by Muriel Spark
‘A lovely technique, they have,’ Heloise says. ‘I must say I liked it when they did me with Irene and Lister. Mr McGuire kept saying, “Speak out your fantasies”, like that. I didn’t know what the hell to say, I thought he meant a fairy story, so I started with Little Red Riding Hood, and Mr McGuire said “That’s great, Heloise! You’re great!” So I went on with Little Red Riding Hood and Lister and Irene changed sides. They joined in with Red Riding Hood. Lister was terrific as the grandmother when he ate me up. You can see in the film that I had a good time. Then Irene got eaten up by Lister’s understudy. Mr Samuel is an artist, I’ll say that, his perspectives coalesce.’
Hadrian says, ‘Eleanor always does her Princess bit. You can’t get her to do anything else.’
‘Too old to change,’ Pablo says, ‘but she does it good. I like the Princess and the Pea where she can’t sleep on her bed. You should always do your own thing in a simulation. It all works in. The Baroness shows up good doing the nun in the Congo with Eleanor doing the Princess bit. Puss in Boots is a big bore.’
‘I can do the nun in the Congo,’ says Heloise.
‘So can I,’ says Pablo. ‘I like it.’
‘Goldilocks and the Three Bears is best,’ says Heloise. ‘They got the idea of fairy stories from me. It was my idea, or anyway, it just came to me.’
‘Are your health and security cards stamped up to date?’ Pablo says.
‘I don’t think so,’ says Hadrian.
‘Mine aren’t,’ says Heloise. ‘I meant to remind the Baroness.’
‘Lister would have seen to it if it had mattered,’ Hadrian says. ‘Obviously, it doesn’t matter.’ He takes up another record, looks at it, says, ‘The Far Fetchers. Not bad,’ and puts it on while Heloise says, ‘Anything goes for me.’ The boys are dancing now. Heloise says, ‘She went to finishing school in Lausanne and learnt to eat an orange with a little knife and fork without ever touching the orange.’
‘Who?’ says Pablo.
‘The Baroness.’
The young men dance on.
‘There must be fog coming up on the lake,’ says Heloise. ‘I can see it in the room already. It gets through the double windows, even, doesn’t it?’
Pablo begins to sing to the music. He sings: ‘ “Pablo, the Baroness wishes to see you.” — Knock, knock, “Come in, Pablo.” — “Good morning, Madam, anything I can do, Madam?” — “Pablo, the shutters upstairs, they bang so much. I think they must be loose.” — “Right away, Madam.” — “See you later, then.” — “See you at the party, Baroness.” ’
‘See you at the party,’ sings Hadrian.
‘Don’t make so much noise,’ says Heloise. ‘Lister’s busy upstairs with the Reverend and Miss Barton.’
‘There’s something going on up there,’ Hadrian says, stopping still as the music ends.
‘Lister can adjust whatever it is. Lister never disparates, he symmetrizes,’ Heloise says and lights a cigarette.
Pablo goes to the window and looks out at the fog. ‘Lister’s got equibalance,’ he says, ‘and what’s more, he pertains.’
‘Definitely,’ says Hadrian.
Mr Samuel is sitting in a big chair looking through a bound typescript and Mr McGuire is looking over his shoulder.
Clovis sits at a round table which is covered with blue velvet. His elbows are on the table and his chin rests gloomily on his hands.
‘It’s a winner,’ says Mr Samuel. ‘Congratulations, Clovis.’
‘It has a great deal of scope,’ says Mr McGuire.
Clovis raises then lowers his eyebrows. His look of gloom does not change, his elbows remain still.
‘A first-rate movie script,’ says Mr Samuel. ‘Some of the scenes are beyond belief. Only an authority on the subject could have pieced it together.’
‘The lines are terrific,’ says Mr McGuire, running his fingers fondly over his tape-recorder which lies closed on the table. ‘You edited those tapes perfectly, Clovis.’
Clovis remains mute.
