Once Again Assembled Here

by Sean O'Brien

  ‘What? You think I’m in this get-up for nothing?’

  I could simply have given in. She was as desirable as always. But I felt stubborn.

  ‘I’m in mourning for a friend, let’s not forget.’

  ‘Are you now? That’s very proper and commendable. Then what you need is a good fuck. Or at any rate I do.’ Her tone was acid. Softening a little, she went on: ‘Even Carson himself wasn’t always utterly averse to pleasure, I understand.’

  ‘What on earth does that mean?’

  ‘Nothing. Nothing. Come with me.’ She took my hand and led me out of the room and along the passageway to the door of the flat. She opened it and we went out on to the dark landing. ‘Here. I want to do it here.’

  It was late now and I was rather drunk myself, which must be why I decided to chance it. ‘This is too much of a risk, for both of us,’ I said. ‘Isn’t it?’

  ‘Undeniably,’ said Maggie. She had put on one of my shirts and was looking through my record collection.

  ‘I may have a lot more work now,’ I said. ‘In the short term, at any rate. I won’t have much time to spare.’

  ‘I imagine so. You make me sound like a hobby.’

  Isn’t that what I am? I almost said it. I waited for her to turn round, but she carried on looking through the box of records. ‘What about the new chap?’ Gammon had acquired someone to fill in for the rest of term and then until Easter, while I took on Carson’s role. Gammon was by no means happy with this arrangement, but it was all that was practically possible at short notice.

  ‘I haven’t met him yet.’

  ‘You must face the burden of command,’ she said, smiling as at last she turned to face me. She was beautiful, I thought, but she was not a woman who should be here with me doing this. Her life ought to be elsewhere. It would be better for her to end our involvement now. There was her husband. But mainly there was me and my vanishing future. She would understand. She knew the score.

  ‘“Command” sounds a bit strong,’ I replied.

  She shrugged and took a drink. ‘Try it. You might enjoy it. It might be making of you, as the sainted Captain would say.’

  ‘Maggie, in view of what’s happened I think we need to call it a day.’

  ‘Do you now?’

  ‘Well, you say yourself it’s too risky.’

  ‘I do. It is. But now I don’t think that matters.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Maggie, but I can’t agree.’

  ‘For God’s sake, Stephen. Relax. You sound like a bloody committee.’

  ‘I’m just trying to be sensible for once. Before I make a complete mess of things again.’

  ‘Well, don’t strain yourself, Stephen. And it’s a bit late for second thoughts. The deed is done.’

  ‘I’m serious, Maggie.’

  ‘And I don’t want to stop now. As I hoped I’d just made clear.’

  ‘Well, I’m sorry. Really. It’s great, being with you. But this will be for the best. You can see that. It’s not that I’m not fond of you. If things were different, then, yes, why not?’ Was I really saying this drivel? ‘But the situation’s clear to both of us.’

  ‘You’re “fond of me” are you? You’re not listening,’ she said. She came towards me. I made to embrace her and she slapped me across the face. I sat down in shock on the settee. She leaned down and struck me again. Her eyes were bright with fury. The third time I caught hold of her arm.

  ‘Maggie, stop this. It’s crazy!’

  ‘You’re not listening,’ she said. ‘I told you I don’t want to stop. I want to go on until I decide otherwise. I’m enjoying myself just as we are. So you just do as you’re fucking told until further notice.’ She climbed on top of me, straddling me, and took my chin in her hand. ‘Now you’re wondering whether you can afford to hit me. Whether you dare. Whether your conscience will permit it.’

  ‘I don’t want to hurt you, Maggie. I’ve no intention of hitting you.’ She slapped me again. It was as if she actually wanted me to strike her. Such a thing had never occurred to me.

  ‘Believe me, Stephen, it would make no difference if you did,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell you when we’ve finished. Anyway, darling, you don’t really want to stop. Think what you’d be missing.’ She made to kiss me and I turned my head away. She let herself relax against me and nuzzled my neck. Whatever I thought, my body was taking Maggie’s side of the argument. Her perfumed warmth was like a royal summons.

  ‘You see,’ she said. ‘That’s more like it.’

