‘But why did he kill her?’
‘I don’t know. I haven’t any idea. Perhaps he was getting his revenge for something she’d done to him when he was alive. It’s impossible to say.’
‘And you actually saw him?’
‘I actually saw him.’
Gilly swept back her curls with her hand. ‘Edward’s always saying that Granitehead is haunted. I don’t think that any of the rest of us really believe him; at least we haven’t, up until now. He’s a kind of an odd duck, if you know what I mean. Very deeply into the Salem witch-scare, and Cotton Mather, and all the peculiar occult sects that kept cropping up in Massachusetts during the 18th century.’
I leaned against the counter and folded my arms. ‘I’m not the only person in Granitehead who’s been seeing ghosts. The guy who runs the Granitehead Market, that’s my local store, he’s been seeing his dead son. And, if you ask me, a whole lot of people in Granitehead have been seeing their dead relatives for a long time, but not saying anything about it.’
That’s what Edward believes. But why shouldn’t they say anything about it?’
‘Would you, if your dead husband or wife turned up on your doorstep one night? Who would believe you? And if anybody did believe you, the first thing you’d know, you’d have newspapers and TV and ghost-hunters and rubberneckers all gathering around your house like a flock of buzzards. That’s why it’s all been so secret. Granitehead people, the old Granitehead people, they’ve known all about it for years, maybe hundreds of years. That’s what I think, at least. But they’re purposely keeping it quiet.
They want tourists, not psychic hyenas.’
‘Well , gee,’ said Gilly, at a loss for words. Then she looked at me, and shook her head, and said, ‘You’ve actually seen a ghost. A real live ghost. Or real dead ghost, I guess I ought to say.’
‘Let me tell you this,’ I said. ‘I just pray that you don’t get to see one, too. They’re not at all pleasant, not in any way at all.’
We chatted for a little while longer. Gilly told me about the shop, and how she had come to open it. She had studied fashion and textiles at Salem State, and then, with a $150,000 legacy from her grandfather, and some extra finance from the Shawmut-Merchants Bank, opened up a small fashion shop out at Hawthorne Square Shopping Centre. Business had been so good that when a lease had become available in the centre of Salem itself, she had ‘seized it with all ten claws,’ as she put it.
‘I’m independent,’ she said. ‘An independent business lady selling my own designs.
What more could I want?’
‘You married?’ I asked her.
‘Are you kidding? I don’t even have time for boyfriends. Do you know what I have to do this evening? I have to drive over to Middleton to collect a whole lot of lace day-dresses that are being hand-sewn for me by two old New England spinsters. If I don’t do it tonight, they won’t be in the shop in time for tomorrow, and tomorrow’s Saturday.’
‘All work and no play,’ I remarked.
To me, work is play,’ she retorted. ‘I love my work. It’s my whole life. It completely fulfills me.’
‘But you are coming diving tomorrow.’
‘Oh, sure. I do like to prove that I’m as good as a man in other areas as well.’
‘Did I say you weren’t as good as a man?’
She blushed. ‘You know what I mean.’
At that moment, Edward came into the shop, carrying an untidy collection of papers and books. ‘Sorry to keep you,’ he said, trying to rearrange his papers and scratch his ear at the same time. ‘The Director wanted to make sure that everything was ready for the Jonathan Haraden exhibition tomorrow. Do you want that drink now?’
‘Sure,’ I said. ‘How about you, Gilly? Do you want to come?’
‘I have to be in Middleton by seven,’ she said. “Then I have to get back to press all the dresses and price them.’
‘Drop into the Hawthorne on your way back, then,’ I asked her. ‘I’ll still be in the Tavern.’
‘I’ll try.’
We left Gilly at Linen & Lace and walked over to Liberty Street to collect my car. ‘She’s an interesting girl, Gilly,’ said Edward. ‘Underneath that good-looking exterior she’s got herself a real tough business brain. That’s women’s liberation at its best. Can you guess how old she is?’
‘I don’t know. Twenty-four maybe, twenty-five.’
‘You didn’t look at the skin closely enough, or the figure. She’s just turned twenty.’
‘Are you putting me on?’
