1951 - In a Vain Shadow (4 page)

‘Did you ever have her decarbonized?’

‘The car you have on the brain. Is all right with me; is nothing the matter with it.’

It was while we were crawling up the steep hill out of King’s Langley to Chipperfield, he said suddenly, ‘You handled Lehmann very well. It pleased me very much. Is a pretty dangerous man to throw about.’

‘He’s not much. He hasn’t learned to hit straight.’

‘He should not have tried to hit you, but he was startled. Is your fault. You had no business to come into my office after Emmie had told you to keep out. But there was no harm done. They talk about you. It will get around. Lehmann has a bad reputation in the district.’

‘While we’re on the subject, let’s get this straight. I don’t take orders from women, and that goes for Miss Pearl too.’

‘Now, look here, Mitchell, I pay you well. You do what I say.’

‘I’ll do what you say, but I won’t take orders from a woman. I mean that. I’d rather quit.’

He didn’t say anything. I kept driving. That little demonstration of speed and strength had impressed him the way nothing else could impress him. I was sure he wouldn’t let me quit that easy.

‘Well, all right, I speak to Emmie. Maybe you have a little trouble with my wife.’

So he had a wife. I wondered if she were built along the same lines as Emmie. I thought it probable she was.

‘You say nothing about Lehmann to my wife. Fights make her nervous; you understand? And say nothing to her what I pay you.’

‘I certainly won’t.’

‘She may ask you. She do not believe these notes mean anything. She say is a practical joke. I have not told her I get a bodyguard. If she asks you, tell her I pay you two pound a week; you understand?’

So it was like that. Either he didn’t want his wife to know he had money or else he was afraid of her. This interested me.

We were driving along the twisty road, leading from Bovingdon Airport when he said, ‘I do not want you to gossip about my business, Mitchell. Maybe you won’t, but unintentionally you might say something or someone might ask you. Say nothing. Maybe you see things going on in the office that may surprise you, but forget them. I don’t pay you ten pounds a week to drive a car. I expect you to keep your mouth shut.’

‘I’ll keep it shut.’

The headlights of the car picked out a white farm gate.

‘Is it.’

I got out of the car and opened the gate.

It was too dark to see the house. No lights were showing.

I stood for a moment looking around. There was no sign of any other houses; no lights, just the dim outline of trees against the dark sky, and a loose gravel drive strangely white in the car’s headlights.

I drove through the gateway, got out again and shut the gate. ‘The garage is there. Put it away and come in.’

He walked of into the darkness.

As I turned the car, the headlights picked out the house.

They also picked out the awful colours of Sarek’s coat as he unlocked the front door.

As far as I could see it was - smallish house, two storeys, white cast, Georgian and ugly.

By the time I had manoeuvred the Austin into the garage, lights were showing, through the chinks in the curtains and came through the open front door.

I didn’t hurry, guessing Sarek was breaking the news of my arrival to his wife. I thought she might need a little time to acclimatize herself to the idea.

I was getting used to the darkness now, and could make out the outlines of a barn and other farm buildings opposite the house. They formed the letter L: the barn representing the long leg, the other buildings the short one. The garage was to the left of the gate and away from the house.

I picked up my suitcase and stung the rucksack over my shoulder and walked towards the open front door. Beyond the doorway was a square-shaped hall furnished with a small table, a Windsor chair, a row of hooks for hats and coats and coconut matting on the floor.

As I stood hesitating in the doorway, Sarek came out of a room nearby. There was a funny embarrassed little grin on his face and his eyes were irritable.

‘You come up now and see your room.’

‘Right.’

I followed him up a flight of stairs, also covered with coconut matting and down a passage. I counted four doors before he paused before a door at the far end of the passage and facing the stairs.

‘Is not a bad room.’

Bad wasn’t the word. It was small. There was an iron bedstead by the window, a pine chest-of-drawers, more coconut matting on the floor and a cane-bottom chair.

‘You believe in the Spartan life, Mr. Sarek.’

He gave me a quick, dubious look.

‘Is not all right?’

‘It’ll do until something better shows up.’

