Once Again Assembled Here

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Once Again Assembled Here Page 19

by Sean O'Brien


  ‘Hard at work?’ asked Hamer, appearing in the doorway.

  ‘As you see. The place has to keep ticking over.’

  ‘Of the making of many books there is no end. Or should that be “marking”?’

  ‘Can I help you, Mr Hamer?’

  ‘Well, I hope so, Maxwell. Let’s go for a walk, shall we? I need to talk to you.’

  I was going to plead work, but his look stopped me.

  The grounds were already sunk in murk when we set out. We went into the woods at the back of the science prefab, by what I thought of as the widdershins route, within sight of the fence and the houses of Fernbank Avenue beyond. Lights showed in a few of the porches. Hamer picked his way fastidiously along the gritty, rutted path, umbrella at half-rest. In the gloom he looked so pale as to be almost albino.

  ‘I love the old place,’ he said, gesturing widely with the umbrella. ‘It was the making of me.’

  ‘I suppose a lot of people would say the same.’

  There was a silence.

  ‘The thing is, Maxwell,’ he eventually said, ‘what you have to ask yourself, is whether this, here, Blake’s, is where it all begins or where it ends.’

  ‘Sounds a bit metaphysical.’

  ‘If you like. But in practical terms?’

  ‘I do know that I like my job.’

  ‘Of course you do. And it’s just as well.’

  ‘I don’t follow.’ I stopped.

  Hamer went on a few paces, then half-turned. ‘It was all a bit of a mess, frankly. Lucky to get out with a whole skin. You won’t be the last, I dare say. But whether you’ve learned anything? Hard to say.’

  I stopped walking. ‘What are you talking about, Hamer?’ He looked steadily at me now. ‘What has that to do with anything?’

  ‘Mrs Crane, wasn’t it? Wife of a don.’

  We stepped aside as a group of runners stumbled past, followed at an effortless lope by the black-clad, white-haired Matthews, before I spotted the perpetual Senior Service cupped in his hand.

  ‘Afternoon, gentlemen,’ he said as he passed. Hamer raised his umbrella.

  ‘So, Maxwell, you were saying.’

  ‘No, Mr Hamer, you were the one doing the saying.’

  He rested the tip of his umbrella on my shoulder for a moment, smiling his colourless smile, then walked on. We turned left and followed the wooded path that ran above the bank of the creek. The tide was high. Lorelei was leaving its mooring, Rackham stood on deck, but I couldn’t see who was in the cabin. Rackham glanced across indifferently as we passed. I nodded. Hamer raised his umbrella. The boat moved steadily away under the railway bridge and out of sight.

  ‘Sea fever, eh?’ said Hamer. ‘Are you a nautical type, Maxwell?’ he asked.

  ‘No. Please get to the point.’

  He nodded. ‘Not the kind of adventure that interests you, eh? You prefer a different sort of manly pursuits, I dare say. More of an indoor chap, eh?’

  A train crawled over the bridge. I wondered how long Hamer was going to keep this up.

  ‘She had a breakdown, I believe. Pills and gin. Such a pretty woman, and so young. Where is she now, d’you know? Of course not. Somewhere quiet and private in the rural depths. Lost the baby, of course, though Crane would have taken it on as his own. It was a tragic situation.’ He shook his head.

  ‘I’m well aware of that,’ I said. ‘I can’t see what business any of it is of yours.’

  ‘No, I understand you would feel that.’ He nodded, as if considering a reasonable proposition, then moved on. We entered the further woodland by the railway line. ‘And somehow you crawled more or less uninjured from the wreckage.’

  Stragglers approached, gasping but quickening their pace when they saw us. Some way behind us in the gloom old Matthews, having lapped them, had stopped and was barking encouragement. I could imagine him running on the spot as he did so, nursing his cigarette.

  ‘And Captain Carson took pity on you. Captain Carson could see something in you that no one else could see – not Mr Gammon, for example. Gammon was always blind to your virtues, even before your Cambridge performance. He thought you were a waster and a skirt chaser. Some would say he had a point. But you were Captain Carson’s protégé. Not the first – he was always a great encourager, always, since first he came here as a master. It was part of his gift, part of his nature. People, even dim, dry people like Gammon, deferred to his, shall we say, charismatic authority.’