Mr Samuel says, ‘That’s a good idea to open with, where you build up the Baroness like an identikit, when the police are looking for the motive and they put an eye here and a nose there. Very visual, Clovis.’
‘I’m waiting to hear,’ Clovis says. ‘We should have heard. Yesterday was the deadline.’
‘We’ll hear,’ says Mr Samuel. ‘Don’t worry. The motion picture industry is a very funny thing.’
‘The serialization’s come through,’ says Clovis, moving his right elbow from his chin in order to tap his hand on a bulky file which lies on the table. ‘That contract’s safe.’
‘The film’s in our pocket,’ says Mr McGuire. ‘Our only problem is the casting. You have to have everyone younger than they really are. If Hadrian plays Lister, Pablo could play Hadrian.’
‘It’s just that I wonder if they’ll give Pablo the part.’
‘They’ll have to,’ says Mr McGuire.
‘Eleanor can play the Baroness. The same shots as I’ve got, she only needs to follow the original film and dialogue,’ says Mr Samuel.
‘I’m worried about Pablo,’ says Clovis.
‘He’s very photogenic,’ says Mr Samuel.
They fall silent as Lister enters the room followed by the Reverend.
‘Where is Eleanor?’ says Lister.
‘Not here,’ says Clovis.
‘Give the Reverend a nice drink,’ says Lister, going over to the house-phone.
‘No, I should be in bed,’ says the Reverend. ‘I have to get up in the morning to see about the wedding.’
‘I’m sorry, Reverend, but we shall probably have an urgent mission for you in this house tonight arising out of Sister Barton’s request. You really must stay.’
‘You must stay, Reverend,’ says Mr McGuire. ‘We’ll make you comfortable.’
Lister has lifted the receiver and has pressed a button. He stands waiting for a reply which does not come. He presses another button, speaking meanwhile over his shoulder to those in the room. ‘Sister Barton,’ he says, ‘has asked the Reverend to perform a marriage service. She wants to marry him in the attic, who apparently assents so far as one can gather.’ Having got no answer from the phone he presses another button and meanwhile says to the others, ‘I’ve managed to dissuade the Reverend from such an irregular action at the present moment.’
‘She’s out of her mind,’ says Mr Samuel. ‘Off her head,’ says Mr McGuire. And now Lister has got an answer on the phone. ‘Eleanor,’ he says into the speaker, ‘Any news? Any luck?’
The answer whistles briefly. From outside the house comes a clap of thunder. Lister says into the speaker, ‘Be thorough, my dear,’ and hangs up.
‘A storm in the distance coming over,’ says Mr McGuire.
Clovis brings a glass of hot whisky to the Reverend who is sitting dazedly on the sofa. The Reverend takes the drink, and places it on the table by his side, with his fingers playing gently on the glass. He begins to hum a hymn-tune, then he nods with sleep, opening his eyes suddenly when a crackle of thunder passes the house, and letting them drop again when the noise is past.
The house-telephone rings. Lister answers it and it hisses back through its wind-pipe.
‘Irene?’ Lister says. ‘Yes, of course let her in. Use your common sense.’ He hangs up. ‘That porter,’ he says to all in the room, ‘is a humbug.’
The house-phone rings again. Lister takes the instrument off the hook very
slowly, says into the speaker, ‘Lister here,’ and trains his ear on the garrulous sirocco that forces its way down the narrow flue of the phone. Meanwhile a car draws up at the back. A window can be heard opening above and Heloise’s voice calls ‘Hi, Irene’ into the stormy night. Mr Samuel, who is peering out of the window, turns back to the room and says, ‘Irene in the Mini-Morris.’
The house-phone in Lister’s hand gives a brief gusty sigh. Lister says, ‘Darling, did you find the files locked or unlocked?’
The phone crackles amok while a double crash of thunder beats the sky above the roof. A long wail comes from the top of the house and from another level upstairs comes an intermittent beat of music. The back door rattles, admits footsteps and clicks shut. Lister at the phone listens on.