‘I want you to be comfortable here: and happy.’

‘That’s nice to know.’

He fidgeted, rubbing his forefinger along the side of his nose.

‘She don’t want you to have the other room.’

‘Is that so much better?’

‘Is the guest room.’

‘This is the skivvy’s room?’

‘Well, is the maid’s room.’

‘Forget it, Mr. Sarek. Why should I care? I don’t want to make trouble.’

His dark, parrot’s face lit up.

‘She will get used to you. You know what women are. I should have warned her. Once she is used to you, she like you. Give her time, Mitchell.’

I thought of the warm, comfortable bedroom I slept in last night with its soft lights, electric fire and sheepskin rugs.

‘Let’s hope she won’t take too long about it.’

I grinned to take the curse of it, but I could see he didn’t like it.

‘I talk to her. Don’t worry.’

I went over and poked the bed. It was about as soft and as comfortable as the bed they give you in the Scrubs.

‘Where do I wash?’

‘I show you.’

He took me out into the passage.

‘Is Mrs. Sarek’s room. The one opposite is mine. The one next door to Mrs. Sarek’s room is the guest room. The bathroom’s the first door down the passage.’

‘I’ll guess I’ll wash up.’

‘Dinner will be ready in ten minutes.’

‘Do I eat in the kitchen?’

He didn’t like this as I intended him not to like it.

‘You eat with us.’

‘Better ask Mrs. Sarek first.’

‘I don’t like it when you talk like that.’

‘I just don’t want to be in the way.’

He gave me a long worried stare and went off down the passage. I waited until he was out of sight, then went to the guest room door, turned on the light and had a look around. I wanted to see what I was missing.

It wasn’t anything to rave about, but streets ahead of the room he had given me. At least the bed looked comfortable.

There was running water and a toilet basin and the furniture was something you could live with if you weren’t too fussy.

I laid a bet with myself. I’d be sleeping in there tomorrow night.

chapter four

W
hen I entered the dining room and saw the long refectory table I knew for certain I was with the money. It only needed this lavish display of food and glittering silver to clinch it. Maybe a Jew doesn’t care how he dresses or lives, but if he can help it, he will never neglect his belly.

The table was groaning with good things to eat.

Sarek paused in his task of carving a chicken that looked like a small turkey.

‘Sit down. You like chicken all right?’

‘I like anything, and that certainly looks good to me.’

‘My wife she is a fine cook.’

‘She must be.’

I dragged my eyes away from the chicken and looked around. The room was long and narrow and shabbily furnished.

A pile of blazing logs burned in the big open fireplace, either side of which stood two well-worn easy chairs. The inevitable coconut matting covered the floor.

‘Sit down then.’

‘Anywhere?’

He pointed with his carving knife.

The table was set for three. The third place, mid-way between the head and end of the table, had been laid as if under protest. The knife and fork, and spoon and fork and the serviette had been dumped there in a heap as if whoever had put them there had intended me to know I wasn’t wanted.

‘Here?’

‘Is right.’ He saw me looking at the dumped cutlery. ‘The wife she was a little rushed.’

As I sat down he handed me a plate. He had said he wanted me to be happy. From the look of the plate he meant it. He had given me enough for two starving men.

‘Looks good.’

He beamed. I could see food was very close to his heart.

‘One of fifty. I get them cheap. Three bob a dozen, day-olds. The wife she rear them on hot-water bottles.’

‘You mean you’ve more like this one?’

‘Fifty. We got geese too. You like goose?’

‘I certainly do.’

He was thoroughly enjoying himself, and when he looked as he was looking now I almost forgot he was a Jew.

‘Nothing like goose. Maybe we have goose for Saturday dinner, hey? We eat well here.’

‘Best dinner I’ve seen in years.’

Then the door opened and she came in.

I’ve often thought about that moment. I have had all kinds of moments: good, bad, exciting, funny and happy moments.

But this moment was like none of the others. It was the moment, making anything else that’s ever happened to me as colourless and dull as a cold in the head. One look at her was enough. Just one quick look turned my insides to stone and filled my head and chest with blood.

