The front page carried a photograph of Mallory Heights topped by scarlet question marks, and the main headings read: ‘CAUSE FOR ALARM – PARADISE OR WHITED SEPULCHRE???’ At either side of the picture John Forest’s article was divided by sub-headings, also in scarlet. ‘Borough Engineer’s story’ – ‘The hints of a dead man’ – ‘What the wind tunnel may have shown’ – ‘The Tower of Ivory??’ Once again Forest had proved his value to the Globe’s shareholders. He had made not a single statement that could lead to a libel action, but he had cast enough doubts to guarantee the alarm that had been headlined.
‘What’s going to become of us?’ Hilda leaned over her husband’s shoulder. ‘I know this house has been condemned and we’ll have to move to the Heights because there’s nowhere else where we can go. I also know that you’ll say this is just a scare stunt to sell the paper.’ A tear trickled down her cheek and fell on to his plate.
‘I hope you’re right, lad. I pray to God you’re right. But oh, Jack – I’m so frightened.’
3
‘Miss Fane, we have only a few moments, so please listen to me very carefully.’ ‘Sentry Box’, Northmoorland Television’s weekly news programme, was almost due to begin, and Michael Mallory’s face was grave.
‘A great deal of damage has been done already, and you must – really must help us to put it right.’ They were sitting round a table curved in the shape of a horseshoe: Paul and Janet at one arm, Pinter and Colonel Wade facing them, and at the centre, beneath an enormous photograph of Mallory Heights, Mr Basil Sentrie, the compère, was chatting to John Forest.
‘You must take back what you said, my dear.’ Mallory had left his seat when Janet entered the studio and hurried over to her. ‘It is obvious that what you saw in the wind tunnel was nothing but an optical illusion, though I have no doubt that it appeared real enough to you. Unless you retract that statement you made to Forest, believe me, a most serious situation may arise.’
‘But I did see it, Alderman.’ Janet nodded miserably. At a small table between theirs and the audience sat two women. One was black and the other white and, though Janet did not know they were Molly Virgil and Hilda Baxter, Mallory had told her they had been brought to express the views of the future tenants of the Heights. They both looked nervous and unhappy. ‘I saw that vibration quite clearly.’
‘Please, Miss Fane.’ Mallory was leaning forward and he spoke very quietly so that he could not be overheard. ‘You have my word that independent technicians are already checking the plans in case there is the slightest chance of an error. Any defect they find can be remedied, but if you refuse to cooperate with me tonight, the Globe will demand a Ministerial inquiry and it could be months before the building is occupied.
‘There is more to it than large numbers of families continuing to live in squalor, now, Miss Fane.’ His eyes flicked up at the wall clock hurrying on towards the hour. ‘The Chief Constable gave me certain facts this afternoon and they are very disturbing. In this city there appear to be at least five racialist groups, both coloured and white, who are just waiting for the opportunity to come out into the open and start violence. If you do not collaborate, a closure of the Heights could give them an excuse, and that fanatic, Judson, will have his bloodbath.’
‘Will you please return to your seat, Alderman Mallory, we are about to start?’ A light was flashing, a buzzer had sounded and Mr Sentrie took a sip of water and produced his professional air of authority.
‘Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Many of you read the Daily Globe and all of you will have heard of this building.’ A camera moved forward to give a close-up of the photograph. ‘Mallory Heights: one of the tallest structures in the British Isles and possibly the most spectacular in design and conception. The proudest edifice of the city of Randelwyck and the hope for a better understanding between her citizens. But last Monday the Daily Globe published a most disturbing story on its front page and that is what “Sentry Box” will consider tonight. What is Mallory Heights: a potential paradise or a possible death-trap?’
Basil Sentrie was a skilled performer and the programme was quick and lively. Janet could see that the majority of the audience were enjoying themselves, though many looked worried, and at the end of the top row sat a man who disturbed her slightly, because he had eyed her from the moment she sat down: a middle-aged, medium-built man in a quiet tweed suit. He looked completely inoffensive and nondescript, but his eyes never left her face, and now and again he nodded as though they were accomplices sharing some private information.