‘Then be careful,’ he says at last, ‘not to lock them again. Leave everything as you found it. Take copies and put the papers back. And hurry, my love. There is no cause for alarm —
But at my back I always hear
Time’s wingèd chariot hurrying near —’
A tall skinny chinless girl with bright black eyes has come into the servants’ room meanwhile.
Lister puts down the phone and says to her,
‘And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.—
Where have you been all night, Irene?’
‘It was my evening off,’ says Irene, removing her leather, lambskin-lined driving gloves.
‘Evening off,’ says Lister. ‘What kind of an hour is this to return to the Château Klopstock?’
‘I got caught in the storm,’ she says. ‘Good evening, Reverend. What a pleasure!’
The Reverend opens his eyes, sits up, lets his eyes wander round the room, then, seeing his drink he takes it up and sips it.
‘Too strong,’ he says. ‘I’d like a cup of tea before I go.’
‘Listen to the storm, Reverend. You can’t go all that way back to Geneva on your motor-bike tonight,’ says Lister.
‘Out of the question,’ says Irene.
The outside telephone rings, piercing the warm room.
Lister says to Clovis, ‘Answer it. If it’s a cousin wanting to talk to the Baron Klopstocks they are not to be disturbed. Who else could it be at this hour except a cousin?’
Clovis is at the switchboard of the outside telephone, in the pantry office. The Geneva exchange is speaking audibly in French. Mr Samuel and Mr McGuire stand behind Clovis.
Clovis responds, then putting his hand over the speaker he says to them. ‘It’s for me, from the United States.’
‘It’s no doubt about the film,’ Lister says. ‘They should have telephoned yesterday. But it’s still yesterday over there. They always ring in the middle of the night from the United States of America. They think that because they are five hours back we also are five hours back. Irene, go up and fetch Heloise and the boys. Bring them down here, we have things to discuss.’
Irene goes and Lister once more takes up the house-phone, presses a button and waits for the hum. ‘Eleanor, are you coming?’ he says. The house-phone gives vent as before, while thunder smacks at the windows and Clovis can be heard from the pantry office chatting joyfully to the United States. Lister says at length into the house-phone speaker, ‘Good, it’s just what we need. Bring it down, love, bring it down at once. Put back the originals, and leave unlocked what you found unlocked and locked what was locked.’
Clovis has come to the room again, followed by Messrs McGuire and Samuel. The Reverend sleeps. Clovis smiles. ‘It’s all tied up,’ he says, ‘and Pablo’s getting the part of Hadrian, too.’
IV
‘At a quarter past seven, while the sky whitens,’ says Lister, ‘we all, with the exception of Mr Samuel and Mr McGuire, shall go up to our rooms, change into our smart working-day uniforms, and at eight or thereabouts we blunder downstairs to call the police and interview the journalists who will already have arrived, or be arriving. Mr Samuel and Mr McGuire will be in bed, but in the course of the breaking open of the library door by the police, they too will float down the staircase, surprised, and wearing their bath-robes or something seemly. We will by then have put the Reverend to bed and he can sleep on through the fuss until, and if, wakened by the police. He in the attic and Sister Barton will be back in their quarters. They —’
‘Why should they be out of their quarters during the night?’ Heloise says.
‘Let me prophesy,’ Lister says. ‘My forecasts are only approximate, as are Heloise’s intuitions.’
‘Let Lister speak,’ says Eleanor.
The storm has moved away from the vicinity and can be heard in the distance batting among the mountain-tops like African drums.
Clovis says, ‘We’ve got nothing to hide. We’re innocent.’
‘Well, we are crimeless,’ Lister says. ‘To continue with the plans. Heloise, you are pregnant.’
The house-telephone rings. Eleanor lifts it up and bends an ear to its bronchial story. Heloise laughs.
‘All right, let them come inside the gates. But don’t let them out again,’ Eleanor says, and puts down the phone. She says to Lister, ‘That’s Victor Passerat’s two friends. They are threatening to call the police if we won’t produce Passerat.’
