by Muriel Spark
‘Did you tell them you were relieved?’
‘No.’
‘Now tell me about Nathan.’
‘It’s a long story,’ said Ruth. ‘He’s in love with Effie. He’d do anything she asked him.’ Her voice had changed to a mumble.
Harvey said, ‘But when did you know —’ Then he stopped. ‘My God,’ he said, ‘I’m becoming another interrogator. I expect you’ve had enough.’
‘Quite enough.’
It was he who had the idea to go and make breakfast, which he brought in on a tray. ‘I had a lousy pizza for supper,’ he said.
She said, ‘Nathan must have left last night. He didn’t sleep here. He wasn’t here when I came up from the cottage this morning. His bed wasn’t slept in.’
‘Did Anne-Marie see him?’ Anne-Marie was a local woman who had been coming daily to help in the house for the past two weeks.
‘No, he wasn’t here when she arrived at eight. He’d taken nothing special that I could see. But he had a phone call yesterday. He said it was from London. I was annoyed at the time, because I’d told him not to give anyone your number.’
The telephone at the château operated through an exchange for long distance. ‘One could easily find out if it came from London,’ Harvey said.
‘The police say there was no call from London,’ Ruth said.
‘Then it might have been a national call. He could have been in touch with Effie.’
‘Exactly,’ she said.
‘How much did you tell them about Nathan?’
‘Everything I know.’
‘Quite right.’
‘And another thing,’ Ruth said, ‘I told them —’
‘Let’s forget it and go to bed.’
Clara woke up just then. They shoved a piece of toast into her hand, which seemed to please her mightily.
It was nine-fifteen when the telephone rang. This time it was from London. At the same time the doorbell rang. Harvey had been dreaming that his interrogator was one of those electric typewriters where the typeface can be changed by easy manipulation; the voice of the interrogator changed like the type, and in fact was one and the same, now roman, now élite, now italics. In the end, bells on the typewriter rang to wake him up to the phone and the doorbell.
He looked out of the window while Ruth went to answer the phone. Reporters, at least eight, some with cameras, some with open umbrellas or raincoats over their heads to shield them from the pouring rain. Up the drive came a television van. Behind him, through the door of the room, Ruth called to him, ‘Harvey, it’s urgent for you, from London.’
‘Get dressed,’ Harvey said. ‘Don’t open the door. Those are reporters out there. Keep them in the rain for a while, at least.’
Clara began to wail. The doorbell pealed on. From round the side of the château someone was banging at another door.
On the phone was Stewart Cowper from London.
‘What’s going on there?’ said Stewart.
Harvey thought he meant the noise.
‘There’s been a bit of trouble. Reporters are at the doors of the house and the baby’s crying.’
‘There are headlines in all the English papers. Are you coming back to England?’
‘Not at the moment,’ Harvey said. ‘I don’t know about Ruth and the child; but we haven’t discussed it. What are the headlines?’
‘Headlines and paras, Harvey. Hold on, I’ll read you a bit:
Millionaire’s religious sect possibly involved in French terrorist activities. Wife of English actor involved …
And here’s another:
Playboy Harvey Gotham, 35, with his arsenal of money from Gotham’s Canadian Salmon, whose uncles made a fortune in the years before and during the second world war, has been questioned by the gendarmes d’enquêtes of the Vosges, France, in connection with hold-ups and bombings of supermarkets and post offices in that area. It is believed that his wife, Mrs Effie Gotham, 25, is a leading member of FLE, an extreme leftist terrorist movement. Mr Gotham, who has recently acquired a base in that area, denies having in any way financed the group or having been in touch with his estranged wife. He claims to be occupied with religious studies. Among his circle are his sister-in-law, Ruth, 28, sister of the suspected terrorist, and Nathan Fox, 25, who disappeared from the Gotham château on the eve of the latest armed robbery at Epinal, capital of the Vosges.
There’s a lot more,’ said Stewart. ‘If you’re not coming back to England I’d better come there. Have you got hold of Martin Deschamps?’
‘Who the hell is he?’
