The Green Flash

by Winston Graham

  The supply cupboard: usual tins of coffee, packets of tea, jars of jam and marmalade, spices, etc. Pans in a lower cupboard; must say it was all pretty orderly, more so than my pad before I married money and had a slave to do it for me.

  Van again. ‘ There’s some of this in his medicine chest. Looks like skag. Want to catch him out for possession?’

  ‘No. Put it back. It’s time we went. There’s nothing else?’

  ‘Nothing I can latch on to.’

  ‘OK. By the way, was this dish on the floor?’

  ‘No, on the side. By the square packet. Greedy little bastard, aren’t you; I give him a fair dollop.’

  Hound had finished and looked as if he wanted more. As I picked up the dish he began to yap again.

  I rinsed the dish under the tap and dried it, put it beside the packet. The packet was called LITTLE WOLF: ‘Finest food for all dogs. Gives his teeth lots of vital crunching. An enriched, meaty, compound food nutritionally balanced to contain all the proteins, vitamins and calcium your dog needs to get the most out of a happy life.’

  It was packed by Best Friend Dog Foods of Hackney.

  ‘You look as if you’ve found something,’ said Van, reappearing round the door.

  ‘I don’t know for sure.’

  IV

  After all, dogs have to be fed, and how better than by a product which promised so much and must be in every other supermarket? And yet and yet. An odd coincidence.

  Years ago when I’d had that first big row with Shona over my little side venture and she had dispensed with my valuable services, I had fooled around one day and made my way across London without paying my bus fare to see what Henry Gervase Ltd were doing now that all but the hardest porn magazines were freely available at the local station bookstands. I had found that Henry Gervase were no longer there; the premises were occupied by Best Friend Dog Foods. Roger Manpole had been the controlling shareholder in Henry Gervase. Was it not likely that he was behind the new firm? Clearly they produced dog foods. What else?

  On that day I had not gone in, not wanting to come up against anyone who might think I was looking for a job; but, as I passed, a man came out whom I thought I’d seen before somewhere. I realized now that I hadn’t properly recognized him because I hadn’t ever seen him wearing a hat before. At certain perfumery exhibitions I’d observed him at the de Luxembourg stand.

  My mind also ticked off the fact that Maurice Laval was slim, dark, youngish, middle-aged, and wore a thin moustache.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  I

  I was home about ten, not displeased with the evening’s work. It might still be all guesswork but the threads were sporing other threads. In another week with luck I might have something to put together. I thought maybe I ought to have been a cop. There was more to tracking down this bit of dirty work than the boring old routines of every day.

  A light in the flat; in fact, lights; nearly all were on. I whistled but no reply. I hoped to God I hadn’t forgotten some affair Erica had arranged: too awful if there were a dinner party and the host didn’t turn up till the coffee was served. Or maybe the two maids were here scouring the house or polishing silver for a future event. Both of them had daytime jobs.

  I went down the hall and into the living-room. Having not so far described the furnishings of this room I won’t bother now, except to say that it was all very elegant and expensive. And the lady who had spared no expense was at present standing at the bay window, the curtains undrawn, hands on elbows, stiff as buckram, gazing out over the lights of Hyde Park.

  ‘Hullo,’ I said. ‘OK?’

  She didn’t speak or move.

  ‘Hope you didn’t wait for supper,’ I said. ‘Fact I’ve had none myself, so a bite or two wouldn’t come amiss.’

  No answer.

  ‘Erica,’ I said. ‘Remember me? There’s nothing wrong, is there?’

  She turned slowly then. Hair in ponytail this evening. Cream silk jumper, darker cream slacks. I had a good opportunity to admire the down-curve of her mouth; the brackets around it said the weather was stormy.

  ‘So the conquering hero returns. What have you been doing, having it off with Derek at the Cellini?’

  I picked up the evening paper, looked at the headlines. ‘The Cellini has a lot of facilities but none of that sort, at least as far as I know. What’s the matter, pet? Been waiting in for me?’

  ‘You could call it that. I’ve been trying to telephone you since four. They said you’d already left the scent shop … After a couple of hours I even lowered myself to ring Shona asking if you were with her. Apparently not, if she was telling the truth.’

