He was confident. ‘Unproven and debatable. I am merely quoting the Gospel’ – he cleared his throat – ‘which names the palms and feet, and not the wrists and ankles, as some subsequent study has suggested. I tend to look to the source.’
‘I see. So why exactly is the location of my cut apt, dare I ask?’
‘Maniacs and masochists most commonly receive the Holy wounds.’
‘But do they receive them on broken wine bottles?’
‘Frequently, I’m sure.’ The moment those words issued from him, with some humour, his face changed, fell grave, and without looking away from me he said, ‘Mrs Evans,’ with some acrimony, ‘is no doubt on her way to check up on you. You don’t want another caution.’
‘She might even say you’re a bad influence.’
‘Yes, well that would be a compliment coming from her.’
He gestured for me to go before him, and then placing his hand on the narrowing of my back, he walked by my side. I liked it.
Sure enough, the woman was on her way from the shop as I sat down. I expected Thom to go off in another direction, but he surprised me by staying and leaning on the desk. He didn’t usually suffer the contempt she seemed to have for him. I didn’t wonder so much why Mrs Evans didn’t like him. I didn’t like him when we first met. I didn’t understand his character. I expected that if things hadn’t altered as they had done between us, we might be on uncomfortable terms as they were now.
She slowed her pace on seeing him, as a cat when confronted with a bullmastiff, looking to hiss and project those claws at the ready. He gave her the slightest glance. She narrowed her eyes on him and quickly came round the desk behind me.
‘Afternoon,’ she sighed, pulling out the diary from under the desk.
I returned the greeting. Thom nodded his head, but I doubt she saw. He folded his arms on the desk and stood his ground. She opened the diary and began flicking through the pages aggressively. So much so, I thought she might tear them out. Even in her presence it was difficult not to stare at Thom. I managed to pull my eyes from him but only for a split second, enough to notice she’d now reached the blank pages of a month ahead. She left it open where it was and waltzed off with a little huff, muttering something like she’ll be back in a moment.
Thom met my stare comfortably. ‘Why do I feel as though I’m about to be interrogated?’
‘When’s your birthday?’
‘I don’t celebrate birthdays.’
‘But you have one.’ I cocked my head. ‘At least tell me the month you were born?’
‘The first on the calendar.’
I leant forward and rested my chin in the palm of my hand. ‘Which calendar?’
He laughed. ‘Egyptian.’
‘Ah, September then. Now we’re getting somewhere.’
I’m sure he anticipated my next question. Taking into account the fact I highly mistrusted the things Mrs Evans said, it was impossible to narrow down his age. Probably from the way he spoke and acted. Perhaps he was closer to thirty after all.
‘How old are you?’
All expression vanished from his face. ‘How old would you say?’
‘Twenty-eight?’
He grinned. ‘That’s settled then.’
Having answered in that way I knew he wouldn’t confess more.
As threatened, Mrs Evans returned. She came back to the diary, flicked a few pages back and began pencilling something in.
‘Don’t you have to be somewhere, Thomas?’ she said, without looking up.
‘I don’t.’
She slowly raised her eyes to him, as a cobra lifts the front quarter of its body to contemplate a strike. Then glancing down at her wristwatch, she gave a little jump.
‘Damn me, is that the time!’ She slammed the diary shut and placed her glasses on top of it. ‘I’ve got an appointment in half an hour. Looks like I’m going to have to leave you to it,’ she said, stopping to look at me with some distrust, while wagging a finger at her watch. ‘Can I rely on you to finish your breaks on time?’
It’s always the way, the typicality of things. Her memory was in perfect working order when it came to my unpunctuality. I nodded at her. She then flew down the corridor, though not quite as fast as when on her broom. Within moments she was back, her hands full of her belongings. She came round the desk, looking for something else while roping her neck with a scarf.
‘Right,’ she said to herself. ‘Hmm,’ looking at me again. ‘You’ll need to cover Susan at her break. Can I trust you to do that?’ She turned her head to continue her search. ‘Oh, heavens! I forgot! I had to make another entry in the accident book for you, concerning your hand. Are you attention seeking or something?’ She followed this with a failed attempt to smile. ‘You’ll need to sign it again.’