‘Your Paris lawyer.’
‘Oh, him. No. I don’t need lawyers. I’m not a criminal. Look, I’ve got to get rid of these reporters. By the way,’ Harvey continued, partly for the benefit of the police who had undoubtedly tapped the phone, and partly because he meant it, ‘I must tell you that the more I look at La Tour’s “Job” the more I’m impressed by the simplicity, the lack of sentimentality above all. It’s a magnificent —’Don’t get on the wrong side of the press,’ shouted Stewart.
‘Oh, I don’t intend to see them. Ruth and I have had very little sleep.’
‘Make an appointment for a press conference, late afternoon, say five o’clock,’ said Stewart. ‘I’ll send you Deschamps.’
‘No need,’ said Harvey, and hung up.
None the less, he managed to mollify the soaking pressmen outside his house, speaking to them from an upstairs window, by making an appointment with them for five o’clock that afternoon. They didn’t all go away, but they stopped battering at the doors.
Then, to Ruth’s amazement their newly-engaged, brisk domestic help, Anne-Marie, arrived, with a bag of provisions. It was her second week on the job. She managed to throw off the reporters who crowded round her with questions, by upbraiding them for disturbing the baby, and by pushing her way through. Inside the front door, Harvey stood ready to open it quickly, admitting her and nobody else.
‘The police,’ Anne-Marie said, ‘were at my house yesterday for hours. Questions, questions.’ But she seemed remarkably cheerful about the questions.
SEVEN
A long ring at the front doorbell. Outside in the pouring rain a police car waited. From the upper window Harvey saw the interrogator he had left less than twelve hours ago in the headquarters at Epinal.
‘Ah,’ said Harvey from the window. ‘I’ve been missing you dreadfully.’
‘Look,’ said the man, ‘I’m not enjoying this, am I? Just one or two small questions to clarify —’
‘I’ll let you in.’
The policeman glanced through the open door at the living room as he passed. Harvey conducted him to a small room at the back of this part of the château. The room had a desk and a few chairs; it hadn’t been furnished or re-painted; it was less smart and new than the police station at Epinal, but it was the next best thing.
‘You have no clue, absolutely no idea where your wife is?’
‘No. Where do you yourselves think she is?’
‘Hiding out in the woods. Or gone across into Germany. Or hiding in Paris. These people have an organisation,’ said the inspector.
‘If she’s in the woods she would be wet,’ said Harvey, glaring at the sheet rain outside the window.
‘Is she a strong woman? Any health complications?’
‘Well, she’s slim, rather fragile. Her health’s all right so far as I know,’ Harvey said.
‘If she contacts you, it would be obliging if you would invite her to the house. The same applies to Nathan Fox.’
‘But I don’t want my wife in the house. I don’t want to oblige her. I don’t need Nathan Fox,’ Harvey said.
‘When things quieten down she might try to contact you. You might oblige us by offering her a refuge.’
‘I should have thought you had the house surrounded.’
‘We do. We mean to keep it surrounded. You know, these people are heavily armed, they have sophisticated weapons. It might occur to them to tak
e you hostages, you and the baby. Of course, they would be caught before they could get near you. But you might help us by issuing an invitation.’
‘It’s all a supposition,’ Harvey said. ‘I’m not convinced that this woman-terrorist is my wife, nor that my wife is a terrorist. As for Nathan Fox, he’s a mystery to me, but I wouldn’t have thought he’d draw attention to himself by going off and joining an armed band at the very moment when they were active.’
‘If your wife is a fascinating woman —’I hope,’ said Harvey, ‘that you’re taking special precautions to protect the baby.’
‘You admit that the baby might be in danger?’
‘With an armed gang around, any baby might be in danger.’
‘But you admit that your wife’s baby might be an object of special interest to your wife.’
‘She has taken no interest in the child.’
‘Then why are you suggesting that we specially protect this child?’
‘I hope you have made arrangements to do so,’ said Harvey.
‘We have your house and grounds surrounded.’
‘The baby,’ said Harvey, ‘must be sent back to England. My sister-in-law will take her.’
