"‘Gerard, please,’ he said. ‘You’re a good friend but, please, I just need to… I just need to be alone for a while.’
"He walked off.
"‘You know where we are, any time,’ I called after him, but he did not turn around.
"Fortunately, it took the press hounds a few seconds to get round to our side of the building so they did not see him go, and the next instant a mob of them had surrounded me and were hammering me with questions.
"I didn’t see Mark for a week after that. I tried to talk to Sue about what had happened but she wouldn’t engage. She took the Craters’ acquittal very badly. I tried to tell her that the Craters were not interested in us. There was nothing in their arrest or trial that had involved us, we had not been witnesses for the prosecution and we had made no public statements against them. We had never been into their world, so they had no reason to come out of it and look for us to do us harm.
"‘It’s not that,’ she said.
"‘Then what is it?’ I asked.
"But she wouldn’t, or couldn’t, give me an answer, and every time I suggested I call Mark to see how he was, and perhaps invite him over for a meal, I was met with a very frosty response.
"‘I don’t want him around here,’ she insisted. ‘Don’t ask me why. I just don’t want him near us or near you.’
“It got so that we couldn’t talk. Every time I tried to say something I would see her go immediately on guard in case I mentioned Mark. Yet at other times, she would be so loving. I remained totally confused by her.”
Aunt Gwendoline clenched her teeth. An irritating noise had begun humming in her ears. It sounded faint and far away and she could not say whether it was real or just her ears playing tricks. She looked down at Rani and saw the dog was standing on the alert and sniffing the wind as if trying to locate something in the distance as yet unidentified. Aunt Gwendoline shook her head gently to try and clear the irritation. Whatever it was, the sound had a vague familiarity about it and there was no comfort in it.
“I was very worried about Mark throughout this time,” continued Gerard. "I tried to call him at home, but all I ever got was his answering machine. Then, after a week, it seemed that all my concerns were unwarranted. He turned up at the university as if nothing had happened and buried himself in his laboratory.
"It was holiday time so there was no lecturing to do. The time the undergraduates are away is useful to all of us on the staff. We can get on with our writing and research, so I was not surprised I hardly saw him. But I kept up with enough of the gossip to know he was working very hard, perhaps too hard if the talk was to be believed. He was always at work before his postgraduate students arrived and was still there after they left, which to all intents and purposes meant he never went home. A few of us did ask what he was doing but all we got from his research assistants was some technical mumbling about novel organic syntheses, so we didn’t ask again. We got the impression they didn’t really know either.
"Mark did go home, of course, just occasionally to shower and change his clothes, but he was always straight back to his laboratory afterwards. The security staff put in a safety report about him being alone in his lab throughout the night and finding him asleep at his desk, but his head of department decided to do no more than just keep an eye on him. Everybody knew Mark’s story. It was generally assumed he was throwing himself into his work as a way of occupying his time and getting through his grief, and that sooner or later he would come out of it. And we seemed to be right. After about a month the lights went out in his laboratory and he appeared mid-morning the next day, all freshly washed and brushed, entering the front door of the Chemistry Department as if he was on his way to start a normal working day.
"I saw him arrive from my office window and immediately rushed out to see him. He turned and gave me a wave and waited for me to catch up. He was looking tired and thin and a bit grey, but otherwise he seemed to be all right. He wasn’t dishevelled or unshaven or anything like that. In fact, he was very neat just like the Mark of old.
"‘Hello Gerry,’ he greeted me. ‘Been neglecting you of late I’m afraid. How are you and Sue?’
"I didn’t know quite what to say except that I was pleased to see him and that I had been worried about him. I suggested we meet for a sandwich at lunchtime, to have a chat and catch up with things.
"‘I’d like to Gerry,’ he replied, ‘but I’ve got a lot to do. I’ve been letting things slide a bit. I have to prepare for the start of term, otherwise I’ll have no wisdom to decant into the undergraduates when they turn up at my lectures. Give me a week or so and then ask me again. I should be well into what I have to do by then.’