  ‘Maggie, it’s not possible. There’s no future in it. It won’t work.’

  ‘Nothing works, Stephen. That’s no reason to stop doing it. Don’t make me tell Gammon that you made advances to me. He’d like that.’

  ‘You’re crazy.’

  ‘Call it what you like. Anyway, stopping won’t bring Carson back, will it?’

  I woke early. The room still bore traces of Kensitas and Maggie’s perfume. This was enough to cause fresh arousal, but while I washed and shaved and sorted out my briefcase I wondered how I might extricate myself from this liaison as common sense and self-preservation dictated. I supposed desire would have to wear off first. Perhaps she would tire of me. For the time being I seemed to be her creature.

  At school that day she completely ignored me, as though I had rejected her instead of eventually doing her bidding.

  SIXTEEN

  Among my post the next morning was a note from Miss Ormond asking me to call in at the Philosophical Society library at my earliest convenience. I felt a pang of guilt. My subscription must be in need of renewal. I hadn’t been inside the place for months. Probably the funeral hadn’t been the proper place to mention it. Anyway, she’d seen that I was occupied.

  After school I walked into town, needing the fresh air despite the drizzle. I went first to the offices of Bundrick and Teale, in a discreet Georgian square at the centre of the legal district. This, I thought, was where the money lived.

  Mr Bundrick, like a small and pink and silvery rabbit, a prewar Old Blakean wearing the Old Blakeans’ vile green-and-maroon tie, received me in his office overlooking the dark square.

  ‘This was completely unexpected,’ I said.

  ‘Yes?’ said Mr Bundrick, taking off his glasses.

  ‘I had no idea.’

  ‘No, of course. Yet you are the executor, Mr Maxwell.’

  ‘Captain Carson asked me to agree to that role a little while ago. I signed a document which you sent me.’

  ‘Quite so. I have it here.’ He put the glasses back on and opened the file in front of him. I needed someone competent to talk to about my unfitness for the task and the inheritance, but Mr Bundrick would not be lending a sympathetic ear. He would not be lending anything. He would send in his account in due course. I had the feeling he knew something about me to my disadvantage. Everyone else seemed to.

  ‘The estate must now go to probate,’ he said. ‘Until that is settled there can be no transfer of property or funds, of course.’ He paused.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘And that might take some time.’

  ‘Believe me, Mr Bundrick, I am in no hurry to acquire anything.’ But I would say that, wouldn’t I? ‘I did not invite this role.’ He did not look up.

  ‘However, in order to proceed to probate, a valuation must be made.’

  ‘What is there that requires valuation?’

  ‘The house on Victoria Park and its contents. Books, mainly, it appears. Captain Carson, as you know, liked to think of himself as a scholar.’ Bundrick gave a little smile. There was the philistine Blakean touch. ‘As executor you may arrange for these matters to be dealt with. Or you may wish to instruct us to act in due course.’

  ‘I’ll deal with it.’ I waited.

  ‘Are there any questions, Mr Maxwell?’ Mr Bundrick looked up at last. I wondered if I’d slept with his daughter and forgotten. Probably not, if she looked like him.

  ‘No, it seems clear enough. I’ll get Samuel Feldberg in to
examine the library, and contact an estate agent.’

  ‘Feldberg’s. As you wish. For the house valuation, we would recommend this firm. We often have dealings.’ Bundrick placed a card on the blotter between us. I took it. Vlaminck Property Management. House Clearances. ‘No questions?’

  ‘Am I missing something?’

  ‘There is the other, ah, aspect of the estate.’

  ‘Sorry, but I’m not sure what you’re referring to.’ Bundrick could not imagine anyone failing to enquire about this.

  ‘There are savings and investments.’

  ‘Well, thank you.’ The struggle continued.

  ‘I have laid out the figures for you.’ He passed me a foolscap envelope and sat back. I placed it in my briefcase. He sat forward. Any kind of revenge would do me. ‘You may wish to examine them.’

  ‘I need hardly remind you that nothing can happen until the inquest is concluded,’ I said, stealing his line. He blinked.

  ‘If we can be of any further help.’ He took a set of keys from a drawer and passed them over. ‘You’ll need access, though nothing can be removed at present.’