‘A good idea. We can arrange for them to leave, quietly, with every protection. But it would be advisable for you to keep the move as secret as possible. I mean the press. We don’t want this gang to know every move. I warn you to be careful what you say to the press. The examining magistrate —’The press! They’ve already —The man spread his hands helplessly. ‘This wasn’t my fault. These things leak out. After all, it’s a matter of national concern. But not a word about your plans to send the child away.
‘The maid will know. They talk —’
‘Anne-Marie is one of our people,’ said the inspector.
‘You don’t say! We rather liked her.’
‘She’d better stay on with you, then. And hang out baby clothes on the line, as you always want to do. I might look in again soon.’
‘Don’t stand on ceremony.
‘How is it possible,’ Ruth said, ‘that the police think the gang might turn up here, now that this story’s all over the papers, on the radio, the television? It’s the last place they would come to. Clara’s safer here than anywhere. How can they think —’
‘The police don’t think so, they only say they think so.’
‘Why?’
‘How do I know? They suspect me strongly. They want the baby out of France. Maybe it’s got something to do with their public image.’
‘I don’t want to go,’ said Ruth.
‘I don’t want you to go,’ said Harvey, ‘but I think you should. It’s only for a while. I think you must.’
‘Are you free to come, too? Harvey, let’s both get away. ‘On paper, I’m free to go. In fact, they might detain me. The truth is, I don’t want to leave just at this moment. Just bloody-mindedness on my part.’
‘I can be stubborn, too,’ said Ruth; but she spoke with a fluidity that implied she was giving way. ‘But, after all,’ she went on, ‘I suppose you didn’t ask me to come here in the first place.’
Harvey thought, I don’t love her, I’m not in the least in love with her. Much of the time I don’t even like her very much.
Anne-Marie had put some soup on the table. Harvey and Ruth were silent before her, now that she wasn’t a maid but a police auxiliary. When she had left, Ruth said, ‘I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep this down. I’m pregnant.’
‘How did that happen?’ Harvey said.
‘The same as it always happens.’
‘How long have you known?’
‘Three weeks.’
‘Nobody tells me anything,’ Harvey said.
‘You don’t want to know anything.’
Had Ruth stopped taking the pill? Was it his child or Nathan’s? She didn’t guess his first thought, but she did his second. ‘I never slept with Nathan, ever,’ she said. ‘His mind’s on Effie — That’s one thing I didn’t mention to the police.’
‘Take some bread with your soup. You’ll keep it down better.’
‘You know, I’d rather not go back to England. Now that Edward’s having this amazing success —
‘What success?’
‘He’s having an astonishing success on the West End. That play —’
‘Well, how long have you known about this?’
‘Three weeks. It’s been in the papers, and he wrote —’
‘Nobody tells me anything.’
‘I think it funny Edward hasn’t rung us up to-day. He must have seen the papers,’ Ruth said. ‘Maybe it scared him. A scandal.’
‘Where would you like to go?’ Harvey said.
‘Have you got anyone in Canada I could take Clara to?’
‘I have an aunt and I have an uncle in Toronto. They’re married but they live in separate houses. You could go to either. I’ll ring up.
‘I’ll go to the uncle,’ said Ruth. She started to smile happily, but she was crying at the same time.
‘There’s nothing to worry about,’ Harvey said.
‘Yes there is. There’s Effie. There’s Edward.’
‘What about Edward?’
‘He’s a shit. He might have wanted to know if I was all right. He’s been writing all the time I’ve been here, and phoning every day since we got the telephone put in. Up to now.’
Anne-Marie came in with a splendid salad, a tray of cheeses.
‘Shall I help Madame to pack after lunch?’ she said.
‘How did she know I was leaving?’ Ruth said when the maid had gone out.
‘Somebody told her. Everyone knows everything,’ said Harvey, ‘except me.’