‘Do you have everything, Mrs Evans?’ Thom broke in suddenly, though his eyes remained fixed on me. ‘Coat, handbag?’ – She paid no attention to him. – ‘Jack-knife, garrotte?’
I chortled.
She found her glasses. ‘I think I have everything,’ she muttered unwittingly.
‘You don’t want to be late,’ he said to her, and winked at me.
Mrs Evans pulled out a piece a gum and stuck it in her mouth. Thom received another venomous look from her before she raced out the door, her jaws slapping together as she went.
‘Like a cow chewing the cud,’ he uttered.
I realised that these little remarks came about following my scolding last week.
‘I’d better let you get on,’ he mumbled, pushing himself away from the desk.
‘I suppose I’d better go and sign that book,’ I huffed, getting up and making my way around it. Enthrallment tempted me to keep him there longer. I just had no idea how. Thom remained there as I approached his side. I stopped in front of him, loathed to deny myself his company.
‘When are you going to show me some more of your magic?’ I enquired.
‘You’re too easy to fool, Alex.’ He rested an elbow on the desk, with his back to the main door.
‘I’ve only had one try. Besides, I’ve a pretty good idea of how you performed that one. You could easily have prepared for it in advance, having seen my handwriting around here somewhere. It was just a case of getting the paper into my pocket.’
‘And out again,’ he added, running his eyes over me. ‘So you think you can tell how a magic trick is done then?’
‘I do, but like before, the less gadgetry used the better. I’m sure I’ll be able to name how you’ve done it.’
‘Very well, but let’s make it interesting?’
‘You mean a bet?’
‘Certainly. Your confidence intrigues me. Why don’t I use this bottle of water here’ – he pointed to the one on my desk – ‘and do something miraculous with it? Is that acceptable? If you can identify how I’ve performed the trick, you win. If not, I win.’
I nodded. ‘So what are the terms?’
‘Ladies first, of course.’
I thought very quickly, and not properly, about my prize. Before I had really considered how much I wouldn’t benefit from it, my mouth was already working against me.
‘If I win,’ I said boldly, ‘you’re not to make any more remarks concerning my sanity, ever again.’
While proposing this I realised that if he should lose I would miss that strange attention I got from him. I couldn’t go back now though. It would tell him too much of my thoughts.
He winced, but consented. ‘And what if I win? What do I get?’ He took a step towards me and pushed up his sleeves. My breathing became shallow.
I had some feeble ideas but I couldn’t suggest them; they seemed either too paltry or even too forward for me to offer. I wasn’t prepared to suggest that he buy me dinner or something. It wasn’t in my character. I had no ideas to put forward.
‘I don’t know what would make you happy, Thom, if you won. Name your prize and I’ll tell you if it’s within reason.’
‘Now why did you have
to say within reason? That changes everything.’ He then looked to be thinking carefully, before turning in a smile. ‘If I win,’ he announced, ‘your forfeit is to call me sir.’
‘Sir!’ I grimaced.
‘Very good,’ he gibed. ‘Start as you mean to go on!’
‘Wait a moment.’ I put my hand up. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Well, we could make it – oh, I don’t know – master, instead? Or, more syllables perhaps? Your lordship, for example? I rather like that one!’
‘Fine. Sir, it is. How often?’
‘Hmm’ – he drummed his fingers on his clean-shaven chin – ‘at least once in every passing greeting, and twice every time we speak or are in each other’s company for more than a few minutes. All that for the duration of say two months from the moment I win this bet.’
I shook my head. ‘Two weeks.’
‘Two weeks? That equals only six days you’re here. Your terms are that I quit something I’m particularly fond of forever!’
I folded my arms. I wasn’t calling anyone sir for two months!
‘One month then,’ he determined. ‘I cut my span in half, Alex, and doubled yours. It seems too much in your favour still.’
