you would stay behind a moment. I’d like a word.’
The others got up and left. She sat still.
She didn’t know how long she had been at Pleasant Green, but it could have been months or days. She had been taken back to the nursery and grown up all over again, this time with a direction and purpose. Dr Ballance was father and mother to her psyche, and Pleasant Green was home and school.
Dr Ballance sat next to her.
‘You’re ready to go, Veevee,’ he said, hand on her knee.
‘Thank you, Doctor.’
‘But there’s something you must do, first.’
‘What is that, Doctor?’
‘What you want to do, Veevee. What you like to do.’
She trembled a little. ‘Kill people?’
‘Yes, my dear. There’s a “bird-watcher” on the downs. Fred Regent.’
‘Fred.’
‘You know Fred, of course. A man is coming down from London. He will join Fred in Whipplewell, at the Coach and Horses.’
‘Richard.’
‘That’s right, Lieutenant Veevee. Richard Jeperson.’
Dr Ballance took a wrapped bundle out of his white coat and gave it to her. She unrolled the white flannel,
and found a polished silver scalpel.
‘You will go to the Coach and Horses,’ he told her. ‘You will find Fred and Richard. You will bring them back here. And you will kill them for us.’
‘Yes, Doctor.’
‘Then, when you have passed that final exam, you will seek out a man called Edwin Winthrop.’
‘I’ve met him.’
‘Good. You have been brought up for this purpose specifically, to kill Edwin Winthrop. After that, you can rest. I’m sure other jobs will come up, but Winthrop is to be your primary target. It is more important that he die than that you live. Do you understand?’
She did. Killing Winthrop meant more to her than her own life.
‘Good girl. Now, go and have dinner. Extra custard for you today.’
She wrapped the scalpel up again and put it in her pocket.
* * *
‘You’ve been in there five days, Ness,’ Fred told her.
‘It seems longer,’ she said. ‘Much longer.’
Richard nodded sagely. ‘Very advanced techniques, I’ll be bound.’
They were cramped together in her Elan. She drove carefully, across the downs. After dark, the road could be treacherous.
‘I was close to you in the wood on the first night,’ Fred said. ‘For the soldier games. What was that all about?’
She shrugged.
Richard was quiet. He must understand. That would make it easier.
She parked in a lay-by.
‘There’s a path through here,’ she said. ‘To Pleasant Green.’
‘Lead on,’ Richard said.
They walked through the dark wood. In a clearing, she paused and looked up at the bright half-moon.
‘There’s something,’ Fred said. ‘Listen.’
It was the bag-piper, wailing ‘Cinderella Rockefeller’. Dr Ballance stepped into the clearing. Lights came on. The rest of the Pleasant Green staff were there, too: Miss Lark, Miss Wren, and the others. To one side, Mrs Empty stood, wrapped up in a thick blue coat.