  ‘I’ll let you know if I need you. Did you know Captain Carson?’

  ‘Our contacts were professional.’ Bundrick had successfully absented himself from his own body. ‘I was before his time at Blake’s.’

  Down in the hallway, observed by a curious office-girl, I examined the figures. Enough to live on. Plenty. Not enough to warrant murder, surely.

  Five minutes later I entered the premises of the Philosophical Society, a fine but smoke-darkened Victorian Gothic building hidden away behind the railway station. Navigating the broad curve of the stone staircase to the main floor by under-powered lamplight, I remembered almost with physical pain how good it had been to come here as a sixth former and simply get on with some work. There never seemed to be time now.

  The issue desk, partly masking the shadowy interior where scattered readers sat in islands of light, resembled a section of the bar at a gin-palace. It looked immutable, like a necessity in the world. Miss Ormond herself was manning the desk. She was an elegant dark-haired figure in her late forties. I had always found her combination of style and severity both intimidating and exciting. Summoning a junior colleague, apparently by telepathy, to take her place, she asked me to accompany her to the office. Tall stacks of books awaiting rebinding or repair covered a large table, beyond which lay the broad, lamp-lit calm of her desk and its pristine blotter. She directed me to a chair and closed the door.

  She watched while I wrote a cheque for my subscription. I knew the library was in difficulties, like all its kind, survivors of near-forgotten liberal enlightenment. I rose to go.

  ‘There is something else I need to discuss with you, Mr Maxwell.’ She had the faintest Scots accent.

  I tried to remember if I had any overdue books and prepared to throw myself on her improbable mercy. She read my mind.

  ‘It’s not your borrowings I am concerned with this evening,’ she said with a smile. ‘May I offer you a sherry?’ Baffled, I accepted. She indicated a chair and produced a bottle and glasses from a tall cupboard.

  ‘To Captain Carson,’ she said, raising her glass.

  ‘Of course. To Captain Carson.’ We drank. ‘Did you know him well? I’m sorry not to have had chance to speak to you at the funeral.’

  ‘I could see you were occupied. Yes, I did know James pretty well. And he was a very regular user of the library, a greatly valued committee member at one stage.’

  ‘I’ve been struck by the affection with which so many people seem to have regarded him. As you may know, he was my teacher, my mentor. It was Captain Carson who brought me back to Blake’s.’

  She nodded and silence fell. Now I saw no way of proceeding. At last Miss Ormond put down her glass.

  ‘James – Captain Carson – asked me to look after something for him, a package. This was a few months ago. He asked me to keep it in the safe here.’ She indicated the small steel door set into the wall behind her. ‘There were two items, a letter addressed to me, and another, more substantial envelope without an addressee.’ She paused. ‘I was only to open the letter in the event of his death. That seemed a little melodramatic, which was unlike him. But he said he felt as though his time was limited. Naturally I wondered if he was ill, though he seemed fit enough. But James was not a man one could simply ask about such matters. He would tell you what he wanted you to know. However – well, we know what happened, unfortunately, so I opened the letter intended for me. In it he instructed me to give you the unaddressed package.’ She rose, opened the safe and took out a large manila envelope. She placed it on the table between us. ‘So I think I have performed my duty, Stephen.’

  ‘Thank you for letting me know about this.’

  ‘You seem shocked, Stephen,’ she said.

  ‘May I confide in you?’

  ‘If you wish.’

  ‘Not long before his death Captain Carson asked me to be his executor. At his death I found that I was the inheritor of his estate. The policeman who investigated the Captain’s death clearly feels I am a suspicious character.’

  ‘That would be the delightful Inspector Smales?’

  ‘Indeed. And now you pass on to me a communication of some kind, which for some reason the Captain felt it would be best to lodge here privately in case he died. So, yes, Miss Ormond, I am a bit shocked. Stunned. I wasn’t expecting anything. Least of all the death. Everything else seems nonsensical, somehow.’ Neither of us was sure how to go on from here. Eventually, I said, ‘I had no idea that anyone could lodge material here for collection.’ I felt obscurely as if I were somehow on trial.