‘Okay. Done.’
He stepped forward and stared down at me. His bewitching eyes fixed on mine. His hand sought my hand and he clasped it in a handshake for the occasion.
‘It’s a deal then.’ His voice altered. It was lower. Energetic. He pulled me nearer. ‘It’s a deal then, my feisty little maniac. No–’ He put his fingers to my lips, still holding my hand in his other. ‘I’m not sorry for that, Cassandra. I may not have long now to call you so. I must be allowed a last few endearments.’
‘Is that what you call them?’ I asked nervously.
He was smiling because he knew that that’s how he meant them, and really, it is how I took them.
‘If they’re endearments, Thom, I’m glad you’re not cross with me.’
‘They are endearments only where there is endearment. You may want to get attached to them, Alex.’
‘How many guesses do I get?’
‘An endless supply, but only a day to use them.’
‘Sounds reasonable. What if the loser doesn’t stick to his end of the bargain?’
‘Then we’ll go for a suitable forfeit.’ He smiled. ‘Don’t worry too much on that score. You’ll be calling me sir before the week is out. And I promise you,’ he said raptly, pulling my hand even closer to himself, for he yet retained it. ‘I promise you, Alex, if it is so, I’ll speak to you more often in a day than you think possible or even acceptable.’
Was that a threat? I rather hoped it was more of a promise.
He let go of my hand quite quickly, as if he’d forgotten it wasn’t his and must return it. I felt a little awkward standing in front of him, waiting for this entertainment to begin. I retook my seat.
‘I’m going to put this lamp on,’ he said, leaning over the desk to do so, ‘as those lights up there aren’t fit for guessing the workings of a magician’s mind. I want to give you a fighting chance!’ He winked at me, wet his lips a little, and then added his dimpled smile to this. Immediately I thought, he’s trying to distract me – pay attention!
He picked up my bottle of water and unscrewed the lid. Grabbing my coffee mug from the desk, he checked it was empty.
‘I’m pouring a little into your cup first, just to show you it’s all above board. That I haven’t swapped the bottle for another.’
After doing this, he literally waved a hand over the bottle, keeping it at some distance as he began tipping it up over my desk. I prepared to jump out the way of the oncoming splatter – but the water didn’t pour out. It just rushed to the neck of the bottle and remained there.
Inclining my head to look under it, I could see the water surface at cap-level just sitting there, upside-down.
‘You’ve put a piece of plastic in the neck to stop it?’
‘No, that’s not it, Cassandra,’ he goaded. ‘Use your pencil there to check, if you like?’
I did, by inserting the pencil into the upside-down neck of the bottle, pushing it in effortlessly. I swirled it about in the water, unable to determine how, before pulling it back out to find the pencil wet. The water still didn’t rush out. I looked round the bottle and up to him. I had no idea how he’d done it. It seemed impossible. He read my face.
‘Do you want to hold the bottle? Perhaps it will help you figure it out,’ he encouraged. ‘Or perhaps you’ve seen enough?’
‘I could never see enough of something so amazing.’ I got up to go round and look from his side. I took hold of the bottle, brushing his fingers as I did so – his eyes widened, just for a second. I patted the base of the bottle, as you would to shift stubborn tomato sauce. The water inside rippled to my thuds, but still it didn’t budge.
‘This is an incredible trick, Thom. I’ve lost the bet for sure.’
‘Now, now,’ he said, taking the bottle back from me, ‘don’t be like that, my tender little bedlamite. You have a whole day yet to guess correctly, an endless supply! Use your imagination, and more importantly, don’t be afraid to.’
He turned the bottle up the right way and immediately poured some of the water into my coffee cup again.
I had lost, without a doubt.
We chatted for a few minutes more, in which time I wondered what Mrs Evans had a problem with exactly. It wasn’t just disdain in her eyes when she looked at him; she had dread there, too. And was she harsher with me just because I’d become friendly with Thom? I needed to pick somebody’s brains about it, somebody who was helpful and reliable.
