So it was all settled. With Stan for dubious company, I would embrace the dark, while looking for the light.
And Tom could go to Hell.
And Hector?...
Hector was already there.
As I showered, dressed and prepared a sketchy breakfast, Sane Mind and Insane Mind resumed their bickering.
Hector surely couldn’t have composed music that purported to be Janet’s?
Well, he played the piano and taught music. He might have composed as well.
But even if he had, Janet would never have passed off Hector’s work as hers.
He’d quoted the lyric from In Memoriam and knew its source. How did he know?
No doubt he and Janet discussed her compositions when they had their ghostly musical soirées.
But that still doesn’t account for why the original manuscript wasn’t in Janet’s hand.
Perhaps Hector acted as her scribe and took dictation - giving a whole new meaning to the expression “ghost-written”...
I cleared up the kitchen, unloaded and re-loaded the dishwasher, then went to the music room where I spread out sample pages of Janet’s scores, including In Memoriam. As I studied the title page, I noticed some words I’d missed before, written in faint pencil underneath the dedication “To Frieda”. They were in German and attributed to Goethe.
.
Meine Ruh’ ist hin,
Mein Herz ist schwer.
.
I didn’t speak any German, but Google would no doubt furnish me with a translation. Why would Janet preface her score with a quotation from a German poet? Because the composition was inspired by the Great War? But Janet hadn’t written this quotation. It was not her hand. If it was Hector’s, why would he quote a German? He’d been killed by Germans. So had his two brothers and many of his friends.
Perhaps the meaning of the words would shed some light. I went and fetched my laptop, switched on and, after a few moments, typed the German words into a Google search, then looked for a translation.
.
My peace is gone,
My heart is heavy.
.
The lines were apparently from Goethe’s Faust and described the consternation of young Gretchen who has fallen for Faust in a big way. Sitting at her spinning wheel, she’s close to losing her mind. All of a piece with the last entry in Hector’s journal. (“Letter from Frieda. This is a bad business. I am in Hell.”) But was it Hector who’d chosen this quotation?
Then Sane Mind felled me with a hammer blow of common sense. I was a complete idiot. All I needed to do was compare the writing on the score with Hector’s journal.
I ran up the stairs, clutching the sheet of manuscript, set it down on the bed and pulled open the bedside drawer where I kept Hector’s journal. I took out the little book and opened it randomly. I didn’t even need to compare. I’d been studying this handwriting for the last half hour.
So Hector had composed In Memoriam. A song cycle about an impossible love, in which the lovers are separated not only by distance, but ultimately by death. He’d dedicated it to “Frieda” and prefaced it (in the language of the enemy) with words that meant
.
My peace is gone,
My heart is heavy.
.
And my aunt had passed off Hector’s composition as her own.
But why?
Chapter Thirteen
It had stopped snowing. The garden was cloaked in a thick white mantle and the leafless trees looked black in comparison. I stood at the window and admired the stark beauty of their shapes, something I hadn’t even noticed before the snowfall.
I hardly ever saw snow like this. In London, no matter how early you got out, there would be dirty footprints in the snow and brown slush piled at the side of the road. In a matter of hours, snow in the city became an ugly, depressing inconvenience. Here on Skye it was an agent of transformation.
As I looked out at the white expanse, I was dazzled by the sunlight reflected off the snow, by the brightness of the blue sky, the clarity of the air. The garden was unfamiliar, almost unrecognisable now, a brave new world. The prospect of exploration was irresistible, so I turned my back on Janet’s dusty manuscripts and Hector’s muddy journal to venture outdoors, where everything was clear, bright and utterly simple.
I plodded across the snow in my Wellingtons, delighted. It was already a couple of inches deep and as my feet sank into the immaculate white carpet, I felt a remnant of the thrill I’d known as a child, running across virgin snow, leaving my mark, spoiling the pristine surface in an impulse that had nothing to do with destruction, everything to do with exhilaration.
