Some time later, Jim and Eileen showered and changed, then went down to have their evening meal, but, because the guest house had no licence to sell alcohol, they went out afterwards to a pub for a couple of drinks, before returning to the guest house for an early night. Well, it was still early when they both got into bed…
Eventually they went to sleep, but, around two o’clock in the morning, Jim’s mobile phone started ringing. He reached out for it wearily, switched it on and said, ‘Hello.’
‘Are you listening?’ he heard a female voice say.
‘Yes, I’m listening,’ he replied.
‘This is very important,’ said the voice, which sounded exactly like Jacqueline’s. ‘I did not call the police.’
‘What do you mean?’ he asked.
‘I did not call the police,’ the voice repeated. ‘It was your family that called the police.’
‘Whatever are you talking about?’ asked Jim. ‘Jacqueline, is that Jacqueline?’ But there was no answer; the caller had rung off.
‘Who are you talking to?’ asked a sleepy Eileen.
‘I don’t know,’ replied Jim, ‘but it sounded like Jacqueline. But I don’t think it could have been her.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because of what she said.’
‘So what did she say?’
‘She said she had not called the police. It was my family that had called the police.’
‘What did she mean?’
‘I have no idea!’
‘Did you ask her to explain?’
‘Yes, I did, but she just rang off.’
But Eileen, satisfied that Jacqueline’s call had not been prompted by the fact that she had learned of her husband’s infidelity, had already gone to sleep again. Jim tried to follow suit, but less successfully, for his mind was seriously troubled by the call he had received, whoever it was from, and it was an hour later that he was able to drop off once more.
The following morning he and Eileen talked about it again over breakfast. ‘If that call really was meant for you,’ she asked, ‘is there any reason why you should be worried about somebody reporting you to the police?’
‘No, not at all. I’ve not done anything illegal as far as I’m aware!’
‘You were very naughty last night!’ Eileen said skittishly.
‘I know, and so were you! But we didn’t do anything the police would be interested in!’
‘Then stop worrying about it! It obviously wasn’t Jacqueline, and it must have been a wrong number! What number was it from, have you looked?’
‘Yes, I have looked, but the number was withheld. But what if Jacqueline has found out about us?’
‘If she has found out about us, she wouldn’t have called the police! In any case, if she does know, then Ted will soon know as well, and I will probably get a call from him too!’
‘And so will I! So if we don’t hear anything from Ted in the next couple of hours, say, we should be in the clear!’
But three hours later, neither of them had received a call from anyone, be it Ted, Jacqueline, or the police, so they both came to the conclusion that nothing more would come of it, and they had nothing to worry about.
Back in Nottingham, Jacqueline too was thinking about the phone call she had made. Prompted by Ted’s having told her that he had reported his father to the police, her desire had been merely to worry her husband and to disturb him, in which, of course, she had been successful. To a certain extent she was concerned that she had perhaps not been specific enough in her challenge, but in truth she was in possession of very few of the facts of the case, so it would have been impossible to be much more specific. On the other hand she also wondered whether she had been wise to make the call herself; she had, of course, taken a conscious decision to make it a cryptic message, precisely because her object was to make her errant husband anxious. So now she took another conscious decision: not to say anything to Ted about the phone call she had made, basically because she was rather embarrassed about it.
As she was busying herself with preparing lunch, however, the kitchen door opened, and her stepson Ted appeared. ‘I was wondering if you’d got the lunchtime news on TV?’ he asked.
‘No, I haven’t,’ she answered. ‘Why?’
‘Because they’ve just shown a clip from the Labour Party Conference, and there, in the audience, I saw Dad, sitting next to Eileen!’
‘That doesn’t prove anything!’ she said. ‘We knew they were going to the conference together, and it’s not really surprising that they should sit together, is it?’
‘I suppose it isn’t. But I don’t like them being there at all.’
‘But that’s a different matter entirely! The BBC are hardly likely to put pictures of them in bed together on TV, are they? And it would need something like that to prove that your suspicions are correct!’
‘I suppose you’re right. Perhaps I’m just being neurotic…’
‘There’s no crime in that. But if they have been getting up to what you suspect, at least you’ve found out in time what she’s like. It’s about ten years too late for me to find out about him though!’
‘That’s true, I’m afraid. I’m sorry, Mum!’
‘And what about you and Eileen? Are you really going to give her up then?’
‘My instinct tells me I should! What about you and Dad?’
‘My instinct tells me I should too, but common sense tells me to grow up!’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Given that there are two alternatives, I mean that I need to calculate which alternative would lead to the larger profit, or the larger loss. And I think I might have more to lose by ditching your dad!’
‘But look what he’s done to you!’
‘Exactly! Let’s just look at what he’s done to me. He’s taken a fancy to a young girl, and he gave in. He was discreet, he didn’t throw it in my face, and in a few days’ time he’ll be coming home to me. And if I say nothing, the chances are that he’ll say nothing too, and if there’s no bad blood, where’s the harm?’