The next time I saw Frances, which was in the shop while I covered Susan’s break, I asked her straight out –
‘Why doesn’t Mrs Evans like Thom?’
She turned pale and looked uncomfortable to answer. After a few seconds of biting her lower lip, she gave a little shrug.
‘I don’t like to say anything,’ she murmured, pushing her glasses further up the bridge of her nose. ‘It’s not my place. I would only say that I believe there’s good and bad in everyone. Certain people, or events, can bring out either one in a person. And sometimes people can’t help what they are. Or what they’ve done.’
Hearing this, I became more fascinated to know what it was. Convinced that Frances wouldn’t tell me, and considering how uncomfortable it made her, I would have to work on Thom for the answer.
Susan returned from her break and I went for mine. Having grabbed Thom’s shirt from the staffroom I approached his office enthusiastically. His door was ajar and I could hear him on the telephone. It sounded work related. From here all I could see was a fraction of the wardrobe that seemed altogether out of place in an office, and a margin of the door that led to the stairwell. I pushed his door open slightly so I could see Thom. He was sitting at his desk with his back to me and the phone to his ear. I decided to wait until his call ended. Presently he took notes. When he wasn’t writing he was spinning the pen deftly between his fingers and about his hand as I’d seen him do before with the ball. That was probably what first made me more interested in him, I reflected.
The pen was long and looked heavy. The motions grew faster than I’d seen before. It was just as mesmerising the way it glided fluidly between his fingers, like contact wasn’t there. It swung in serpentine veers until it dangled for a moment, as if suddenly magnetised. Then the dance would recommence, looping his wrist, up over his knuckles. The sight of his strong smooth hand made me keen to feel his touch again – the way he’d held mine, and pressed his fingers to my lips. I found myself pushing the door open a little more for a better view. By the change in his posture, he’d sensed I was there. Without turning his eyes on me, he put the phone down suddenly, along with the pen, though it didn’t sound like the call had actually finished.
‘I didn’t mean to interrupt,’ I said, as he turned and got up. I blushed like my nan whenever my mum caught her at the brandy. ‘I
just wanted to return your shirt.’ I handed it to him. ‘Thank you, again, for lending it to me.’
‘You didn’t interrupt,’ he insisted, placing it on his desk. ‘And that was my pleasure.’
There followed a silence between us. He was looking at me and I was looking at the floor.
‘Is there anything else?’
‘No.’ I met his gaze.
‘No more guesses?’
‘Not this second.’
‘There is something else.’ He leant back against his desk, so that we were eyelevel, and rested his hands either side of himself. ‘Come on.’ He motioned.
I moseyed in. ‘I’d like to see that thing you do with your pen there,’ I said quickly, trying to disguise the rapidity of my heartbeat. ‘I’ve seen you do it before and– well, it fascinates me.’
Humour tugged at the corner of his mouth as he walked my way, and passing me, he closed the door. I took this as a sign he was about to show me. So I casually plonked myself on his desk.
‘I saw you playing with this.’ I picked up the pen. It was rather heavy after all. ‘Can you show me?’
He took the pen, his fingers brushing mine ever so slightly. Excitement rolled down my spine in a tingle, but so fast, it almost made me shudder, like that notion of someone walking on your grave. I was soon spiritually somewhere else, as he began spinning the pen in a new motion, quite slowly, though with the same gracefulness as before.
‘Where did you learn to do that?’
‘I taught myself. Do you want to try?’ He caught the pen still and pointed it at me.
‘I doubt I could even make it spin once.’
With that, he placed the pen on the desk and came to stand before me. He took my good hand all of sudden in both of his. I gulped, and to my embarrassment he noticed. His eyes seemed a little boastful.
‘It’s all about practice,’ he said, examining my fingers. ‘Now, keep your hand bent like this.’ He positioned my hand and cupped my wrist with his. ‘And keep your thumb out like that. Right, you’ve got one job here!’ he taunted with wide eyes. ‘All you have to do is keep that position.’
Halton Cray (Shadows of the World Book 1) Page 14