I walked round to the pond and stood at the water’s edge where it had already begun to freeze, then, shivering, I set off on a brisk circuit, keeping my eyes averted from the bridge from which I’d fallen all those years ago. A heron took off in a huff, but a pair of mallards, made of sterner stuff, merely glared at me. I pondered the circulatory system of ducks. How could they stand the temperature of the almost-freezing water? What ran in their veins instead of blood? Anti-freeze?... I sensed my thoughts turning in a direction that would lead to Hector and our (cool) night of passion, so I increased my pace and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other.
As I came full circle round the pond, I glanced up at the house and was surprised to see Tom walking toward me. I stood still, struggling with the confused feelings that had arisen at the sight of him: pleasure that I had someone to share the garden with; irritation that I was probably in for an embarrassing apology.
He raised a hand in greeting, then strode across the snow to meet me. As he approached, I could see his face looked haggard, as if he hadn’t slept. Or perhaps he was nursing a hangover. He came to a halt in front of me, but didn’t speak or smile. His mouth was bracketed by deep lines that I didn’t remember seeing before and his eyes were dull with exhaustion. He hadn’t shaved, possibly on account of the livid, red weal on his cheek, the size of a thumbnail, where Hector had burned him with the hot coal.
As the awkward silence became prolonged, I said, ‘How did you know I was out here?’
‘I knocked. When you didn’t answer, I thought you’d probably be in the garden. I followed your footprints.’
‘Oh. Of course.’
Tom plunged his hands deep in his jacket pockets, cleared his throat and said, ‘I’ve come to crawl.’
‘That’s not necessary, Tom. We’ll take apologies as read, shall we? I think we both suffered enough embarrassment last night.’
‘No. I have to apologise. About a lot of things. It’s a long list. What you might call an inventory.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Shall we walk? To keep warm? This could take a while.’
‘Do you want to go indoors? I could make some coffee.’
‘No, if you don’t mind, Ruth, I’d like to stay outdoors. I think it brings out the best in me. And I like the snow.’ He looked round at the garden, squinting in the sunlight. ‘It’s clean.’
‘OK,’ I said doubtfully. ‘Let’s walk then.’
We set off, walking side by side. It occurred to me, even before Tom started speaking, that by choosing to talk like this, he wouldn’t have to look me in the eye. I could understand his reluctance. In fact, I shared it.
After a few moments he said, ‘I owe you a lot of money.’
I stopped walking and turned to him in surprise. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’
‘Can we keep walking, please? I’ll explain.’
We walked on, then after a few paces, he blurted out, ‘You’re paying me too much. My wages, I mean. I’m charging you more than I charged Janet.’
I stopped again and turned to stare at him. To his credit, he met my eyes, though clearly it wasn’t a pleasant experience.
‘Why?’
‘Because I need the money.’
‘Are you in trouble?’
‘Oh, yes. I’m in deep shit.’
>
‘I see. Do you want to talk about it?’
‘That’s why I’m here. Can we keep walking? It’s just... easier somehow.’
We set off again and after a moment, he announced, ‘I’m a compulsive gambler. No, please, keep walking.... I’m addicted to gambling. I don’t know if you realise, but compulsive gambling is as much an illness as alcoholism.’
‘Yes, I did know. But I’ve never known a compulsive gambler.’
‘Well, you do now.’
We walked on in silence while I tried to absorb the new information.
‘How do you manage to gamble on Skye?’
‘I don’t any more. But my debts go way back. So do me and gambling. I had poker-playing chums. We used to go to casinos. Clubs. In the end, the only friends I had were gamblers. So I came here. To Skye. Out of harm’s way, I thought. Where I discovered you can gamble with things other than cash.’
‘But Tom, I don’t understand. When you came round to tell me about working for Janet, you were offering to pay money back.’
‘That’s right.’
‘And I could easily have found out you were overcharging me, simply by checking Janet’s accounts.’
‘Yes, I know. That’s the rush, you see! That’s how it works. I could have been found out. But I wasn’t. I took a gamble that you wouldn’t check the accounts. You’re not that kind of girl. And you didn’t think I was that kind of guy. Especially since I was offering to return the money Janet had been paying me for doing nothing.’