‘But what if he enjoyed the experience so much he goes off with someone else and does it again?’
‘Then I will have learnt another lesson! But I’ll be on firmer ground, because I shall know that I’ve forgiven him once.’
‘I don’t think I could do that.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because making love is an intimate, sacred thing.’
‘Intimate yes, sacred no, I would say. I’m going to ask you a very intimate question, Ted, a question I have no right to ask…’
‘I know what your question is, and the answer is no!’
‘And you have never wanted to?’
‘Oh yes, of course I have, but I believe it should only take place in the context of a marriage.’
‘Does she believe that too?’
‘Obviously not!’
‘And how do you know that you’re right and she’s wrong?’
‘An awful lot of people believe that too…’
‘An awful lot of people believe in capital punishment. Does that mean you do?’
‘No, of course not!’
‘Why not?’
‘Because capital punishment is barbaric!’
‘That means that an awful lot of people are barbaric! If you believe in following the crowd, you’d believe in capital punishment!’
‘I don’t believe in following the crowd.’
‘But in sexual matters you do…’
‘No, I don’t! It would be too easy to give in to…’
‘To the flesh, you mean?’
‘Yes.’
‘But a lot of people would say that’s only human. Do you want a wife that’s not human?’
‘Oh, of course not, you’re tying me up in knots!’
‘I’m sorry, I wasn’t intending to, I was just trying to help you see the path ahead more clearly. Let’s retrace our steps a bit. You said that you’ve wanted to have sex with Eileen, but you’ve stopped yourself
. Is that right?’
‘Yes.’
‘And has Eileen ever wanted to have sex with you?’
‘Yes.’
‘And she’s stopped herself too?’
‘Not exactly.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘I’ve stopped her.’
‘What!’
‘I’ve stopped her. It’s a moral thing.’
‘So when it comes to moral things, it’s your word that counts, is it? Is that fair? How do you think that must make her feel?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Well, I think you should think things through properly before you make a life-changing decision, don’t you?’
‘I suppose that makes sense, yes.’
‘So think things over properly…’
‘Okay, Mum.’
So Ted went and thought things over, and so did Jacqueline, because in her questioning of her stepson she had also been questioning herself, and the ultimate outcome was that Ted married Eileen and that Jacqueline stayed with Jim. It would be ridiculous to suggest that they all lived happily after, because that rarely happens in real life, but they each at least achieved relative happiness and contentment, and, for the rest of his life, Jim only occasionally wondered about the mysterious phone call that had come at dead of night, and whether the police would come knocking on his door in the morning.
‘Well, well,’ said Margaret as soon as she had finished reading David’s story, ‘that’s a raunchy one, and no mistake! And it looks as if you’re a convert to the idea of free love!’
‘No, I’m not! I could have just as easily taken the puritan way out, but I chose to have them follow the path of pragmatism.’
‘Why?’
‘Because fewer people get hurt that way!’
‘But it’s only fiction, isn’t it? What does it matter if a few people get hurt?’
‘When I’ve created a set of characters, they’re real people to me, and on the whole I try not to make them suffer. It’s impossible to do that all the time obviously, but they do matter to me. And in any case, an author isn’t obliged to agree with everything his characters say, or approve of everything they say.’
‘I know that – you’ve told me that often enough before! So do you really believe that errant other halves should be allowed to get away with it?’
‘I believe the same answer applies! And in any case, Ted and Eileen knew very well what they were doing, and if they really felt guilty about it, their continued guilt will be their eternal punishment! After all, that’s what guilt does…’
Chapter Eight
The next Monday morning, David and Margaret sat having breakfast together.
‘I’m not going to ask you my usual Monday morning question…’ said Margaret.
‘Oh, what’s that then?’
‘You should know already! I usually ask you what your plans are for your next chapter.’
‘So why aren’t you going to ask me today?’
‘Because I’m fed up with getting the same answer.’
‘Which is?’
‘You usually say that you’ve got no idea!’
‘Well, for once I do have! The only thing is, it’s something that’s been in my mind since the very start, and I’ve been putting it off and putting it off until I’m absolutely terrified of making a start!’
‘Well, you’d better tell me what it’s about then!’
‘Well, I reckon I have two chapters still to write. The last one, of course, will be the answer to the whole riddle, and as yet I don’t have a clue about that! The other one, which I’ve been putting off is something I’m not very keen on writing about, in fact I’m not very keen about even thinking about it!’
‘So what is it?’
‘I don’t like to say…’
‘Oh, go on…’
‘It’s something very nasty, and it’s one of the very first ideas I came up with. It’s blackmail…’
‘That is a nasty subject, I agree. Have you chosen a particular blackmailer?’
‘I’ve invented one, and she’s a nasty piece of work too!’
‘I see, so there’s going to be another nasty woman is there? I’m beginning to suspect you’ve got something against women, you know!’
‘Well, her victims are usually male, and they sometimes come off worse off than she does.’
‘Okay, but it’s got to be good!’
