Sybil sighed. ‘It’s this island. When I am here, I tend to act irresponsibly. The island is to blame.’
‘I rather liked the idea of having
two
John de Coverleys on the scene,’ Mrs Garrison-Gore went on, addressing herself to Hugh and Antonia. ‘You were
meant
to discover that one was a fake and that it was the real one who killed his sister.’
‘I don’t think my brother is aware of what we have been up to,’ Sybil said. ‘I mean making him the murderer in the game and so on. He will never know. I don’t want anybody to imagine he has been caused any undue distress because he hasn’t.’
‘Did a seagull peck at his hands?’ Antonia asked.
‘Yes. That was quite a coincidence, wasn’t it? I understand Major Payne jumped to the conclusion I’d scratched John as I’d struggled!’
‘You were given some important clues,’ Mrs Garrison-Gore said. ‘Sybil drew your attention to the hidden door in the library. Then there was the fried chicken, the plain-glass monocle and so on – all of which you succeeded in taking into account. You drew all the right conclusions, which of course were also all the wrong conclusions. Your aunt said you would bring order out of the chaos, like sedulous botanists in a wild garden.’
‘Please forgive me, Hughie!’ Lady Grylls cried.
‘Where the hell is Ella? Why is she taking so long? How long
does
it take to change a dress?’ Ramskritt looked at his watch.
‘I must say Mrs Garrison-Gore is a first-class manipulator. She did manage to fool us.’ Payne seemed to have relented somewhat. ‘We should have seen through the ruse, but we didn’t. It was all rather cleverly staged, wouldn’t you agree, my love?’
‘We were completely bamboozled,’ Antonia smiled.
‘Were you?’ Mrs Garrison-Gore said. She sniffed. ‘Were you really?’
‘Oh yes. It was perfectly done.’ Antonia’s mood had lightened. Why should they be cross with Mrs Garrison-Gore, anyway? The poor woman had only been doing her job, what Lady Grylls and Sybil de Coverley had ordered her to do.
‘I am so sorry about the sleepless night.’ Mrs Garrison-Gore touched Antonia’s arm. She spoke with genuine compassion.
‘I am going to open the champagne now. I don’t think we should wait for Ella. Ella’s sulking. Ella can go to the blazes. She’s doing it to spite me. She hates me. Oh how she hates me.’ Ramskritt laughed. Once more he reached out for the festive bottle. ‘I
must
have a glass of champagne. Otherwise I may not be responsible for my actions. You don’t really want to see my eyes go pink, do you?’ He smiled. ‘Only kidding.’
‘Now we can.
Yes
.’ Feversham gave a magisterial nod. ‘Let’s have champers. Jolly good show. I will certainly have a glass m’self. Even if it’s a trifle early in the day. Jolly good show.’
Sybil produced a tray with elegant flute glasses. ‘Perhaps we should all get gloriously drunk. Nothing much else to do, on a horrid day like this. I’m afraid there’s something wrong with the central heating. The thermostat’s being temperamental.’ She peered out of the window. ‘Goodness, look, the sea seems to be getting higher and higher!
Rearing with a roar.
Poets always think they know best, don’t they?’
They heard a sound like that of a train approaching from a long way down a tube.
‘I find it jolly curious that nature should be so keen on building up such portentous threats instead of getting on with whatever release of forces it has in mind,’ said Feversham.
‘Sometimes I find myself wondering what it would be like if the house got swept away by a giant wave,’ Sybil said dreamily, hooking her arm through Feversham’s.
‘I used to dream of treasures long lost at sea,’ said Oswald. ‘I imagined ornate chests overflowing with rubies embedded in nacreous green rock, shifted here and there on the sandy floor by shoals of spotted fish … As a young man I was extremely romantic … Still am, I suppose …’
The door opened. Antonia expected it would be Ella wearing a new dress.
But it was Doctor Klein who entered the room.
He was wearing a dress.
Antonia remembered what had been bothering her.
And, mind you, when a girl tries to catch anything in her lap she throws her knees apart; she doesn’t clap them together, the way you did when you caught the lump of lead.
That was how the woman had known that Huck Finn was a boy and not a girl. Well, Doctor Klein had done just the opposite – he had thrown his knees apart – that’s why the folded
Times
had fallen to the floor – that’s when Antonia had started suspecting he was in fact a woman. Or had been.