‘You wait until tomorrow, when you see her in a bathing-costume. Then you’ll realize.’
‘Do you fancy her?’ I asked him.
Edward shrugged. ‘She’s too dynamic for me. Too much of a go-getter. I prefer the dreamy young college-girl types, you know, mulled cider in front of the fire, poetry by Lawrence Ferlinghetti, Led Zeppelin on the stereo.’
‘Did you ever get stuck in your era.’
Edward laughed. ‘Maybe I did, too.’
We managed to arrive at the Tavern on the Green at the Hawthorne Inn just as one of the tables in front of the fireplace was being vacated. The Tavern was crowded with homegoing businessmen and shop people, a warm oak-panelled room decorated with pictures of ships and maritime chinaware. I ordered Chivas Regal and Edward asked for a beer.
‘I have to tell you something,’ I said. ‘Something which I omitted to tell you yesterday, for personal reasons, I guess.’
Edward sat forward in his chair and laced his hands together. ‘If it’s going to make it any easier, I think I already know what you’re going to say.’
‘For the past three nights,’ I told him, ‘I’ve been visited by an apparition of Jane, my dead wife. The first night, I didn’t see anything, but I heard her swinging on the garden-swing. The next night I actually saw her there. Last night, after you’d left, I saw her again. She came into my bedroom.’
Edward looked at me with concern. ‘I see,’ he said, thoughtfully. ‘Well, I can understand why you didn’t want to tell me. Not many people do, not at first. Did she my anything to you? Did she give you any kind of message? Were you able to communicate with her in any way?’
‘She - spoke my name a few times. Then she asked me to make love to her.’
‘Yes,’ Edward nodded. ‘Several people have had that experience. Go on. What else did she do? Did she actually make love to you?’
‘I had - well, I don’t know what to call it. I had some kind of a sexual experience. It was extremely cold. I’ll never forget how cold it was. Do you remember in The Exorcist how the room got so cold? It reminded me of that. It all ended when I saw her as she must have been when she was involved in her car crash. You know -blood, bones - it scared the living hell out of me.’
‘Is that why you’re not going back to Granitehead tonight?’
‘Do you blame me?’
‘Of course not. I want you calm for tomorrow, anyway, when we dive. Anxiety leads to stress, and stress leads to mistakes. You don’t want to drown your first time out.’
‘I wish you’d stop being so damned optimistic about this dive.’
A waitress in a black tuxedo vest and black bow-tie brought us our drinks. While Edward sampled his beer, I took out my ballpen and said, ‘There’s something else. A kind of written message, burned on the sheets of the bed. It was still there this morning.’
I wrote on my paper coaster the letters that had appeared on my bed, copying them as exactly as I could. SALVAGE. I pushed them over to Edward and he examined them carefully.
‘Salvage?’ he asked. ‘You’re sure it’s not “savage”?’
‘No. It’s definitely salvage. It’s the second or third time the letters have appeared. Once they were scrawled on my bathroom mirror, and once on the side of my kettle. It’s salvage. It’s an appeal to me to salvage the David Dark.’
Edward pouted his lips skeptically. ‘You really think that?’
‘Edward, when you see one of t
hese apparitions, you’re aware of feelings and thoughts that you’ve never ever had before in your life. It’s an intuitive experience, as well as a sensory one. Nobody said, “This means that you’re supposed to salvage the David Dark.” They didn’t have to. I knew.’
‘Now listen,’ said Edward, ‘I know that I’m given to drawing tendentious historical conclusions, but I really think that you’re jumping a whole lot of logical steps here without any substantive reasoning at all. To find and bring up the David Dark we have to be analytical, as well as theoretical.’
‘Do you have anybody close to you, who’s recently died?’ I asked him, in the softest of voices.
‘No, I don’t.’
‘In that case, trust what I’m saying. I’ve seen my own dead wife, right in front of me. I’ve had sex with her spirit, if that’s what it was. I’m already beginning to realize that there’s another existence right alongside of ours, and it’s crowded with pain and self-doubt and fear and longing. Maybe if we bring up the David Dark, like you’ve always wanted to do, we can find a way to ease that pain, and settle that doubt, and calm all those fears and those longings, for good.’