‘I think it will be… I’ve been mulling it over in my mind for weeks and weeks!’
‘So you’d better get on with it then!’
‘That’s what you always say! Okay, I’m off…’
So David set himself to writing, and this is what he wrote:
Blackmail is an ugly word, and an even uglier phenomenon, which brings misery to its victims and dishonour to its perpetrator.
I have often wondered what blackness of mood is so sinister as to compel an individual to succumb to the temptation to commit so heinous a crime. Need, after all, can lead to theft, as when genuine hardship or poverty, or the inability to provide for one’s dependents, can persuade a person to feel such desperation that they cannot resist the temptation to resort to that particular crime. Jealousy too can cause such intense anger that it may ultimately lead to murder, compelling somebody to deprive someone else of their very being, whilst hopelessness, born of an inability to make one’s way in the world despite one’s very best efforts, can incite people to risk their lives in order to get to another country, or else harbour thoughts of revolution with all its bloody consequences. But what drives a blackmailer? Poverty, envy and despair seem inadequate motives; it seems to me that nothing less than a combination of several of the Seven Deadly Sins would be sufficient to drive someone to that particular degradation.
Blanche Delaney was a woman who, in everyone else’s mind, had everything: looks, riches, intellect, influence and power, but, it would appear, that was not enough. She was also a blackmailer, and a blackmailer of the most vicious kind, said the judge at her trial, before sentencing her to fourteen years’ imprisonment, the maximum sentence allowed by the law.
But she had not always been a blackmailer, although, in her early years, she was already showing little sign of caring what effect her words or deeds might have on those at whom they were directed; in short, she seemed totally devoid of conscience. In theory at least, it should not have been so, for her father was an Anglican priest and her mother was well known for her charitable work, both formally, in that she worked for one of the internationally known charitable organisations, and informally, in that she could always be relied upon to lend a hand wherever a hand was needed. Perhaps her parents made unreasonable demands of her, or maybe she herself did not feel sufficiently adequate to be able to cope with her parents’ – and everyone else’s – expectations. Who knows? Before her trial she was subjected to innumerable investigations and tests by psychiatrists, but, although theories and speculations as to her state of mind were many, true facts were few.
The first instance of her unwelcome intrusion into another individual’s private life was, in truth, fairly trivial, and it arose from boredom – or, in terms of the Seven Deadly Sins, sloth.
She was in her late twenties at the time, and had no regular boyfriend, although her suitors were many. One evening she had agreed to go out with one of them for dinner, to be followed by a visit to a nightclub, but he had pulled out at the last minute, leaving her with nothing to do that evening but eat alone in her apartment and speak to friends on the telephone. She had spoken to three of her friends already by nine o’clock, at which time she phoned a former school friend by the name of Clarissa.
‘Hello, Clarissa,’ said Blanche when her friend picked up the phone. ‘It’s Blanche speaking, and I’m feeling utterly fed up – nowhere to go to, and no one to go with!’
‘Oh,’ replied Clarissa, who was especially surprised because she had originally been supposed to be going out with Blanche that evening, but discovered only the p
revious evening that their planned evening out was cancelled because her friend had been invited out by ‘the most divine man’. ‘So what happened to your date?’ she continued.
‘He stood me up, the rat!’ said Blanche. ‘He phoned me at about four o’clock this afternoon to say that he couldn’t make it after all, and he didn’t even tell me a reason! I’m so unhappy!’
‘Who were you supposed to be going out with? Do I know him?’
‘I don’t know whether you know him or not. His name is Edward Playfair.’
‘Oh, him! I should steer clear of him if I were you! Playing fair is the last thing on his mind!’
‘Oh! Thanks for the warning. I can’t believe that he couldn’t be bothered to invent a reason!’
‘He probably didn’t want to, or didn’t dare to! The most likely reason would be that his wife had other plans for the evening…’
‘His wife! Is he married then?’
‘Oh yes, didn’t you know? He’s been married for years, but he still likes to play the field!’
Blanche, whose disposition was totally opposed to viewing herself as ‘one of the field’, felt extremely peeved. ‘No, I didn’t know he was married! What a cad he must be! If I’d known that, I certainly wouldn’t have agreed to go out with him!’
Clarissa smiled to herself, for she was well aware that Blanche had previously been out with any number of married men, and had even confessed to her that, as long as she had a good time, she couldn’t care less whether they were married or not. ‘I know. The moment you told me he was the most divine man, I thought of all the stories we were told when we were at Roedean about the Greek gods and the naughty things they used to get up to!’
‘Oh yes, not that we were ever told what they really got up to!’
‘No, of course, the mistresses left it up to our imagination!’
‘Yes, and our imaginations were so active that our version of the myths was highly exaggerated!’
The phone call lasted only another two or three minutes, for Blanche was feeling very angry, not just because Edward had stood her up, but also because she was convinced that her friend Clarissa was secretly laughing at her, whilst pretending to be sympathetic to her plight.
At Dead of Night Page 15