  ‘No, indeed,’ said Miss Ormond. ‘Well, strictly speaking, they can’t now, not officially. It used to be relatively commonplace, of course, in the war, when people’s addresses changed. We – the library – stayed open throughout, although some of the Board wanted to move the stock to York, from which bourn I daresay it would never have returned once our colleagues up there had laid hands on it. Librarians can be covetous, I find. We have a deep basement, quite adequate to our needs.’

  Was Miss Ormond herself actually nervous? Her appearance betrayed nothing, though her gaze returned several times to the envelope. I put out a hand and picked it up. As she had said, it had no markings. I placed it in my briefcase and wondered what to do next.

  ‘This is a bit odd, Miss Ormond.’ I waited. She considered me a little longer.

  ‘Another sherry?’

  ‘By all means.’ I sat back.

  ‘James and I worked together at the end of the war,’ she at last went on. ‘I was a translator with the Intelligence Corps in Germany. It’s all a long time ago.’

  ‘Somehow at Blake’s it doesn’t seem like that.’

  ‘No, well, there are a great many memories about the place, aren’t there? To some people the war seems to have been the only thing that ever really happened. I admit I feel that way myself from time to time.’ She paused, then went on. ‘I think our shared wartime experience is the particular reason he entrusted the material to me, although of course I have no way of knowing what it consists of.’

  ‘But you think this package is in some way connected to those days?’

  ‘As I say, I have no way of knowing. And I would not enquire. But I can think of no other reason why he made such a secret of it.’

  ‘What did he do? I know he was in Germany. What did you do?’

  ‘I can’t talk about that. I’m sure you understand. You should know,’ she said, hurrying a little, as if I might interrupt or persist, ‘that he thought very highly of you, Stephen. At one time he remarked that you were like a son he never had.’

  No, I thought. Don’t say that.

  ‘That would be a great deal to try to live up to,’ I said.

  ‘But perhaps you will try?’

  ‘I promise to do my best.’

  ‘I said I can’t talk about our wartime work, and I won’t cha
nge my mind about that. But something happened to James in Germany. He was changed, somehow, never quite the same. A little distant in comparison with before.’

  ‘Did you quarrel?’

  ‘Goodness, no, nothing like that.’

  ‘Something he saw or came across, you think. The concentration camps.’

  ‘He saw Belsen, I know that. But this was a little later. The fighting was over and he was still himself, though clearly much troubled by what he had seen, and then one day he wasn’t quite the same.’

  ‘A delayed shock, perhaps?’

  ‘Possibly.’ But her tone showed she thought otherwise.

  ‘And you think this material might be connected.’

  ‘I couldn’t say, obviously. But perhaps. I’ve always wondered what it was that happened.’

  Miss Ormond took a couple of deep breaths and then sat back as if her role was complete. I fished the envelope out of my briefcase again and stared at its blank manila face. But Miss Ormond hadn’t finished.

  ‘I should tell you that someone came in and was asking about James this afternoon. About any effects he might have left here.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘I’m afraid I didn’t like him. He was official. Once you’ve met them you can spot them. He tried to browbeat one of the girls on the desk. She called me and I explained that we were unable to offer him assistance since he was not a member.’

  ‘You make it sound a bit sinister.’ She nodded. ‘What was he called?’ She took a cigarette from an open packet on the desk. I lit it and one of my own for myself.

  ‘He said his name was Hamer. I saw him and that military-looking gentleman speaking to you at the funeral.’

  ‘Oh, him and the Colonel.’ I should have guessed. ‘He was asking me about things that Carson had written, as it happens. Clearly he wasn’t there as a mourner.’ There was a pause, into which we both looked.

  ‘People like us aren’t murdered, are they, Mr Maxwell?’ she said. ‘Not as a general rule.’

  ‘I hope not. Why?’

  ‘And James’s death was a terrible accident.’

  I considered how much I could tell her, and decided on caution for the moment. ‘That seems to be the conclusion. As far as I know, there’s no evidence to the contrary. People, colleagues, boys, everyone respected Captain Carson. You saw the turnout for the funeral. He was fair-minded. He was generous with his time and his help – I can testify to that. The boys thought a lot of him, though by and large they wouldn’t say so, of course. Why would anyone wish him harm?’