  ‘He was a good man. He was kind.’

  ‘Yes? I wonder what he saw in you as time went on. When you were a boy your promise would have been obvious. So he encouraged it, steered you, shaped you – took you in hand, as they say. And off you went, exhibition in the bag, off to his old college and then off again, down the road to ruin and catastrophe and tears before and after and for all I know during bedtime. Kaput. Gone in the night with a Third, a wrong ’un, expunged, as far as possible, from the record.’

  I felt a sense of horror there in the wood. What Hamer said was true, but it was not his truth to tell.

  ‘Have you finished? I have work to do,’ I said.

  ‘Not yet. As I say, I wonder what redeeming element Carson thought he could detect in you after your disgrace. What could he see in his fallen boy that made him so protective? So determined to overcome your detractors. I mean, he must have been well aware of your record. Aware of your stupidity and lack of self-control, aware of the waste of promise. If you were such a reckless skirt-chaser, what else might you not be, given the right circumstances? Perhaps he believed he could convert you.’

  ‘I’m going to go back to the library now,’ I said.

  ‘No, you’re not, Maxwell. We will finish our walk. This is the only time you will be told. This is your only opportunity. Walk away now and you will be packing your bags – and that will only be the beginning of it. Gabbitas and Thring will be unable to save you, Maxwell. You will be lucky if Binns will take you on to sell school uniforms. No, you’ll be lucky if you’re left in charge of a Salvation Army khazi. I hope that’s clear. And apart from anything else, there is Blake’s to think of.’

  The path led briefly out to the edge of the trees before winding into the gloom again. Two mud-blackened, exhausted rugby teams clashed under a cloud of steam over a ten-yard stretch of the Spion Kop pitch. The air was blueish now, as if an army had been smoking heavily.

  ‘Play up Old House!’ shouted Hamer.

  I was obliged to respond. ‘Come on Flags!’

  A penalty was awarded. The opposition retreated to the try-line while the full back balanced the ball on the mud. The whistle blew. He ran up to take the kick. The ball hit the crossbar. Both teams jeered amiably and the referee called no-side. The players trailed dankly off to the pavilion, stooped like old men in the cold. We walked on, past the pavilion and once more into the trees.

  As I say, I love this place,’ said Hamer. ‘Do you remember Keyworth, used to be Head of Classics?’

  ‘Before my time. As I’m sure you know.’

  ‘Or McPhail, the chemist?’

  ‘Ditto.’

  ‘Hard bastards in a hard school. But we loved them and it.’

  ‘I can imagine.’

  ‘We knew where we were.’

  ‘Could anyone doubt it?’

  ‘You don’t play sport?’ asked Hamer.

  ‘Not nowadays. I prefer a book.’

  ‘Books, of course. But – a great leveller, sport. Reminds us who we are, what we’re part of.’

  ‘Do you really believe that?’

  ‘I’d better, hadn’t I, all things considered?’

  ‘You must think I’m an idiot, with your pep talk, Hamer.’

  ‘I do. And you are. And I am not alone in this conviction.’

  The woods were drawing darkness into themselves. The lights in the school buildings were a long way off. ‘But a solution is in your hands.’ Slit trenches had been dug on the edge of a clearing. The air smelled of smoke.

  ‘I don’
t know what you want,’ I said.

  ‘I ask again. Did Captain Carson leave any records, journals, documents?’

  ‘The answer is the same. I don’t know. If he did, I haven’t got them. I don’t even know if they exist. You would know better than me. I imagine you’ve already looked. Certainly, someone broke into my flat.’

  ‘I’m sure you have lots of enemies.’

  ‘Then it must be important,’ I said. My heart thudded. ‘People like yourself and the Colonel don’t appear on the scene for no reason. Is it connected with the war somehow? Why would such material matter, anyway?’

  ‘I would advise you not to concern yourself with that,’ he said.

  ‘Who do you work for, in fact?’

  Hamer turned to face me.

  ‘Let us suppose you are telling the truth, and move on,’ he said. ‘We turn our attention to your friend Rackham.’

  ‘He’s not my friend.’