Edward looked down at the table. He puffed out his cheeks. ‘Well,’ he said, without any trace of sarcasm, ‘you sounded almost religious there, for a moment.’
This is religious, isn’t it? It’s all tangled up with religion?’
Edward looked doubtful. ‘To tell you the truth, I don’t know what it is. If you’ve actually seen those apparitions, then you know more than I do, at least in terms of practical experience.’
I raised my glass. ‘Here’s to tomorrow’s dive. I don’t want to go, but I think I’m going to have to.’
FIFTEEN
Shortly after ten o’clock, I left the Tavern on the Green and went upstairs to my room.
Edward had left around nine-thirty to go home to his sister, and there had been no sign of Gilly, so I decided to have a steak and a jacket potato on room service, and spend the rest of the evening boning up on the diving manual which Edward had lent me.
I had a corner room on the sixth floor overlooking Salem Common, and through the trees I could just make out the cupola of the bandstand where I had met the old witch-woman the other day. The room was rather too brown for my taste, brown carpet, brown-and-orange drapes, brown-and-white bedspread, but it felt secure and warm and it was a long way away from Quaker Lane Cottage.
As I lay back on the double-bed with my shoes off, waiting for my fillet medium-rare, I wondered what was happening at the cottage right now. Would Jane appear there, even if I wasn’t there to witness her visitation? How much did the appearance of a ghost depend on the people who were being haunted? I could imagine her flickering image wandering from room to room, searching for me; and the whispering voices everywhere.
I thought of something else, too. Supposing I did drown tomorrow, or die in some other way. Would I find myself in that same electrically-charged limbo as Jane? Would I become one of those distorted figures like her, fading from one reality to another, never at rest? Was she conscious of what she was? Was it really her, in the sense that she knew who she once had been?
I was still thinking about Jane when there was a sharp knock at the door, and I involuntarily jumped in fright.
‘Right with you,’ I said, and padded across the carpet on stockinged feet. I unlocked the door, and opened it; but instead of my fillet medium-rare and my jacket potato, it was Gilly. She was crimson-nosed from the cold, but smiling, and she was carrying a brown-paper bag which looked more than suspiciously like a bottle of wine. This is a peace-offering for being late,’ she said. ‘May I come in?’
‘Of course. Let me take your coat. You look like you’re half-frozen.’
‘Actually, I’m half-thawed. I was totally frozen when I was out at Middleton. Those little old spinsters are dedicated believers in doing things the old-fashioned way. If you can’t get your house warm enough with your wood-burning stove, then put on another couple of sweaters. Central-heating is the work of the devil, making people soft and complacent and idle.’
‘Sit down,’ I told her. ‘I’m having some steak sent up in a while. Would you like some?’
‘I’m dieting, but I’ll nibble at yours.’
‘What kind of diet are you on?’ I asked her.
‘I call it my Pricey Diet. I allow myself to eat anything as long as it costs more than $7 a pound. That takes in caviar, smoked canvasback duck, salmon, finest aged fillet steak. Really expensive food is rarely fattening, and in any case you generally can’t eat too much of it.’
We talked for a while about antiques, and the tourist trade. I guess after all we were both shopowners. Then the waiter came up with my steak, and we opened the bottle of wine, Fleurie 1977, and drank a toast to each other. I cut up the steak and we shared it, hardly talking at all while we ate.
‘You probably think it’s very bold of me, coming up to your room like this,’ said Gilly.
I put down my napkin and smiled at her. ‘I wondered when you were going to say that.’
She blushed. ‘I guess I had to say it at some point. I had to give you your opening for telling me that of course I’m not bold, of course it’s perfectly acceptable for a girl to come up to a strange man’s hotel room unescorted, and eat half of his dinner.’
I looked at her seriously. ‘It seems to me that with Linen & Lace you’ve shown that you’re quite mature enough to do what you want, without seeking any justification from me.’
She thought about that, and then she said, in a higher voice, ‘Thank you.’
I pushed the dinner trolley outside into the hallway, and then I came back and lay down on the bed, with my hands behind my head. Gilly stayed where she was, kneeling on the floor.