  ‘So probably you tried the Cellini too, did you?’

  ‘Naturally, since you seem to spend all your spare time there nowadays. They pretended you hadn’t been in.’

  I turned to the back page. ‘I was out at Stevenage. Then I picked up Van Morris and we’ve been on this forgery lark I told you about. Just that. Nothing fancy. Doing a bit of tec work that I think will pay off. What’s wrong? I thought you were fencing tonight.’

  ‘Not tonight.’

  ‘So what? What’s bugging you?’

  ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘I’ve just heard that I’ve not been picked for Moscow.’

  I folded the paper, put it down, stared at her. She stared back.

  ‘You’re fooling … No, you can’t be. Erica, how the hell could that happen? I don’t believe it!’

  ‘Don’t you? There’s the letter on the table beside you.’

  I picked up and straightened, out the piece of paper. It was from her coach. ‘ Dear Erica, I very much regret to have to tell you that …’

  I scanned through it and dropped it back on the table. ‘It’s scandalous! It’s outrageous!’

  ‘I’d be more moved by your sympathy if you sounded as if you meant it.’

  ‘Meant it? Why shouldn’t I mean it? It’s what we’ve been working for for the last twelve months!’

  ‘We’ve been working for it? I’ve been working for it, and you’ve been paying lip-service, playing along with the little woman, pandering to her fancies, hoping she’ll grow out of them in the end!’

  There was just the little poison drop of truth in this that made the distortion all the harder to swallow.

  I said: ‘What d’you expect of me? You’ve been exercising, practising, prancing around, getting coached all day long. The parties you’ve had, the parties you’ve been to, have all been of your own choice, not mine. I’ve never objected for a minute to any lark you wanted to get up to. I’ve even practised with you myself day after day, night after night, in the bloody kitchen!’

  I went over to pour myself a drink and saw one of her foils on the floor. The blade was broken.

  ‘Did you do this?’

  ‘No,’ she said, ‘it came to pieces in my hands.’

  I picked the bits up and laid them on a bookcase. ‘How did it happen, this Olympic choice? You must know more than you say. Who chooses? Isn’t there some way you can appeal against the selection?’

  She shrugged and sighed. ‘Well, it’s the Joint Weapons Subcommittee that recommends the selection and this is approved by the Amateur Fencing Association, Then it all goes to the Fédération Internationale d’Escrime, who usually just approve the domestic choice without question. So in the main it simply comes back to the selection of the Weapons Subcommittee, who are the serious foil fencers and the like.’

  ‘Most of whom you know.’

  ‘Of course I know them!’

  ‘There’s no reason given in this letter! Your scores were good. Surely you’re entitled to some explanation!’

  ‘Why should I be? If you pick an English rugby team you don’t have to send letters of explanation to those who’ve just missed it! In fact, of course, I did ring Francis Norbury as soon as I got his letter.’

  I waited but, provoking me, she didn’t speak. Eventually I said: ‘So he told you to mind your own business?’

 
She squinted at me in pure dislike. ‘ He said it was the view of the committee that I wasn’t strong enough yet. I said, what rubbish, and he absolutely agreed, but he said the others felt I wasn’t psychologically ready; nerves weren’t sufficiently under control, etc. He instanced various things …’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Such as that I lost my temper at the bad decision in Madrid in April. Such as that I was very well-to-do and tended to use my money extravagantly. (Parties, I suppose.) Such as that I was recently married and might not feel sufficiently single-minded about the Olympics. Such as … well, that’ll do, won’t it?’

  I got as far as the Scotch this time. ‘ Drink?’

  ‘I’ve had one.’

  ‘So it all comes down to me, does it?’

  ‘Not all. Just a little here and there.’

  ‘Sufficient to tip the scale?’

  ‘Who knows?’

  I squirted two fingers of soda. ‘Anything to do even yet? Can you appeal? Appeal to the Amateur Fencing Association.’

  ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Thanks. Perhaps you’re right. So where do we go from here?’

  She turned to the window.

  I said: ‘Am I to take this broken foil as symbolic?’