‘Thank you, Colonel Wade. There is no doubt that you have every faith in the structure you helped to create.’ Sentrie first disposed of the defence. Following Wade, two earlier interviews recorded in London were shown during which Brian Carlin, the project’s consulting engineer, and Lord Rogerely, an independent expert, praised the Heights and poured scorn on its critics.
Then had come the other local defenders. Michael Mallory very quiet and slow-speaking, as if personally saddened by Forest’s article; Joe Pinter loud and clearly angry, with his face brick-red either from the heat of the lights or high blood pressure; Paul Gordon.
‘That is correct,’ Paul had replied to the first question. ‘During the banquet I did believe that Professor Lansberg was sincere when he hinted that the building might have a possible flaw, though he did not give me any reason for his anxieties. But after hearing that he was employed by the East German government, I realized I was wrong to pay any attention to him.’ Janet saw Colonel Wade give Paul an approving nod, while beyond Wade the man on the bench still watched her as if her face was a lodestone.
‘No, Mr Sentrie, though Miss Fane and I are close friends, I think she must be mistaken and merely imagined that the model moved.’
After Paul came the people with the real reason for worry: Hilda Baxter and Molly Virgil. Sentrie was very gentle and brief with them, but both women told the same story of unreasoned anxiety fanned into terror by Forest’s article. While she listened Janet’s misery became stronger and stronger, till it felt as if guilt has been physically grafted on to her brain. However pleasant and spacious those women’s flats might be, because of her, they would never be homes, but places of anguish.
‘Now, let’s hear what the opposition has to say for itself.’ Sentrie had turned to Forest, who was smiling at the audience and the cameras. A smile full of love and compassion and charity: the patient, suffering smile of a man whose only wish is to serve his fellows. ‘In view of what has been said, do you have any doubts about the morality of writing as you did?’
‘Not a single doubt, sir.’ The big face slowly swung towards the photograph behind Sentrie. ‘Professor Lansberg may have been a propagandist, but he was also a highly respected scientist and we should not dismiss anything he said with impunity, Mr Sentrie.’ Forest spoke with complete confidence. ‘In the near future a great many human beings may take up residence in that building and it was my duty to put the facts before them. If there is the slightest chance – a million to one chance – that a structural weakness exists, my board of directors will press for a full-scale governmental inquiry.’
What have I done? Janet thought in her misery. That was the very thing Mallory dreaded. He was staring at her as fixedly as did the anonymous man in the audience, and Joe Pinter’s face was even redder and more angry. All the same, she had only told the truth. Those vibrations had taken place, she had seen them as clearly as she could see Forest’s smile – the same appealing smile as he had worn when he called at her flat and requested an interview.
‘Only one of two things will make me retract my statement or persuade my employers to withdraw their demand for an inquiry, my friends.’ Forest was leaning forward and looking straight at the audience. ‘Let Miss Fane tell us that she may have been mistaken in what she saw, or let Sir George Strand, the designer of the building, offer a satisfactory explanation as to why that model moved. Till then Mallory Heights must be regarded with suspicion
.’
‘We all know that Sir George is a sick man who cannot make any statement at the moment, Mr Forest.’ Sentrie was watching the clock out of the corner of his eye. ‘We will now take a two-minute break and then I shall ask Miss Fane the question on which most of Mr Forest’s case appears to hang.’ The lights dimmed, there was an easing of chairs and benches, and a buzz of conversation. Only the man in the grey suit did not move a muscle.
‘Janet, though you may think I’m a turncoat, please tell them that there’s a chance you were mistaken.’ Paul’s hand was on hers. ‘If there is an error in the design we’ll sort it out ourselves. But Mallory and the others are right: an official inquiry can do nothing but harm. At least admit that there is an element of doubt in your mind. That what you saw might have been an illusion.’