As bad as that. Just to look at her was like walking into a sucker punch; like turning on a lamp and getting 200 volts up your arm. One moment I was about to enjoy a chicken dinner without a thought of a woman in my head, and the next, when I saw her, I was seething inside like an animal.

Except for her shape and her eyes, she really wasn’t much to get excited about. She was small, compact and a copper head. I’ve never seen such hair: real copper colour; thick and wavy and silky. She had big green eyes, a thin, rather pinched face and a sallow complexion. Her mouth was soft looking and her lips thick. There were dark smudges under her eyes that could have meant anything. She had on a green sweater and black slacks. The slacks were dusty and the sweater grubby.

Six out of seven men would have passed her by without a second glance, but I had to be the seventh. There was something she had that touched of the thing in me and set me on fire. I can’t put it better than that. There isn’t any better way of putting it. Just one look at her and I was a dead duck.

I knew it and didn’t care. I knew she was fatal too, and didn’t care about that either. And when I watched her move to the end of the table and saw the roll of her hips and the gentle lift of her breasts my mouth went dry and I felt physically sick. That chicken dinner suddenly became the most nauseating thing I have ever had to look at.

‘Do you play chess, Mitchell?’

The meal was somehow over, and she had gone into the kitchen to wash up. She hadn’t said a word during the meal.

When Sarek had introduced me she had given me a black, stony stare and hadn’t looked my way for the rest of the meal. Sarek was too interested in his food to notice anything odd about her behaviour, or mine for that matter. He didn’t seem to expect anyone to talk. He took his food seriously, and for his size, it was surprising how much he ate.

He didn’t even notice that I scarcely touched my food. I couldn’t. I wanted a double whisky more than anything else in the world - more than anything, except her. As soon as Sarek had finished gorging himself, she got up and began clearing the table.

It was then that Sarek asked me if I played chess.

‘I’ve played a bit.’

‘I like chess. When I lived in Cairo I play every night with my father. I try to teach Rita but is no good. She has not the brain for chess. Is smart and clever, but no good at chess. You have to have a special brain: she has not got it.’

That was her name - Rita.

‘Well, you can’t be good at everything.’

He was looking hopefully at me.

‘We have a game, hey? Nothing serious, you understand. I have not played chess for months.’

‘All right.’

He beamed at me, rubbing his small brown hands.

‘Not much to do in the country after dark. Chess is the best game in the world.’

If she had been my wife I wouldn’t have said there wasn’t much to do in the country after dark. Nor would I have let her remain in the kitchen alone for two seconds.

He set up a card table in front of the fire.

‘Won’t Mrs. Sarek want to sit here?’

‘Is all right. You know what women are. She fuss in the kitchen, then she go to bed early. She read in bed: trash. All women read trash.’ He chuckled as he crossed the room to a cupboard. ‘Paper-backed books she reads; love stories. Is very romantic.’

But not with you, I thought. I bet she’s not very romantic with you.

He produced a set of hand-carved, ivory chessmen and an ivory board. It was the most impressive set of chessmen I had ever seen.

‘Nice set.’

‘Is beautiful set.’ He handed me the Queen. ‘Fourteenth century work by Pisano. My father he found them in Italy. He give them to me. He want me to give them to my son. He felt very strong about it, but what can I do? I have no son.’ He began to set out the pieces on the board, his thick eyebrows knitted in a frown. ‘Not yet, in a little while; next year. Is what she says, but what is the use of a son to me if I am too old to enjoy him?’

I went over to the window, pulled aside the curtain and looked into the darkness, scared he would see the rush of blood that had risen to my neck and face. To hear him talk like that gave me a feeling I had never had before: a feeling of rage that was suffocating.

‘Let us begin. Come and sit down.’

I heard the door open and I turned.

She stood just inside the room, looking at Sarek. Her pointed chin jutted out aggressively. Every line of her was aggressive as if she had screwed herself up in anger over something she had been brooding about for a long time.

‘There’s no coal. Do I have to lug coal when there are two men in the house?’

Her voice was low pitched and hard and angry.