  ‘You can take it as you sodding please.’

  ‘It’s as you please, Erica. It’s your ambition that’s come ungummed. If I can help you, let me know.’

  ‘You can help me by getting out of my sight.’

  ‘Right,’ I said. ‘I’ll go and cut myself a sandwich.’

  II

  I said to Van: ‘Would you like to do a bit of private tec work on your own? Nothing dramatic. Scout round Hackney, see if you can smell anything out about the Best Friend boys? I was coming myself but I can’t get away for a few evenings – a spot of trouble in the home – and I think it will be evenings when anything suspicious will show.’

  ‘Right, guv. The wife’s out tonight so I’ll be free, but no car. Use the firm’s van?’

  ‘Of course. I’ve forgotten the name of the street where the warehouse is, but it’s off Victoria Park Road. South Hackney. A 6 bus goes somewhere near.’

  ‘I know all round there. Used to deliver round there before Armstrong took over.’

  ‘Well, don’t put your head in where it won’t be appreciated. Remember that, won’t you? If it comes to more lock-picking I’d like to be with you.’

  ‘OK. Leave it to me.’

  So I left it to him. During the next few days I got home in time to spend each evening in the flat with Erica. It wasn’t much more than that. We ate in – she said she wasn’t going to any damned restaurant – but most of the time in silence. She read a book at the table and was usually asleep, or pretending to be, when I turned in. She was drinking too much. If there’s one thing irritates me it’s a woman who drinks too much. But I said nothing, reckoning it would all blow away in time.

  I’d not seen anybody quite so down or quite so bloody-minded as Erica just at this time. I suppose you had to face the fact that life had spoiled her up to now. She was very pretty, she was intelligent, she was a fine athlete, and her father allowed her more money than she could use. All her life she’d had nearly everything she’d wanted – including, presumably, me (or my title) – but something she’d set her heart and mind on, fencing for Britain at the Olympic Games, had been taken away from her by a stupid committee that didn’t recognize her worth. Because it was all nonsense about her not being psychologically geared to take the strain. I was coming rather to take against my little pettish wife, but I’d no illusions about her fencing abilities. She was – at least in England – the tops.

  On the second day I went round to see Norbury and asked him what we could do about it. He said there was nothing. The decision had been made, the four fencers and the one reserve chosen, and short of one of them being taken ill, there wasn’t a hope. I tried to get him to admit that some unfair favouritism had been shown towards one or more of the girls now chosen, but he gave nothing. I reckon he agreed but he wouldn’t say.

  In the meantime I was saddled with a wife who was almost impossible to live with. Funny if you think of it. I’d always been the one with the chip – or the tailored hair shirt, or what you will – now I was on the receiving end. Gentle hubby taking the insults, the fretful silences, the sarcastic innuendoes, soaking it all up, never hitting back. It wasn’t my part. I’d walked into the wrong play.

  And after all, for crying out loud, it was only a game. She was not struck down with polio or muscular dystrophy; nor had she lost all her money; nor had her father gone off his rocker, nor had I been hopping from bed to bed and avoiding hers.

  But if I showed any impatience with her it only proved to her that her original estimate of my attitude towards the whole fencing thing was correct.

  I decided I’d been a prime fool to marry anyone. Whether you liked it or not, you got attached, involved with someone else’s life, dragged in, tied in; you couldn’t go home at night and wash your hands and say that’s it till we meet next Friday. I’d got nothing out of this marriage except a few perks such as a greater luxury of living. I’d spent none of her money yet on Wester Craig – though to give her her due she’d reminded me a couple more times of her offer to cough up the cost for the repairs. If in the darkest depths of my seamy subconscious I had had it in mind that some day one might have a child, there were certainly no signs as yet. As a result of getting hitched up I was more in personal debt to the bank than before. And I was stuck with a temperamental blonde who used all her considerable talent for spite on the nearest person she could see. And guess who that was.

