“I didn’t, but it’s Eric Tucker.”
“Eric! What a lovely name! You should have been a blond, dear, like all those gorgeous Vikings, but never mind, I’ve always had a weakness for redheads, and I’m not the only one who’s partial to them, am I? What was the name of that woman who kept you for a while, the brunette who was all face-lifts and couldn’t live without a toy-boy in her life?”
Tucker went ash-white.
Mrs. Mayfield turned sharply to Kim. “Get what you came for. No more delays. I feel time running out.”
Kim went into the kitchen. I heard a cupboard door open and then slam shut. “Bloody hell!” He hurtled back into the dining-area, where I was pressed as if glued to the wall, and shouted at me: “Where did you put them?”
Instantly Tucker abandoned the balcony door. “Are you really so inadequate,” he said furiously, planting himself right in front of Kim, “that you can’t treat your wife with the respect she deserves?”
Kim was so stunned, so overpowered by amazement that a junior male should address him in such a fashion, that for once he was unable to slam back a violent reply. He could only say in stupefaction to Mrs. Mayfield: “They’ve found those papers. They’ve put them somewhere else.”
“Yes, dear,” said Mrs. Mayfield, who now had an unimpeded path to the window. “I was wondering why Young Lochinvar had taken his time in coming out to meet us—not exactly a shrinking violet, are you, Eric pet?” As she spoke she was crossing the floor.
“But Elizabeth—”
“Don’t worry, dear, I’m sure he’ll soon tell us where they are.” Pulling the lever which set the sliding mechanism in action, she heaved open the balcony door. “Come along, Kate,” she said as a chill wind immediately blew through the room. “Don’t take any notice of those two boys striking macho poses. Out you come, dear, to take your breath of air.”
“Freeze, Carter!” Tucker shouted, and pushing Mrs. Mayfield aside he rammed the door shut again.
“Jake,” said Mrs. Mayfield to Kim, and her voice was quite changed. “Get a knife.”
I suddenly realised I had left the wall and—in defiance of my will— moved closer to the windows; I was now standing by the end of the dining-table, and behind me Kim was returning to the kitchen. I heard the sound of the cutlery drawer opening but I was unable to react because I was in such a state of terror that part of my brain had closed down. I was like those victims of ineffective anaesthesia who remain awake during their operations but are powerless to communicate with the staff in the operating theatre.
“Put the knife to her throat and bring her over here to the window.”
“Elizabeth—”
“Do as I say,” she insisted, and added a sentence in German. It was something about “the boy.” Make the boy think—make the boy believe . . . My memory of German cut out.
“Mr. Betz,” said Tucker, who had left the door again in an automatic attempt to reason with Kim, “please put down that knife, sir. Believe me—it’s not a good idea.” I realised then that he understood no German and did not grasp how he was being manipulated. I knew Kim would never harm me. But Tucker didn’t know and I was unable to tell him. My vocal cords were no longer operating.
“Do as I say, Jake,” said Mrs. Mayfield, slipping back into position by the door and playing the dominatrix for all she was worth to make Tucker think she had the power to reduce Kim to a robot. “Always do as I say. If you do as I say, you’ll be all right, you know that, don’t you? So just do as I say and bring her over here.”
My right hand was grasped and twisted up behind my back. It was hardly a delicate manoeuvre but he could have been much rougher. “Tucker!” I managed to whisper, desperate to reveal the charade, but then I felt the knife graze my cheek and the power of speech deserted me again. It took me several seconds to realise that Kim was holding the blunt edge of the knife against my skin, but by the time this truth dawned I was so frightened by the balcony door that I could only gasp for air.
“Now, Eric my love,” said Mrs. Mayfield, “you’re going to produce those papers.” She pulled the lever again and the balcony door groaned as it shifted down the groove. Once more the wind blew across the room and this time it felt icy. As Kim propelled me closer I gave my first scream.
Tucker darted forward but stopped; he was now believing he dared not try to rescue me in case Kim took leave of the last of his senses.
“Okay, cool it,” he said in a rush. “The files are still in the kitchen.”