“‘Yes, of course,’ I replied. ‘I’ll tell Sue. She’ll be ever so pleased you’re back in circulation. You’ll have to come around for dinner.’ He smiled but didn’t answer.”
The noise sounded in Aunt Gwendoline’s ears again. This time it was slightly louder. It could be a large vehicle grinding its way along the quiet suburban street that passed by her front door.
“I can’t describe it, but there was something about Mark’s departure into the chemistry building that left me puzzled,” Gerard continued. “I still have no idea exactly what it was. There didn’t seem to be any particular inflexion in his tone or expression on his face as he spoke, and I thought afterwards that maybe I had just imagined it. But on the other hand, I suppose I could have picked up some sense that he wasn’t quite right, some forewarning of what was going to happen over the next few weeks.”
“Some forewarning of what was going to happen?” Aunt Gwendoline echoed. “That sounds very dramatic. What exactly did happen?”
“Mark Brinsley got drunk,” he replied. “Very drunk.”
Her mind raced ahead of his reply. Mark Brinsley got drunk and after he became sober again Miss Susan smashed sister Alice’s vase and walked out of Gerard’s life while blazing stars fell from the skyfire in her dream. There was a thread linking them if only she could find it. And the strange noise she could hear in her ears was getting louder. Now it was like the deep growling of a dog informing an intruder of its presence. It was a sound intended to threaten, to warn of the damage that could be done if the threat was let loose and it worried her with its menace.
“Goodness me, that is dramatic,” she agreed. “You had better pour us both a sherry and we can sip it while we go and cook dinner. Come along, Rani. It is dinner time for dogs too and I’m sure there is something nice for you.”
She rose to her feet, picked up the tray of dirty teacups and carried it out to the kitchen without further ado.
Chapter 23
“Fish on, potatoes on, and I have some fresh runner beans from the market stall. I hope that is all right.”
Aunt Gwendoline fussed around the meal preparations and organised Rani’s dinner bowl while Gerard watched the fish under the grill. He had been a little startled by the abruptness with which she had interrupted his story when he was feeling so much into his stride with it, but he shrugged and assumed that he had temporarily filled his elderly aunt’s mind with all the details and that she needed a break. She showed no inclination to listen to any more of his story while the dinner cooked. Indeed, he sensed a determination in her not to do so. So, the potatoes boiled, the beans blanched and the parsley sauce was stirred in an all involving way until finally Aunt Gwendoline dished up everything on to warmed plates ready for eating.
“There we are,” she announced. “Could you carry them into the dining room for us?”
The chatted generally until their plates were cleared, and afterwards, “I have some chocolate cake for desert,” she offered.
“You know my weakness too well,” he replied with a grin.
“Cream?”
“I cannot imagine anything nicer.”
He had become completely relaxed to the point where, as his mouth filled with his favourite flavour, his world began to look very peaceful again. He began to have second thoughts about telli
ng the rest of his story. There was nothing much left to relate. Mark was back working in his laboratory at the university and Billy and George Crater had returned to their underworld, vanishing off the front pages of the newspapers and out of the thoughts of all law-abiding citizens without a ripple being left to remind anyone of their transient appearance above the surface of their criminal pond. Susan was gone. He still thought about her and he still felt sad about her leaving. They had shared some very close times together, and given how intense their feelings had been for each other it was surprising that her presence in his life should have become so thin after such a few weeks. Aside from that Aunt Gwendoline still served dainty cucumber or tomato or smoked salmon sandwiches with fussy cakes and Oolong tea at three o’clock on Wednesday afternoons if he cared to call round, which he always did if he was not overseas. There really was nothing more to add. The last mouthful of chocolate icing slid down his throat, a soothing balm that covered all that had happened since that terrible night when Janet Brinsley was murdered.
“Do help yourself to some tea,” Aunt Gwendoline’s voice cut into his thoughts. “And would I be right in thinking that Susan had always felt comfortable in Dr Brinsley’s company before his wife was murdered?”