Ruth was in the bedroom, packing, and Harvey was pushing the furniture here and there to make a distance between the place where he intended to sit to receive the reporters, and the part of the room reserved for them. Ruth, Harvey thought as he did so, has been crying a lot over the past few weeks, crying and laughing. I noticed, but I didn’t notice. I wonder if she cried under the interrogation, and laughed? Anyway, it isn’t this quite unlooked-for event that’s caused her to cry and laugh, it started earlier. Did she tell the police she was pregnant? Probably. Maybe that’s why they want to get rid of her. Is she really pregnant? Harvey plumped up a few cushions. Yellow chintzes, lots of yellow; at least, the chintzes had a basis of yellow, so that you saw yellow when you came into the room. New chintzes: all right, order new chintzes. Curtains and cushions and cosiness: all right, order them; have them mail my lawyer the bill. You say you need a château: all right, have the château, my lawyers will fix it. Harvey kicked an armchair. It moved smoothly on its castors into place. Ruth, he thought, is fond of the baby. She adores Clara. Who wouldn’t? But Clara belongs to me, that is, to my wife, Effie. No, Clara belongs to Ruth and depends on Ruth. It’s good-bye, goodbye, to Clara. He looked at his watch. Time to telephone Toronto, it’s about ten in the morning there. The story of playboy Harvey Gotham and his terrorist connections are certainly featured in the Canadian press, on the radio, the television.
Anne-Marie had come in, shiny black short hair, shiny black eyes, clear face. She had a small waist, stout hips. She carried a transistor radio playing rock music softly enough not to justify complaint.
‘Do you know how to get a number on the telephone, long-distance to Toronto?’ Harvey said.
‘Of course,’ said the policewoman.
He thought, as he gave her the number, She doesn’t look like a police official, she looks like a maid. Bedworthy and married. She’s somebody’s wife. Every woman I have to do with is somebody’s wife. Ruth, Job’s wife, and Effie who is still my wife, and who is shooting up the supermarkets. Twelve people hurt and millions of francs’ theft and damage. If the police don’t soon get the gang there will be deaths; housewives, policemen, children murdered. Am I responsible for my wife’s debts? Her wounded, her dead?
Anne-Marie had left the transistor while she went to telephone; the
music had been interrupted and the low murmur of an announcement drew Harvey’s attention; he caught the phrases: terrorist organisation … errors of justice …; he turned the volume up. It was a bulletin from FLE issued to a Paris news agency, vindicating its latest activities. The gang was going to liberate Europe from its errors. ‘Errors of society, errors of the system.’ Most of all, liberation from the diabolical institution of the gendarmerie and the brutality of the Brigade Criminelle. It was much the same as every other terrorist announcement Harvey had ever read. ‘The multinationals and the forces of the reactionary imperialist powers …’ It was like an alarm clock that ceases to wake the sleeper who, having heard it morning after morning, simply puts out a hand and switches it off without even opening his eyes.
The bulletin was followed by an announcement that fifty inspectors of the Brigade Criminelle were now investigating FLE’s activities in the Vosges where the terrorists were still believed to be hiding out. End of announcement: on with the music.
‘Your call to Toronto,’ said Anne-Marie.
Ruth was to go to Paris and leave next morning, with Clara, for Canada. A Volvo pulled up at the door. When he had finished his call, Harvey saw two suitcases already packed in the hall. Those people work fast. ‘Not so fast,’ Harvey said to Anne-Marie. ‘The child’s father might not agree to her going to Canada. We must get his permission.
‘We have his permission. Mr Howe will call you to-night. He has agreed with Scotland Yard.’
‘The press will be here any minute,’ said Harvey. ‘They’ll see Madame and the baby driving off.’
‘No, the police have the road cordoned off. Madame and the child will leave by a back door, anyway.’ She went out and gave instructions to the driver of the Volvo, who took off, round to the back of the house. Anne-Marie lifted one of the suitcases and gestured to Harvey to take the other. He followed her, unfamiliar with all the passages of his château, through a maze of grey kitchens, dairies and wash-houses as yet unrestored. By a door leading to a vast and sad old plantation which must have once been a kitchen garden, Ruth stood, huddled in her sheepskin coat, crying, cuddling the baby.