“Get them. Or the girl goes out on the balcony.”
Tucker hesitated but when I screamed again he returned to the kitchen at once. Kim swivelled to watch him, and this meant I swivelled too. Almost sobbing with relief that I was no longer facing the void beyond the balcony rail I saw Tucker open the door of the oven and pull out both the yellow file and the large brown envelope.
“That’s more like it,” said Mrs. Mayfield satisfied. “Put them down on the table. Jake, you can let Kate go now. Sorry about the little act with the knife, dear,” she said to me as she slipped back effortlessly into her cosy suburban persona, “but your young man’s ever so lively, isn’t he, and I didn’t want him starting a fight. There! No harm intended and no harm done! Now, pet, why don’t you go and shut that door just to show us what a brave girl you really are? Or are you still afraid that once you get to the threshold of the balcony you’ll see that rail and—” She stopped.
I stared at her. Once Kim had released me I had been unable to stop trembling and now she too, I saw, was visibly unnerved. She was losing colour. Her rouge stood out starkly on her plump cheeks and her moist lips seemed bloodless.
I suddenly realised that Tucker also was transfixed and that Kim had halted, the knife still in his hand.
They were all looking past me, and when at last I too turned to face the living-room doorway I saw Nicholas Darrow standing stock still on the threshold.
VIII
He was formally attired in a black suit with a black stock and an old-fashioned clerical collar; I supposed he was dressed up for the religious ritual he had planned to conduct at nine. On his chest he was wearing a substantial gold crucifix suspended from a thick gold chain. The sheer size of the crucifix was unnerving. I found my gaze was irresistibly drawn to it, but a second later I realised that its impact was jacked up by the fact that it was Nicholas who was doing the wearing. The full power of his personality had been unleashed. He was no longer just a pale, bony item with mouse-brown hair and dishwater-grey eyes who favoured casual clothes. He was as riveting as a great actor who makes a long-delayed entrance and captivates the audience instantly just by raising an eyebrow. The very air around him seemed charged with a hyped-up magnetic tension. Long-limbed, lissom and languid, he radiated a mesmerising selfconfidence and authority.
He made no effort to speak but merely stood there, framed in the doorway, as he surveyed the scene and made his deductions. He was quite calm. Then as if satisfied that his entrance had had the maximum impact on everyone present, he strolled gracefully into the room. Not for the first time I was aware of the fluent, almost liquid quality of his movements, and I was aware too that on this occasion there was a heavy sexual edge to each one of them. It was still not a sexuality which appealed to me; I found it much too hypnotic and dangerous, but I could see all too clearly now why Alice was enslaved. It then occurred to me how amazing it was that such a man had chosen to operate within the staid Church of England, an organisation which even today would demand strict standards in his private life, and the next moment I understood why he had been so keen at the start of our talk at the Rectory to emphasise the checks and balances which kept his ministry on the rails. He was an honest man who had faced up to his capacity to leave a trail of devastation in his wake, and he knew a keg of dynamite could only be safely stored in well-guarded premises.
Casually he glided around the upturned furniture. Sinuously he eased shut the balcony door and flicked back the lever to fasten it. Then cool
ly he said to the woman he had never met: “The party’s over, Mrs. Mayfield. It’s time to go.”
I wanted to punch the air and cheer myself hoarse.
But unfortunately my euphoria was premature.
IX
“Well, well, well!” said Mrs. Mayfield, finally finding her tongue. “No prizes for guessing who you are! It’s Nicky, isn’t it? Or at least that’s what one lady calls you, the lady who’s giving you so much trouble at the moment!”
“Spare me the psychic parlour-tricks,” said Nicholas bored. “I’ve seen them all before.” Picking his way through the broken ornaments which littered the floor he began to move away from the window.
“Don’t you come over all high and mighty with me, my love! I know things about you which you wouldn’t want these nice people to hear!”