The question jolted him and he was grateful that he had the excuse of swallowing his last mouthful of cake before he had to answer it.
“She always seemed to be,” he replied somewhat puzzled. “We often went out together, and I would have said we were all very good friends. Mark and I tended to talk together while Sue and Janet swapped ‘girly gossip’ as they described it. It was to Sue that Janet first mentioned her hopes about starting a family, only a few weeks before she was murdered. Talk like that could only mean they were close friends.”
“Perhaps so,” replied Aunt Gwendoline. “But that is Susan and Janet. What about Susan and Mark?”
He dredged his memories again. “I can’t recall anything to suggest they were not good friends. Sue never hesitated when Mark asked her to dance at university social evenings and she always leaned forward to receive a peck on the cheek from him at the end of it. They chatted and joked easily together. I suppose that is what made her subsequent attitude all the more puzzling to me. We were good friends, all four of us, and when you have friends like that you don’t just drop them when they are in trouble. I can understand some of Sue’s reaction immediately after Janet was murdered. It was a frightening thing to have happened, but after that I would have thought she would have rallied round with support. Mark was helpless in the face of what he had to deal with. I just don’t understand how she could turn against him as she did.”
Aunt Gwendoline watched the discomfort triggered in him by her question and she became aware of the distant purring, growling sound in the background of her thoughts again. It was less like a dog’s growl this time, more like something mechanical.
“I think we might move back into some easy chairs,” she smiled across the table to him. “We can leave the dishes until later and I am sure my elderly bones will feel a lot more comfortable on some supportive cushions. Would you mind passing me my cane? Then you can tell me what happened when Dr Brinsley got drunk.”
She stood and was surprised how free she felt from her earlier stiffness. She looked down at her forearm. There was the sensation there that a hand was guiding her, drawing her towards her favourite carved rosewood chair, and the distant engine noise in her ears abruptly ceased.
“I suppose in retrospect, the reason for Mark getting drunk is fairly obvious, although it did take us all a bit by surprise,” Gerard resumed after they had settled. “Those of us at the university who knew him all thought he had come through his traumas extremely well. He had some time off, but he soon found his way back to work. He was not as dynamic as before, but that was accepted. There was no doubt that the verdict from the Craters’ trial hit him very hard and we all thought the judge’s conclusion was frankly off the planet. But Mark seemed to get through even that disappointment by throwing himself intensely into his work, coming out of it a month later exhausted and drained but at peace with himself.”
“All very plausible,” commented Aunt Gwendoline.
“But he had changed,” Gerard continued. "He was more solitary, and while those who worked with him said he was still an outstanding chemist in a cerebral sense, he was now hardly ever seen tinkering at his laboratory bench. All that was left to his students. He still delivered his lectures and attended the usual departmental and faculty meetings but gradually the recognition grew on all of us that he was different.
"I found him quieter. I don’t doubt that he put immense value on our friendship, possibly because most of his other so-called friends had dropped him off their address books, not knowing how to deal either with him or what he had been through. But he and I still had our sandwich lunches together and he always seemed pleased when I called him and suggested a coffee. We chatted as we always had, although I would have to say it was mostly me doing the chatting. He could still be immensely stimulating when we got on to the topic of some of the collaborative work we were doing and he even began talking to me about Janet. He told me about some very private moments they had shared together, which I took as a good sign. It was consequently a big surprise to me when one afternoon I arrived at the staff club to find the whole place raucous with talk about him.
"‘He wasn’t exactly shickered but he was awfully tongue-tied when he tried to pronounce the names of some of his chemicals.’
"‘I’m surprised you didn’t smell the fumes when you walked in to give the next tutorial.’
"‘There’s good air conditioning in that lecture theatre.’
"‘Even so, you could smell the whisky all the way to the back row by all accounts. The students thought he was hilarious.’
"‘That is utter nonsense,’ I protested. ‘Mark doesn’t drink whisky. He doesn’t like the stuff. He never has.’