  ‘But you know him.’

  ‘I work in the same school. We have very little contact.’

  ‘But his sister is your friend. You know her rather well.’

  ‘Mrs Rowan is a colleague.’

  ‘Yes, she is. A close colleague of yours. A close, respected colleague.’

  ‘That’s enough, Hamer. There’s no need to drag her into this.’

  ‘Well, let’s hope not,’ he said.

  ‘She’s got nothing to do with it.’

  ‘That’s not for you to say, is it?’

  ‘She mustn’t be hurt.’

  ‘Then a solution lies in your hands, Maxwell. You have created a situation in which her being hurt is a possibility, if not yet a likelihood. And after all, this is not the first time, is it?’

  We were approaching the lake now. The water was still. The raft was firmly moored at the wooden jetty. We stood and looked at it.

  ‘This is the dreadful spot, then,’ Hamer said, using the ferrule of his umbrella to detach a leaf from the sole of his shoe. ‘“The dreadful hollow behind the little wood”. I wonder if, given the choice, Carson might not have preferred a death like Socrates, given the natural resources to hand.’

  ‘I find it hard to believe that Carson is dead,’ I replied. ‘And we don’t know what happened.’

  ‘The inquest found the death to be accidental. Due process was observed. There is nothing to add at this stage.’

  ‘I wonder. I wonder why you and the Colonel turned up when he was dead. I’d never seen you here before then. I’m sure you don’t believe in coincidence any more than I do.’

  ‘We attended the funeral of a distinguished member of staff in our capacity as old boys.’

  And I’m the King of Poland.’ I did not see the blow coming. I fell to my hands and knees, choking.

  ‘Captain Carson is dead and gone,’ said Hamer, quietly, ‘and no useful purpose is served by further enquiry into matters which must of their nature remain unknown. You should derive what wisdom you can from the fact. Do you understand me?’ I nodded. ‘Then for God’s sake get up, man. I hate violence. But I can do it. Don’t make me do it again.’

  Hamer began to walk again, heading around the lake towards the level-crossing gate.

  ‘Now, as to the delightful Mrs Rowan, so troubled by her husband’s malaise, so brave in sticking it out come what may, so resourceful – and yet so careless – in her means of solace, you have an opportunity to prevent misfortune or injury befalling her. That will be for the best – for Mrs Rowan, for you, for the posthumous reputation of Captain Carson. For the good of the school, if that idea is not absurd to you.’

  ‘Not entirely,’ I said. ‘Anyway, does it matter what I think?’ Maggie would certainly have something to say about Hamer’s instructions regarding her, if I were so foolish as to tell her.

  ‘And for the general good. There is a cause you can serve. That will be something new for you.’

  ‘What is it you want, Hamer?’

  ‘You are investigating Charles Rackham.’

  ‘Not exactly.’

  ‘Then tell me exactly.’ The umbrella waited quietly in Hamer’s hand.

  ‘Rackham seems to want to harm one of the boys.’

  ‘Which boy is this?’

  ‘David Feldberg.’

  ‘Oh, him. How do you know?’

  ‘Things I’ve seen. Hints.’

  ‘Not much to go on.’

  ‘I believe it.’

  ‘Schools are full of dislikes and cruelties. That is part of their nature. You might say it’s what they’re for. To temper the steel.’ We moved on a little way. ‘And why does it matter how Rackham treats Feldberg?’

  ‘Because it’s not right,’ I said.

  Hamer gave me his look of sorely tried patience. ‘I think I’ve dealt with that aspect of things, Maxwell.’

  ‘David Feldberg is a very gifted pupil. Oxbridge material.’

  ‘And he was Carson’s protégé. And now he’s yours. And at one time Rackham too was Carson’s protégé. It’s a bit of a web, isn’t it?’

  ‘Why should Feldberg suffer?’ I said.

  ‘Perhaps he deserves it.’

  ‘Why? What has he done?’

  ‘Need he have done anything?’

  ‘So you’re on Rackham’s side?’

  ‘I’m a servant of the Crown, Maxwell. That’s the only side I’m on.’

  The dark was complete now. The faint noise of traffic reached us in the wood. I thought of Carson’s letter. So Rackham had a protector, and Hamer and the Colonel were acting for him.