Nicholas drifted closer to Tucker and said to him: “For your information, Eric, let me point out that Mrs. Mayfield’s behaviour is typical of a corrupt psychic. She affects to recognise me by psychic power, but in fact she would have known by this time that I’m involved in the case; Kim would have told her. She would also be familiar with my name; I have a reputation in the world she inhabits, and I’m sure she’s heard I’m getting divorced. Because of this she feels it’s a safe bet to assume either my wife or some other woman is causing me difficulty, and as my name’s Nicholas it’s an even safer bet to assume the lady in question calls me Nick or Nicky.” Wandering past Tucker he circled the table to my side. I was gripping one of the dining-chairs to stop my hands shaking.
“You’re all right now,” he said, looking straight at me. His grey eyes were brilliantly clear, so clear that they seemed almost blue. “You’re all right.”
I nodded. When he said I was all right I knew I was all right. There was no doubt in my mind, and when he briefly covered my hands with his I found I could let go of the chair.
“Eric,” he said, “come and stand by Carter for a moment to help her feel quite safe.”
“You shouldn’t have let Nicky touch you, Kate,” said Mrs. Mayfield sharply. “That man’s a rapist.”
Nicholas naturally paid no attention to this fantastic accusation. Moving on around the table to Kim he said: “I think it’s time you put down that knife.” But Kim’s knuckles only whitened as he increased his grip. He was sweating.
Nicholas looked back at Mrs. Mayfield. “Tell him to put it down.”
Mrs. Mayfield just smirked. “He’s not yours, dear,” she said. “He’s mine.” And as Kim transferred the knife to his right hand in order to wipe the sweat from his forehead with his left, she added abruptly to him: “We’re leaving. I don’t care for the company your wife keeps.”
Immediately Nicholas said to Kim: “You don’t have to go. There’s a choice.”
“Don’t listen to him, pet,” said Mrs. Mayfield, as Kim transferred the knife back to his left hand. “All clergymen are such liars. The rubbish they talk about a convicted Jewish criminal! It shouldn’t be allowed.”
Nicholas paused, looking her up and down. Then he said casually: “Let’s hear you say his name.”
Mrs. Mayfield turned away. “Come along, Jake dear. Off we go.”
At once Nicholas said strongly: “You do have a choice, Kim. Never doubt that there’s a choice. And never doubt that if you choose to stay I’ll give you every possible support.”
Mrs. Mayfield swung back to face him. “Leave him alone, you bastard! He’s mine, mine, MINE!”
“He’s not yours, Mrs. Mayfield. You’re lying over and over again and you’re lying because you’re frightened. In fact you’re so frightened that you can’t even say the name of—”
“I’ll do a deal with you,” she said. “You keep the girl—I’ll leave her alone in future—but I keep the man.”
“I don’t do deals, Mrs. Mayfield. I follow a man who never did deals, and it’s in his name that I’m ordering you now to leave this flat, leave it at once and leave it on your own.”
“Fuck you!” shouted Mrs. Mayfield, but she was moving towards the door. “Fuck you and curse you!” Then suddenly she was rushing back, spitting at him and screaming: “Curse you, curse your wife, curse that fat bitch you keep—”
“Lord Jesus Christ,” said Nicholas rapidly, somehow keeping his voice level, “protect me, protect Rosalind, protect Alice—”
“Who’s fucking frightened now!” jeered Mrs. Mayfield, after automatically stepping backwards as if in revulsion. Stepping forward again she added violently: “And he won’t protect you, you know! You’re going to sicken! You’re going to rot! You’re going to—”
“IN THE NAME OF JESUS CHRIST,” declaimed Nicholas, blasting the attack apart by jacking up his power to a new level, “LEAVE HERE AND NEVER RETURN!” But although Mrs. Mayfield recoiled and although she was temporarily speechless, she still managed to spit at him again and suddenly Nicholas seemed to run out of energy. “Lewis!” he shouted. “Help me escort Mrs. Mayfield to the front door!”
Mrs. Mayfield found her tongue. “Calling in the cavalry, dear?” she taunted, but she was backing away from him. I was just thinking numbly that she had at last conceded defeat when she turned and came face to face with Lewis in the doorway.