‘Are you saying you knew I’d let you keep it?’
‘Let’s just say it was a calculated risk. Quite a big one, given the state of my finances. But I figured someone who worked in TV and owned a smart car, a flat in London and a big pile like this would feel too embarrassed to ask for the money back. You’d look mean. So I could afford to look honest. A man of integrity. I thought that could be... useful. And I thought it might persuade you to give me my job back.’
‘Tom, I just can’t believe you’d—’ The power of speech suddenly deserted me and I swallowed hard.
‘That I’d treat anyone so badly, especially an old childhood friend? You’re too trusting, Ruth. You think everyone is as honest and kind as Janet. As you. I could see that when I met you again. You seemed much the same as when you were young. Sensitive. Caring. And gullible. The kind of girl who believes in fairies... You didn’t check Janet’s accounts, did you?’
‘No.’
‘You see? That gamble paid off. But I also took a chance on you wanting sex with me.’ He shrugged. ‘You win some, you lose some. It usually evens out. Until you get a run of real bad luck. And eventually all gamblers get a run of real bad luck. That’s what sends us into the Programme. Losing it all. Having nothing left to gamble with.’
‘Have you lost everything?’
‘Pretty much. Wife. Kid. Friends. Money, obviously. I don’t have money any more, only debts. I’ve lost count of the jobs I’ve had. The Forestry Commission sacked me for nicking equipment. I was lucky they didn’t prosecute.’
‘Why on earth would you—’
‘Sold it for cash. By the way, you don’t owe me for a chainsaw. I took it.’
I stopped walking and bowed my head. ‘Oh, Tom!’
‘Another gamble. I didn’t think you’d remember to lock the garage. You sounded pre-occupied when I rang. Something had rattled you.’
I looked up at him. ‘You could tell that on the phone? I barely spoke!’
‘If you play poker, you get used to reading people. It becomes a habit. So I came back to see if you’d locked up. And I was right. You see, I even bet against myself! So then I thought it would be a blast to steal my own chainsaw. I figured you wouldn’t miss a couple of hundred quid. And I squared it with myself that, since you hadn’t locked the garage, anyone could have come along and stolen my chainsaw. It just so happened that the someone was me.’
I shook my head from side to side. ‘This is just... horrible!’
‘It is, isn’t it? You can see why my wife left me... But your chainsaw money would have been just a drop in the ocean. I’ve got to sell Larachbeag now. To pay off debts. I won’t get much for it, but it’s all I’ve got left to sell apart from my van and my tools. I can’t work without those.’
‘But where will you live?’
‘Don’t know. I had a plan that I’d get shacked up here with you, all nice and cosy for Christmas, then maybe you’d bugger off back to London and leave me here with a cushy caretaking job. But I blew it, didn’t I? Should’ve known. Gambling and booze don’t mix. Booze screws your judgement. One drug at a time, that’s the rule. But I forget. “Too much is never enough” - that’s always been my motto.’
‘Tom, I still don’t understand. Why are you telling me all this? Humiliating yourself. And me.’
‘It’s what I have to do. Part of the Recovery Programme. Step Five: We admitted to ourselves and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs. You’re another human being. And you’re on my list.’
‘List?’
‘Step Eight: We made a list of all persons we had harmed and became willing to make amends to them all. So that’s why I’m here. To make amends. And to say sorry for being a Class A bastard. To tell you, I’m sick and I need help.’
‘Are you getting any help?’
‘Oh, yes. Help’s available, but mostly I choose to ignore it. Because I’m a stupid Class A bastard. You offered me friendship, but I took advantage of you. In every single bloody way I could.’
I looked down again, unable to think of anything to say. Steeling myself, I looked up into his face again. I could no longer see the man I’d thought handsome; the man I might have ended up sleeping with. This one looked bone-weary. Miserable. Broken.
‘Do you know where your wife and child are?