‘Let me think, Paul. Please let me try to remember – to recall what I really did see.’ The minute hand of the clock was racing against her thoughts. Paul was right, Mallory was right, all of them were right. The delay of an inquiry could easily lead to bloodshed, and she had a minute and a half to decide on her statement.
A minute and a quarter – one minute. If she stuck to her story, most people might deride her, but many would believe it to be true. Those two women at the separate table most certainly would. She looked at Hilda and Molly and then back at the clock again.
Three-quarters of a minute – half a minute. The room had been hot, she was very very tired, Paul had planted doubts in her mind, she must have been mistaken.
Fifteen seconds – ten seconds. But it had been so clear, so real, so completely definite. Five seconds – three seconds – no time at all. The buzzer had sounded, the lamps were on and Basil Sentrie was facing the camera and reopening the programme.
‘So, it depends on you, Miss Fane, and I want you to think very carefully before you give me an answer. Are you completely convinced that your statement to Mr Forest was correct in every detail? – Excuse me please.’ Janet had still not decided what to say, but she was given a breathing space. A light was flashing before Sentrie and he frowned and snatched up a telephone.
‘What is it? Oh, I see. Yes, of course put him through.’ His frown had changed to a look of eager excitement. ‘You were able to listen to the programme, sir? No, I have no objection to your speaking to Miss Fane, but I must inform you that the conversation will be recorded on tape.’ The phone had a long lead and one of Sentrie’s assistants hurried forward and passed it across to Janet.
‘Miss Fane, this is George Strand.’ She could hardly have been more surprised to hear the familiar voice.
‘After I have rung off, you are going to have to answer a simple question, and this is what you’re to say.’ Strand might be very ill, but he had lost none of his authority.
‘Quite obviously Michael Mallory, that ignorant boor Joe Pinter, and your young man, will have tried to persuade you to change your statement, but not one of them is worth a tinker’s cuss. I do count for something, however, so you had better take this advice and act on it.’
That was it, then. Even Strand had crawled out of his sick bed to make her defend his precious building, and Janet decided then and there that she wouldn’t alter a word of her statement to Forest. She was about to slam down the instrument to show what she thought of him, but Strand’s next words held her arm rigid.
‘Stick to the truth and don’t be bullied by anyone except me. I’m on your side, young woman, and to hell with the rest of ’em.’ The line crackled with his throaty laugh. ‘You saw the model move all right and nobody knows that better than I do.’
4
‘We’re all here now except Sir George.’ Colonel Wade stood between Paul and Janet and looked with distaste at John Forest, who had just lumbered into the room containing Pinter’s wind tunnel. Also present were Pinter himself, Michael Mallory and a mechanic named Turner, who had been summoned from the manufacturers’ head office on Strand’s instructions. Pinter had reluctantly given him a free hand, and at the moment he was working on the tunnel control box with a screw-driver, a pair of pliers, and an ammeter.
‘I suppose neither you nor Miss Fane have an inkling what he’s up to?’
‘No, sir.’ Paul answered for both of them. ‘We had phone calls from Lady Strand asking us to meet him here at six o’clock sharp, but she didn’t give any reason.’
‘Same with me. She almost banged the phone down when I asked what it was all about.’ Pinter was watching Turner with some resentment. ‘And don’t ask me what that chap’s doing, because your guess is as good as mine. All he’ll say is that he’s had his instructions from Strand and is carrying them out. The old boy must be round the bend if he thinks he can pass things off by saying the tunnel was at fault. It was working perfectly before and after you had that hallucination, Janet.’
‘It was not a hallucination, Joe.’ Janet shook her head wearily. Twenty hours had passed since she had lifted the telephone in the studio and they seemed like a nightmare. The line going dead, Basil Sentrie’s eyebrows raised in query and then her own voice, strong with the confidence that Strand had given her. ‘I retract nothing, Mr Sentrie. I did see the model move and that is the truth.’ There had been a shocked silence at first, then one of the women at the small table had given a tiny whimper, the man who had kept staring at her had nodded approvingly again, and Forest’s voice had rolled around the room. ‘Thank you, Miss Fane. I rather think that concludes my case, Mr Sentrie.’