The cork popped and at the same time the storm broke. There was an audible hiss and roar as the rain came down on the house. The windows rattled.
Doctor Klein sat in a high-backed chair. He said nothing. His eyes were fixed on Oswald Ramskritt.
Doctor Klein’s dress was of the long and loose variety. It was lavishly decorated with artificial flowers and bows around the coy décolletage. Doctor Klein carried an embroidered reticule, which he now placed on his lap.
Payne drew his forefinger across his jaw. The sight they were witnessing was without doubt monstrous, unnatural and quite grotesque. How
should
civilised people react when a male fellow guest of great girth suddenly and without prior warning turns up
en travestie
? There is nothing about it in the etiquette books. Staring, gasping and demanding an explanation was not on, he didn’t think. At least that would be the well-bred British attitude.
But Ramskritt wasn’t British. Ramskritt laughed.
‘What’s up, Doc? What’s the idea?’ Ramskritt had started dispensing champagne, filling flutes and handing them round. ‘Getting in touch with your feminine side? Or is that more of what our friend Feversham calls an “experiment of considerable psychological complexity”?’
Doctor Klein sat very still. He had a slightly disoriented air about him. He looked extremely unwell. His pale fat face hung in pouches. His eyes were a little unfocused. His lips were a pale purple colour. He seemed to have a problem breathing.
Had he taken something? Was he under the influence of some drug? Antonia wondered. What did she know about transsexuals? Not much, apart from the fact that it was a long and frequently painful process. Apparently it was easier for a man to become a woman than the other way round. She remembered reading a detective story by the late Patricia Moyes.
Who is Simon Warrick
? The twist at the end hinged on the fact that Simon Warrick had been born a woman, but nobody had had an inkling about it. Antonia had had doubts as to whether a woman could ever make a convincing man. She shuddered as she recalled watching a Channel
4
documentary about a woman who became a man.
Doctor Klein said, ‘I don’t suppose you remember me, Oswald?’
Ramskritt took a swill from his champagne glass. ‘Of course I remember you. I have never forgotten you. You are Doctor Klein. I think your first name is Friedrich. You are my shrink, dermatologist and reflexologist.’ He raised the glass to his lips once more, emptied it, then gave himself a refill. ‘You did wonders with my rashes. As good as rid me of them. You understand me when I talk to you. Only
you
know the real me. I feel good after I have talked to you. Thanks to you, I am a new man …’
A deafening clap of thunder made all the windows shake and rattle.
Hysterectomy … Mastectomy … Gender reassignment surgery … Psychoanalysis … A course of androgen paves the way to the transformation … Hormone treatment … Depression … Strong drugs can have adverse effect … Reversals … Mood swings … Psychotic episodes … Antonia went on watching Klein …
Something was the matter. Had the drugs stopped taking effect? Would that explain the dress? Was he –
she
– having a reversal, which was also a psychotic episode?
‘Don’t you recognise me?’ Doctor Klein asked.
Ramskritt, glass in hand, went up to where Doctor Klein sat. He walked around him. He took a sip of champagne, then put his glass down on a side table. He stood frowning at Klein, his hands thrust into his pockets. Doctor Klein might have been something displayed in a glass tank.
‘I don’t know what you mean. It couldn’t matter less,’ Ramskritt said, ‘but are you actually a girl?’
‘Would you like a drop of champagne, Doctor Klein?’ Sybil said in her best society hostess manner. ‘It’s deliciously dry.’ She carried a full glass to him. When he didn’t react and continued clutching at the reticule, she put his glass on the side table, beside Ramskritt’s.
Ramskritt brought his face close to Doctor Klein’s. ‘Why, I believe you
are
a girl …
Yes
… No sign of a stubble and such small hands … Well, I am jiggered.’ He straightened himself up. ‘I don’t think I have ever seen anything like it in my whole life.’
‘Freddie Hansen. Do you remember Freddie Hansen?’ Doctor Klein asked. His voice, Antonia noted, had become a little slurred. He seemed to find it hard to get the words out.
‘Can’t say I do. Who’s he?’
‘She. Freddie was Gabriele’s sister. You met them in Berlin. In
1980
.’