‘Here they come,’ says Hadrian, at the window, and presently a car bumps up the drive. Presently again, a banging at the back door.
‘Let them in,’ says Lister. ‘Bring them in here.’
‘That’s right,’ says Clovis. ‘Better straighten things out.’
Mr Samuel goes out to the back door and returns followed by Anne the masseuse and her friend, Alex. They stand staring at the assembled household. They look from Eleanor to the dozing Reverend, they look at laughing Heloise, at Pablo and at long-legged Irene and Lister.
‘I understand you want to use the telephone,’ Lister says. He waves towards the pantry office. ‘Well there it is.’
‘We want Victor,’ says Anne.
‘He is in the library with the Baron and the Baroness. They’re not to be disturbed. Strict orders.’
‘I feel afraid for Victor,’ says Alex.
‘Why not ring the police as you’ve suggested?’ says Lister waving again towards the pantry office. ‘The telephone’s in there. We are having a busy night waiting up for the Baron and the Baroness.’
‘I’d rather keep the police out of it,’ Anne says.
‘Yes, I dare say. What sort of reward are you hoping for, large or small?’
‘Victor’s our friend. We know Cathy Klopstock, too,’ says Anne.
Heloise says, ‘Why don’t you call the police and tell them you’ve got those tape-recordings and films ready in your car, so that Victor and the Baroness can do a deal with the Baron, and then clear out? — Threats of exposure.’
Eleanor says, ‘Don’t be crude and literal, Heloise. This has been a tiring night. I wish you had bought some decent carrots for my juice.’
‘You have to be frank with these types,’ Heloise says.
‘They don’t connect,’ says Pablo.
‘Come on, let’s go,’ says Anne to Alex, whose eyes brim with tears.
They follow Mr Samuel to the back door and leave the house.
‘Heloise,’ says Lister, ‘as I was saying, you’re pregnant.’
Mr Samuel comes back into the room as Heloise gives out her laughter.
Mr Samuel says, ‘They’ve locked the doors of the car. Evidently th
ey’re going on a trip round the grounds.’
Mr McGuire goes to the window in the dark pantry office. ‘They’ve gone round to the front of the house,’ he says.
‘Let them prowl,’ says Lister. ‘About your condition, Heloise. There’s a solution to your problem.’
‘It’s no problem,’ says Heloise.
‘You marry the Baron,’ says Lister, ‘and become the Baroness.’
Pablo says, ‘He’s gone to meet his Maker. He shoots the wife and secretary when they talk too fast. Then he shoots himself, according to the script. He sorts out the mix-up the only way he knows.’
‘Eleanor has found some new evidence,’ Lister says. ‘It was quite unforeseen, but one foresees the unforeseen. He in the attic is the Baron’s younger brother. Heir to the title, and under the terms of the Trust, most of the fortune.’
‘I thought he was related to her, not him,’ says Hadrian.
‘He’s a nephew or something, isn’t he?’ Clovis says. ‘If not, I have to amend the script.’
‘A younger brother of the Baron.’
‘He turns my milk,’ says Heloise.
‘Mine too,’ says Lister. ‘But he’s the heir.’
‘There’s the young brother Rudolph in Brazil,’ says Mr Samuel. ‘He was always thought to be the heir. All that money.’
‘The one in Brazil is younger than him in the attic,’ Eleanor says. ‘Him in the attic is next in line. He inherits. Sister Barton knew what she was doing when she sent for the Reverend tonight and offered to marry her patient out of pity.’
The Reverend has opened his eyes on hearing himself referred to. He has sat up, rather refreshed after his nap.
‘My poor boy in the attic,’ he says. ‘Sister Barton is a fine woman. I think it should be done.’
‘He in the attic has prior responsibilities,’ says Lister. ‘Does anyone know his Christian name?’
‘I never heard it mentioned,’ says Heloise.