But it was after leaving the studio that the real agony had started. She and Paul had gone for a drink, but the landlord who had seen the programme had refused to serve them, and a woman had screamed abuse while they left the bar. ‘Get out, you bitch! Bloody trouble-makers, frightening folk to get publicity!’ The telephone had been ringing when they reached her flat and it had gone on ringing till she told the operator to disconnect the line. All the calls had been anonymous and all abusive, except one from a follower of Martin Judson who appeared to think she was a fellow-racialist who had told a noble lie to discredit Mallory’s project. In the morning she had been shocked to see her own face on the Globe beneath headlines, ‘A WOMAN WITH THE COURAGE TO SPEAK THE TRUTH’, and though her colleagues at the office did not actually cut her, they made their feelings very clear. She was a pariah who had betrayed them all rather than admit to a hallucination. Sentrie had not revealed the source or content of that phone call and only Pinter and the others present knew that it was Strand who had prompted what she said.
‘No point in arguing about that now, because the damage is done.’ As usual Michael Mallory spoke gently, but he looked angry and defeated. ‘Though he may have recovered physically, that second stroke has obviously affected George Strand up here.’ He tapped his forehead and then turned to the mechanic, who had finished his work and was replacing the control panel.
‘I presume you’ve found nothing wrong with the mechanism, Mr Turner.’
‘I’ve done what I was asked to do, sir; no more, no less.’ The man did not look up from his task. ‘Sir George said he’d do the explaining.’
‘That fits. Secrecy is often a sign of mental disturbance, so I’ve heard.’ Mallory lit a cigarette and stood watching the smoke drift to the ceiling and disperse like his plans and dreams. Whether or not the government decided to hold an inquiry, a miracle would be needed to persuade any tenants to move into the Heights now.
‘I’m to blame in a way. At first George never wanted to have anything to do with the scheme. He told me that the whole conception of such a building was in opposition to all his beliefs: laissez-faire, complete free enterprise, government by a virile elite, and the weakest can go to the wall. George Strand is an anachronism in everything outside his profession.
‘Then, some days later, he said he would accept the contract, if given a completely free hand with both the architectural design and the civil engineering details. An unorthodox arrangement which relegated Brian Carlin to the role of adviser, but in view of George’s qualifi
cations and reputation, also because he was a local man, we went along with him.’ Mallory shrugged his shoulders despondently. ‘Far too much work and responsibility for a man of his age, and he couldn’t take it. His telling Miss Fane to confirm her statement proves that the Heights really has a flaw or his mind’s run down completely. Such a tragedy for the city; so sad for George, himself. He was very proud of his design.’
‘Naturally I’m proud, Michael. That building happens to be the best piece of work I have ever done.’ Sir George Strand hobbled into the room leaning on his wife’s arm. Though he moved slowly and painfully, there was an immense power and self-confidence in his lined face and heavy body. The woman helping him was very young and slightly built, and she looked crushed by his weight: a frail crutch to support a giant.
‘My apologies for keeping you all waiting. My dear wife insisted that the doctor gave me a check-up before I left the house. She thought I was dying the other day, but it takes a sharp axe to fell an old oak, and I’m well enough.
‘Thanks, Michael.’ Mallory had pulled over a chair and he lowered himself into it. ‘By the way, let me congratulate you on your diction. Though you speak quietly, your voice is most penetrating.’ His face crinkled and he held up his left hand to show that the fingers were clenched and immovable.
‘Aye, you’re right in believing that the Heights was ruddy hard work, and a couple of strokes have left their mark. But there’s nothing wrong with my mind, ladies and gentlemen.’ Strand’s smile passed from one to another of the group and then halted at Janet.
‘Good girl. You stuck to your guns like a game ’un, and did what I told you, Miss Fane. I like people who won’t be bullied by fools and cowards and I’m pleased with you, lass.’ Janet felt strangely naked before his smiling eyes, and at his side Lady Strand stood watching him with obvious awe and adoration.
Blow the House Down Page 5