‘Berlin
1980
?’ Ramskritt echoed. ‘Was I in Berlin in
1980
? Now, what was
that
about? Berlin
1980
… .Yes …
Yes
… But that’s more than thirty-five years ago! An interesting time in my life.’ Ramskritt drew back a little. ‘Perhaps I should have done things differently. But I am
not
going to apologise to anyone. No sir. Hey, what’s the idea? What do you know about Berlin
1980
?’
‘Gabriele and her sister put their trust in you,’ Klein said. ‘You took advantage of them. You deceived them. You destroyed them.’
‘Freddie and Gabriele. Oh yes. Ghosts from the past. Not the sweetest of memories. I didn’t set out to destroy them. That wasn’t my intention. I am not a bad man, whatever that bitch Ella may have told you about me. I can’t remember all the details now, Doc, but I didn’t want them to die.’
‘You
destroyed
them,’ Doctor Klein repeated.
‘I was only doing my job. My duty to my country. To Ronnie. To Western Civilisation. Ronnie
was
our President, wasn’t he? It was an important job. Not many men could have done it. Spying is dangerous business.’ Oswald picked up his glass and drank off the remaining champagne. ‘I was doing my duty to mankind.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘Maisie, darling, bring over the bottle. I need a refill. My duty to mankind, that’s right, that’s what I believed in.’
‘Here you are, my dear fellow.’ It was Feversham who had brought the bottle over to him.
‘No, not you, you old fool. I said
Maisie
. Go back and give the bottle to her. These things matter to me. I want a beautiful girl to do the pouring, not an old fool.’
‘No call for that kind of talk, Ramskritt.’ Feversham bristled. ‘This is not on. Most definitely not on. Would you apologise? A public insult deserves a public apology.’
‘I honestly believed I was helping the world to become a better place. Thank you, sweetheart,’ Ramskritt said as Maisie stood by his side and held up the bottle. ‘
More.
I want my glass to overflow. Sybil was right.
Let’s get drunk
.’ He looked at the full glass Maisie had placed on the side table, licked his lips in anticipation, but didn’t pick it up. ‘I was on a mission. Us against Them. The damned Commies. But who
are
you? Some relative – their father? What were those girls called now? Oh yes, Gabriele and Freddie. No, you can’t be their father – are you their mother? I have no idea how old you are. You could be
anything
–’
Doctor Klein gazed up at him out of his odd dolorous eyes. He raised his hand slowly and pointed to his left eyebrow.
‘I am Freddie.’
Mrs Garrison-Gore watched fascinated. There was more tragedy in Doctor Klein’s eyes than Hamlet watching Little Nell’s death on the sinking
Titanic
…
It was the kind of situation she would love to put in a book!
It was getting darker by the minute. Only a single table lamp of low voltage had been turned on. There was a ghostly pool of light around it. Perhaps it was better that way. More –
dramatic
. The skies outside were the colour of tar now – the wind howled like hounds from hell – the sea roared. The sea gods were angry, no doubt about it.
Something is about to happen, Mrs Garrison-Gore thought.
There was a cracking sound – as though the windows were going to burst out of their frames.
It was a moment of great psychological intensity, of that Mrs Garrison-Gore had no doubt. She was susceptible to atmosphere, even though she didn’t always succeed in conjuring it up by the force of her pen. Thinking of which, where
was
her pen? She meant her silver-bullet pen. It would protect you from evil, Sybil had said. Opening her bag she started rummaging in it frantically. I don’t believe in superstitions, she thought.
An idea dawned on her. It was so outrageously bold and brilliant, it took her breath away. For a moment she stood very still, not daring to breathe, then closing her bag slowly, she looked across at Doctor Klein once more.
Doctor Klein’s face glistened in the dim light. He was deadly pale. His lips were blue. He sat perfectly immobile, like a stuffed thing … Medication gone wrong?
She had known he was a transsexual since she had seen the photos, which she had found in his drawer. ‘Before’ and ‘after’. ‘She’ becomes a ‘he’. She had gone through his file, which contained a record of the transformation … He hadn’t been so fat to start with … Why had Klein brought the file to the island? Did he – she – need a constant reminder of the hell he’d been through? Had he experienced some kind of identity crisis? She couldn’t help wondering. She was interested in mysteries.
What was it Klein had above his left eyebrow? Unobtrusively she moved nearer and peered. Some mark – an old wound in the shape of a horseshoe. Most distinctive!