‘You know something,’ I said, ‘I’m never quite sure how it is that two people meet each other, or how they decide whether they’re mutually attracted, or what the ground-rules of their relationship are going to be. All that part of it, the most important part, seems to me to be decided almost instantaneously, and without any discussion at all; and any discussion after that is simply a matter of trimming the sails here and there.’
‘Well ,’ said Gilly, ‘you are nautical.’
‘It’s living here that does it. I haven’t got salt in my blood yet, but I’ve started sprinkling it on my salad.’
She stood up, and looked down at me. Her lips were slightly parted, and there was a thoughtful, erotic look in her eyes which I hadn’t seen in a woman since I first met Jane.
She said, quietly, ‘Do you mind turning out the light?’
I reached over and switched off the bedside lamp. The only light in the room now came from the television; and Gilly was outlined against it. Carefully, slowly, she unbuttoned the cuffs of her blouse, then the lace front placket, and drew it over her head. She was wide-shouldered, but her breasts were bigger than I had thought, warmly cradled in a hand-made lace bra. She unzipped her skirt, and let it fall, and I saw that she was wearing dark gray stockings and a black garter-belt. No panties, though: the light from the television silhouetted the wayward curls of pubic hair.
She unhooked her bra, and her breasts were freed with a soft, complicated little bounce.
I held out my hand to her.
‘I’m not an easy person to satisfy,’ she said, in a husky voice. ‘I guess that’s one of the reasons I always avoid relationships with men. I need a very great deal, I ask a lot; emotionally and sexually.’
‘For what it’s worth,’ I said, ‘I can give you everything I’ve got.’
I sat up, and stripped off my shirt, and socks, my pants and my shorts. Gilly lay down beside me, still wearing her stockings and garter belt, and I could feel the softness of her hair against my shoulders, and the heaviness of her wide-nippled breasts against my chest, and the warm slipperiness of nylon against my thighs.
We kissed, tentatively at first, then with increasing passion. Her hands tugged at my hair, caressed my sh
oulders, gripped at my hip. I held her breast in my hand, arousing the nipple between my fingertips until it stood crinkled and stiff. My erection rose against the shiny tightness of her stocking, and she put her hand down and held it tight in her fist, pressing and massaging it against her pubic hair.
Neither of us needed very much foreplay; neither of us could actually stand it. For different reasons, both of us had been deprived of sexual company for longer than was good for us, and the pressure suddenly rose between us until there was nothing that either of us wanted but forceful, urgent, uncompromising sex.
I thrust myself into her, and she was hot and moist and gasping with every thrust. The inside of my brain felt as if it were blowing up; but the explosion went on and on and on, and she clutched her legs around me so that I could thrust deeper still, and her fingernails dug into the flesh of my back and her teeth bit deeply into the muscle of my shoulder.
‘Oh, God, harder, harder, harder,’ Gilly urged me, and I grasped her hips in my hands and forced her down on to me until she gasped and yelped and thrashed her head from side to side on the pillow.
I could feel the orgasm begin to tighten and ripple inside her like shockwaves just before an earthquake. She spoke words that I couldn’t understand; breathy and high-pitched, almost as if she were cursing and pleading at the same time. Her eyes were squeezed tight shut and her face was congested. Her breasts were flushed and her nipples tight and erect.
It was then, right on the brink of climax, that I opened my eyes and looked down at her, and froze. For superimposed on Gilly’s face, as if she were wearing a coldly-glowing mask, was Jane’s face, hollow-eyed, emotionless, flickering in that threatening electrical way. And for one hideous instant I didn’t know if I was making love to Jane, or Gilly, or to nothing at al but my own hallucinating imagination.
Gilly blinked open her eyes, and they showed through the dark sockets of Jane’s electrical mask in fright and surprise.
‘John - what’s happening? John!’
I opened my mouth but I couldn’t speak. Gilly’s eyes had brought Jane’s deathmask to life, and it was the eeriest vision I had ever seen. It was like a painted portrait, with eyes that moved. And it was so cold. So heartless. So accusing.
The Pariah Page 14