He flinched slightly at the question, then said, ‘Ex-wife. No, I’ve no idea. She doesn’t want me to know. I haven’t seen or heard from them in years.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘No, it’s the best thing. Definitely. Well, best for them.’
There was another long silence in which I felt the cold creep up through my Wellingtons. I wriggled my toes to keep my circulation moving, then said, ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’
Tom blinked at me, then threw back his head and laughed, making the booming sound that had cheered me up on previous occasions. It sounded hollow now. The startled mallard and his mate took off, affronted.
‘Help? Jesus, Ruth!’ Tom ran a hand through his tangled hair and when he spoke there was an odd catch in his voice. ‘I’ve lied to you, stolen from you, cheated you, practically raped you! And you ask me if you can help?’
‘I’d like to, if I can. I’ve known what it is to be hard up. And down on my luck. At the moment I don’t have a job or even the prospect of a job. So I can sympathise. In a way.’
‘It’s more than I deserve.’
‘Probably, but that’s not really the point, is it? It’s about friendship. I think of you - well, I thought of you as a friend. An old friend. And I do understand that what’s wrong with you is an illness. So... I’d like to help. If I can.’ He stared at me, his lips parted. In disbelief, I suppose. ‘Maybe if I help you, you’ll stop stealing from me.’ A flicker passed across his face that might have been amusement, but I fixed him with a look and said, ‘We were drinking Janet’s champagne last night, weren’t we?’
He winced and closed his eyes. ‘Sorry. Forgot about that one. I took it from the wine rack ages ago.’
‘And moved another bottle into the gap so I wouldn’t notice?’
‘That’s right. All part of the fun,’ he muttered grimly. ‘If there’s any way I can do it, I want to make reparation, Ruth. I can’t pay you back, but I’ll happily add you to my long list of creditors. And if you want to continue employing me, I’ll work for nothing until we’re square.’
‘Reparation is all part of it, isn’t it? The Programme.’
‘An essential part.’
‘Would you want to carry on working for me?’
‘Yes. And I promise I won’t steal anything else.’
I stared into Tom’s face. He managed to meet my eyes and hold my gaze, but I could see it cost him an effort. I suddenly recalled Hector telling me I would know what to do. So I silenced Sane Mind and said, ‘Well, I still need a gardener and handyman. But I’d insist on paying you. Though I’m not prepared to pay you any more than Janet did.’
‘No, of course. That’s... that’s very good of you.’
I had a horrible feeling he might be about to put his arms round me, so I turned and pointed to the pond. ‘You can dismantle that rotten bridge for a start. I know the weather’s not ideal, but that bridge is bothering me. Take it down before the weight of snow makes it fall into the pond.’
‘Consider it done.’
‘The other thing you can do, Tom, is be my friend. I don’t want to sleep with you, but I could use a friend. A reliable friend. Sounds like you could too.’ He said nothing, but just stared down at the snow-covered ground. To spare his feelings, I rambled on. ‘There could possibly be long-term prospects here. For the right person. I’ve been thinking about opening a plant nursery.’
‘At Tigh-na-Linne?’
‘Yes. It’s just a mad idea at the moment. I’m not sure what to do with the place, but I don’t really want to sell it, not unless I have to. So I’m trying to think of some sort of business venture. I’d be interested to know what you think, if you had any ideas. But whatever I decide to do here, there could be building work. Landscaping. Planting. Some of these trees are old and dangerous. They need to come down and new ones should be planted. If I did go ahead with the nursery idea, I’d need staff. Possibly a manager. But it would have to be someone reliable. One hundred per cent.’
‘I understand.’
‘And if I decide to put Tigh-na-Linne on the market, I’ll need someone to keep an eye on the place for me until it’s sold, especially during the winter. So we could possibly come to an arrangement that would suit us both.’ Tight-lipped now, Tom simply nodded, apparently unable to speak. ‘But it would all depend on whether I felt I could trust you. Trust you completely.’
The Glass Guardian Page 15