  I didn’t say anything of this to Shona, but as soon as she heard about Erica’s failure she went round to see her. My little wife was putting on a pretty good act to people at the Sloane gymnasium, but with so old a friend as Shona it would be unlikely that some of the bitterness wouldn’t show through, like a bony elbow through a coat that was wearing thin. Also her view that her marriage with its diversionary effects had likely just tilted the scales against her selection. Anyway, Shona tactfully didn’t press me to talk about it, and work proceeded to plan. She was going to Vienna again in a couple of weeks’ time but she didn’t invite me to go with her, either because she thought it tactless or because she didn’t want to expose me again to the charms of Trudi Baumgarten.

  A few days after the fencing disaster a letter came from Messrs McSwaine, Heeney and Garvice saying they had a client who had seen Wester Craig and had made an offer of £60,000 for it. If they could get him up to £70,000 would I agree? To distract Erica from her gloom I showed her the letter.

  She read it. ‘ Why not?’

  ‘It’s peanuts. Even a ramshackle place like that, and even if the five hundred acres are rock and scrub. It must be worth more.’

  ‘What are you asking?’

  ‘A hundred and fifty thousand.’

  She tossed the letter back indifferently. ‘ Please yourself.’

  ‘Even without the repairs it will still stand for another half-century. I would just shut it up and forget it. Give the Coppells notice.’

  ‘Why don’t you?’

  I looked at my watch. ‘It’s time I was off. What are you going to do today?’

  ‘Do you care?’

  I finished my coffee. ‘I like to know.’

  ‘I did tell you, didn’t I, that I’m going down to Reading at the weekend.’

  ‘You didn’t actually. I take it I’m not included.’

  ‘I’d rather see my parents alone.’

  ‘It’s up to you.’ I pushed back my chair. ‘Have you decided anything yet about what you’ll do now? Are you going to give up fencing altogether?’

  ‘Don’t know. I feel like it. Francis, of course, urges me not to. He would, wouldn’t he? He tells me there’s plenty still in the kitty to win apart from gold medals.’

  ‘Well, it’s a thought … I suppose you wouldn’t still
like to go to Moscow, see it all happen this time round?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. Thanks for the idea.’

  ‘Thanks for the thanks,’ I said.

  She stared at me as if winter was just round the corner. ‘I could kill somebody for this, you know; for what’s happened.’

  ‘You’ve looked as if you could.’

  ‘Our marriage has been a flop, hasn’t it?’

  ‘Has it? I suppose you could say that.’

  ‘What time will you be back tonight?’

  ‘About five.’

  ‘I’ll probably be here. Maybe behind the door with a knife.’

  ‘Well,’ I said, ‘thanks for the warning.’

  III

  It was a fine sunny morning, and I decided to walk to work. Exercise for the sake of keeping fit has never been my strong point, but once in a while London doesn’t look bad, especially the parks. On the way I thought about life in general and mine in particular. It seemed to me that human beings occasionally make decisions of their own, but for the rest they get in the swim of some tidal pull and are carried along. Kick out, keep your head above water, breathe steady, pretend you’re in control; but in fact you’re being influenced and shoved along by forces stronger than yourself and your own pathetic strength. A branch in a stream, a straw in the wind; that was what my life had amounted to so far: who could change it? Not I. And yet and yet, who talked this stuff about free will? Divorce was almost as easy as marriage. Once you’d plunged in, this was the lifeline, the rope dangled from the bridge. Did I want that? I wasn’t sure. And in spite of all the abuse she was throwing around like a human muckspreader, was Erica even sure? There had to be at least another month before anything was clear at all. Perhaps she would talk it all out with her father and mother next weekend.

  I walked into the Bond Street shop, noting that a smart new designer I’d engaged had rejigged the whole of the layout in a much more modern and enticing way. This centrepiece of our business, in spite of its importance, carried minimal weight compared to the huge outlets we had, along with all the competing firms, at Selfridges, Harrods, Barkers and the rest of the great stores. Perfumers such as ourselves engaged and paid for the assistants there, and for all the promotions and give-aways, and sometimes even for some of the furnishings. It was debatable how important a fashionable shop and office such as this was, or Rubinstein’s in Grafton Street, once one reached a sufficient size and eminence. It was a prestige expense more than an essential one.