"‘I’m only repeating what the students are saying and they were there. And they would certainly know the smell of whisky when they came across it.’
"‘And it wouldn’t be the first time that unfounded rumours have been started by mischievous students with no sense of responsibility,’ I stormed at them. ‘It was more than likely just the smell of one of the chemicals from his laboratory clinging to his clothes.’
"‘Something that smells like whisky and makes your speech slurred? I’ll buy a gallon of that.’
"They all collapsed in laughter.
"I dismissed it as a single event, but it worried me again when a few days later the rumour mill proclaimed that one of the students had caught Mark replacing a half empty whisky bottle in the top drawer in his office desk. A couple of days after that one of the cleaners found an empty whisky bottle inexpertly hidden in his waste paper bin.
"‘Mark, this is serious,’ I said to him. ‘We all know that the university turns a blind eye to the occasional bottle of red or half dozen beers when a department is celebrating a success, but hard alcohol on the university, apart from what you use in your chemistry laboratories, is absolutely forbidden outside the licensed bar areas. You could end up in serious trouble.’
"‘I’ve already had a visit from the chief of security acting as proxy for the dean,’ he grinned.
"‘Take it seriously, Mark, for goodness’ sake. You know that keeping half empty bottles of whisky in your desk drawer is a bad sign under any circumstances. Please, Mark, for friendship’s sake, have a care.’
"I could see he was listening to me.
"‘It’s all right, Gerry,’ he shrugged. ‘I just felt like a drink, that’s all. Thanks for being such a good friend, but I promise you I am quite all right.’
"I mentioned it to Sue later that evening. She immediately withdrew behind a shield of anger or caution or something.
"‘Don’t get involved,’ she demanded. ‘You have done enough now let him get on with his own life. Stay away from him and let him go his own way.’
; "‘I can’t do that,’ I argued. ‘He is a good friend and so was Janet when she was alive. You don’t ditch friends just when they are trying to get their lives back together.’
"‘If he has a problem with alcohol, then he needs professional help,’ she insisted. ‘Keep out of the way and let the professionals deal with it.’
"‘For goodness’ sake, Sue, he doesn’t have a problem.’
"‘How do you know?’
"‘Because he told me so,’ I fired back. ‘He’s been through a bad time and he just felt like a drink. That is all. There’s nothing wrong with that. We all do it. It’s not something that happens every day and at least he hasn’t taken up smoking.’
"I shouldn’t have added that last bit but her lack of sympathy towards Mark got to me. Both he and Janet had been good friends, to Sue as well as me. Her attitude was not right.
"‘I’m sorry,’ I ended. ‘Let’s just step back and take a breather. I’m sorry.’
"She did not answer but only stood rigid and silent in front of me. I could not read what was in her face. Some of it looked like fear, but surely she would know she had nothing to fear from me. I saw her later in the hallway looking at Aunt Alice’s vase on its stand and I stopped to say something to her, but before I could do so she turned to me and looked up at me and was soft and tearful again.
"‘Ger,’ she whispered. ‘Be careful. Please, for both our sakes, be careful.’
“I had no idea what she was talking about and was too confused to answer her.”
Chapter 24
Aunt Gwendoline was confused too. She again paced through her thoughts seeking the thread that was winding Susan and Gerard into a sinister tangle around Mark Brinsley. Susan had smashed sister Alice’s vase and had done it for a reason. She had tried to tell Gerard what that reason was and had tried on more than one occasion, but each time she had been unable to do so. Whatever it was centred on Mark. So, what was it that she could see and Gerard could not? Or perhaps it was something that she could not see but could only sense, so could not explain. Susan, Mark and Gerard. Three friends. Three stars falling from the skyfire, falling and flaring suddenly and burning out before their time, and all centred around Mark Brinsley and the unspeakably brutal murder of his much-loved wife. She waited for the roar and fire of the blazing Zeppelin to appear in front of her, or the curious engine sound she had heard earlier to buzz in her ears again, but neither did. Not one of her thoughts triggered their response.
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