“Oh, for God’s sake, woman!” he exclaimed in disgust. “Stop making such a pathetic exhibition of yourself!” And to Nicholas he added: “What a very common, vulgar female—and how boring women are when they resort to four-letter words!”
Mrs. Mayfield turned scarlet with rage. Then all hell broke loose as she flung down her handbag and attacked Lewis head on.
X
I find it hard to describe what happened next but I must try. I must try because I was ultimately responsible for it. It was my idea to go to the flat early without seeking advice from the experts. It was my idea to take Tucker with me. It was my note to Alice which brought Nicholas and Lewis hurrying to protect me from the worst-case scenario, and my talk of clergymen to the car-park attendant which enabled them not just to leave their car in the garage but to gain admittance to the building. Afterwards I kept saying to myself: “If I hadn’t done this . . .” and: “If I hadn’t done that . . .” Once one starts saying “if” one can speculate interminably. I did indeed speculate interminably after it was all over, and the speculation proved to be a most effective form of mental torture.
All I can do now is state the facts. Mrs. Mayfield flew at Lewis. He was taken by surprise, I saw that, and I saw too—we all saw—that although he recovered quickly she was suddenly endowed with abnormal strength. Nicholas said later that some people can summon up a huge adrenaline rush to perform feats they could never achieve in ordinary circumstances, and I was immensely relieved he was able to come up with that scientific explanation; I was immensely relieved I could say rationally that having witnessed the clash of two exceptionally powerful personalities, the clash decked out and hyped up by their conflicting world-views, I had then witnessed someone gripped by a huge surge of adrenaline. Yet still I feel there was something about these abnormal events which lay far beyond the boundaries of any rationalist’s vocabulary.
Lewis had a heavy, thickset frame but she shoved him against the wall so hard that he slid sideways, lost his balance and fell across an upturned chair. Nicholas was there in a flash but Mrs. Mayfield, undeterred, attacked him as well. Nicholas was at least six feet tall, with a strong, lean build, but she felled him. He scrambled up at once but she moved in again and he was forced to wrestle with her to keep on his feet. Meanwhile Lewis was trying to get up but he was apparently disabled by pain. It was then that Tucker left my side and rushed into action.
Mrs. Mayfield saw him coming. “Jake!” she shouted, and added a brief sentence in German which I was long past being able to interpret.
Kim moved abruptly forward. I moved too then, wanting to grab his arm and pull him back, but I was too late; everything happened so quickly and there was no time. Time had run out for all of us in that scene, and besides, it’s only in dramatic representati
ons that violence is lengthy and elaborately choreographed. In real life violence is usually just a short, sharp, shattering mess.
Mrs. Mayfield finally flung aside Nicholas with a huge display of force.
He cannoned directly into Tucker.
And Tucker, no longer wearing the jacket which might have protected him, reeled straight into the path of the knife which Kim had so stubbornly refused to discard.
PART FOUR
EMBRACING THE CHAOS
The word integrity itself has two meanings. The first is “ honesty” . . . We have to be honest in facing our limitations, in facing the sheer complexity of the world, honest in facing criticism even of things which are deeply precious to us. But integrity also means wholeness, oneness, the desire for single vision, the refusal to split our minds into separate compartments where incompatible ideas are not allowed to come into contact.
An undivided mind looks in the end for an undivided truth, a oneness at the heart of things. And this isn’t just fantasy. The whole intellectual quest despite its fragmentation, despite its limitations and uncertainties, seems to presuppose that in the end we are all encountering a single reality, and a single truth.
JOHN HABGOOD
Confessions of a Conservative Liberal
FOURTEEN
The urgency of the crisis takes over the present moment and demands attention and action.
DAVID F. FORD
The Shape of Living
I
All I can remember now are the fragments, as if Mrs. Mayfield’s unnatural force had exploded out of the dark to shatter my memory to pieces. It was like a bomb atrocity: destruction by fragmentation, thousands of pieces hurtling away from the centre at thousands of feet per second. Then after the blast came the long silence followed by the despair that the pieces could ever again be reassembled into a pattern which had meaning and value.
The High Flyer Page 32