  ‘The question is, which side are you on?’

  ‘I’m on the side of a quiet life. I suspect I’m not going to get one. I think Rackham is also doing harm to a friend of mine, Shirley Thorpe, and that he is doing so together with Claes Vlaminck.’

  ‘Well, never mind that. She doesn’t matter, obviously. Now, these enquiries of yours into Rackham . . .’

  ‘You’re telling me to stop.’

  ‘That would be for the best all round.’

  ‘Why? Is this connected with Carson?’

  ‘That is not your concern. Anything you do know, anything you’ve withheld – this would be the time to make good the omission.’

  ‘You searched my flat.’

  ‘Do you think so? Perhaps you had a burglar.’

  ‘Nothing was taken.’

  ‘Perhaps you didn’t have what the burglar wanted.’

  ‘I have nothing in my possession. Do you imagine that if I had, given this afternoon, I wouldn’t tell you? I abhor violence as much as you do.’ We had reached the level-crossing gate.

  ‘Which way are you going?’ he asked. ‘Over the tracks?’

  ‘Back to school.’

  ‘Good idea.’ He took out a card and handed it to me. It bore a telephone number. ‘If anything does turn up, any materials and so on, ring me up.’

  I stepped away and felt the point of the umbrella against my back. I turned.

  ‘This was a warning, Maxwell. Heed it. Last chance.’ Saluting with the umbrella, Hamer opened the gate and crossed the track to Percival Street.

  I wished a train would silently appear and run him over. Between the bare trees there was a dim light on in Maggie’s studio. When Hamer was safely on the other side the signal turned red and, too late, a coal train came lumbering up the line, heading for the docks. I watched its slow passage. When it had gone, the street beyond was empty.

  I made my way round the far side of the lake back towards the sixth-form block where the library was housed. Out of the darkness appeared Lurch, wheeling a barrow full of soil, on which rested a spade. He gave no sign of recognition. In fact, he seemed barely conscious.

  When I came to the school car park I saw the Bentley. The Colonel was in the driver’s seat, reading the Racing Post by the interior lamp. He raised his hand in salute as I went by. It was an eloquent, studiedly casual gesture, delivered as though he and I were long acquainted, not friends but certain of where we stood in the scheme of things. He
wound the window down.

  ‘Off back to the library?’

  ‘There’s always plenty to do.’

  ‘No point playing games in the dark, is there? Pity. Good man. Keep it up.’

  As I opened the door of the sixth-form block I heard the engine start, and turned to watch the Bentley pulling away through the gate, down Fernbank, and towards Cemetery Road. Everything seemed insubstantial in comparison with the bluff Colonel and his splendid vehicle.

  I went into the lavatory and tried to clean the mud off the knees of my trousers. When I returned to the library Feldberg was sitting reading at the issue desk.

  ‘Is there anything else, sir?’

  ‘No, Feldberg, thank you. You may as well get off.’

  ‘I’d rather stay and read, if that’s all right, sir.’

  ‘As you wish. Anyone would think you had no home to go to. Where’s your girl, anyway?’

  ‘I imagine she’s in the library at St Clare’s, sir.’

  ‘Perhaps you should live a little,’ I said. ‘Take her to the pictures again. Or to a concert.’

  Feldberg regarded me tolerantly.

  ‘Who was it who said, “Some people say life’s the thing, but I prefer reading”?’

  ‘You’ve got me there, sir, but I could look it up.’

  PART FOUR

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  I sat in the back bar of the Narwhal, drinking slowly, and tried to draw up a summary of the position. It was early evening and the place was almost empty. Claes was in his usual position over in the snug. I raised a hand in greeting and he smiled in return, indicating that I might wish to join him. I made my way round. Claes’s stool was placed against the mirrored partition next to the closed door to the main bar. It did not seem a comfortable position for someone of his size.

  ‘Maxwell, my friend. I was hoping I might run into you.’

  ‘You could have come round into the back bar.’

  ‘Each to his own. It was not urgent.’

  ‘What did you have in mind?’

  He produced a book about Degrelle in French.

  ‘I managed to find a further copy after you expressed an interest.’

 

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