by Bill James
‘What we have to notice, Desmond, is that his phrasing is often entirely dependent on the negotiator’s. Admittedly, he will frequently reverse the sense of it. He’ll dispute “natural”, for instance, and give a variant meaning to “precaution”. But these contradictions are not very relevant.
Here’s the real point, Desmond, Colin – yes, here’s the main point: by sticking so doggedly, so slavishly, indeed, to the line proposed by the negotiator he implicitly recognizes who has control. He feels compelled to attempt rebuttals of what the negotiator says, and in doing so accepts that the negotiator establishes the route they both must take. If I may stoop to jargon, he allows, encourages, the negotiator to “set the agenda”. I hear a kind of rhythmic inevitability about the negotiator’s statements and John’s adjusted echo of them. The negotiator puts a word into the air and John takes it, imparts his personal commentary and sends it back. I feel a fugue-like progress, don’t you, Desmond, Colin?’
‘He agrees with the negotiator by disagreeing?’ Iles said. Harpur thought this came over as reasonably sharp and dismissive, but not sharp and dismissive enough – not the full sharpness and dismissiveness Iles was capable of and lived by. His voice sounded more than half won over, as though Rockmain had conferred a revelation on him. The paradox – with agree and disagree equated – seemed to intrigue Iles, enthral him. He wouldn’t openly admit this, though. Rockmain had, or had had, a green corduroy suit. Iles couldn’t confess to imbibing revelations from someone of that fruity flavour.
Rockmain said: ‘John would like to think it is he who has control – through his power over the hostages, a power that constrains us as well as them, so far. But his words show he is not confident of this, show, in fact, the opposite. In due course, and quite soon now, he will most probably relinquish all pretence at control. He will capitulate. We must wait for this frailty to disable him.’
He held up a tiny, skeletal, childlike hand, as if attempting to ward off protest. ‘But you’ll say, Desmond, “His voice still sounds strong and good.” Granted his voice sounds strong and good. There’s a showman side to him. He can keep up a pretence, act out a pretence. But not for ever. Or even for very long. Acute stress elements discomfort him.
He has to manage what we believe to be four people. Even though he’s armed and they aren’t this is a tricky task. If he continues, he’ll need to sleep and become off-guard. You’ll send in food and drink, but he’ll fear this might disguise the start of an onslaught.
‘And this brings us to what I’m sure we all recognize as the most significant bit of repetition in the conversations. I refer, of course, to the word “unfavourably”. The negotiator says: “A resolution is possible, John. We mustn’t allow things to turn out unfavourably.” This constitutes an expert piece of persuasiveness by the negotiator. The word “resolution” is positive, wholesome, and a clever way of cloaking what it actually means to John: defeat. One can imagine a proud battleship named HMS Resolution. And then the “we” –“we mustn’t allow things to turn out unfavourably” – the “we” suggests they are partners in dodging an unfavourable outcome: mates, buddies, joined together by exemplary good sense. It’s as though Olly and John have the same purpose and will plan it jointly. But John isn’t having any of it. The fudge factor doesn’t work for him now. He answers: “What does unfavourably mean?”
‘Dread forces him to see through the carefully vague terms used by the negotiator. “Unfavourably means me dead and maybe others, doesn’t it, Olly?” Reality is about to overwhelm John. He feels he must retaliate somehow. He must dominate. He is pushed by this urge into absurdity. He suggests the besiegers might fear the hostages are already dead since there is “no noise or interruption from the people here”. But this notion, this tease, this attempt to scare and horrify, drastically weakens his position, doesn’t it? Living hostages are the only appreciable weapon he has. If the hostages were dead his own security would be finished. He’d have no bargaining resources left. It recalls that formula we hear now and then from the peace process in Northern Ireland. He would have put his armament “beyond use”.
‘Such a consummate error in his logic and instincts and tactics tells us he is coming apart, is already a near wreck. I believe, on the evidence of these conversations, that he is intelligent and quick-witted enough to acknowledge this to himself soon, and to seek to end things in some other way than “unfavourably”, i.e. by submission and release unhurt of his prisoners. You’ll point out, Desmond, Colin, that submission itself is for him an unfavourable outcome and one he has so far resisted.’ Rockmain went into another chuckle, though briefer. Then he said: ‘Yes, submission will mean matters end unfavourably for him, but not as unfavourably as if he is hugely outgunned and designated a target.’
Rockmain did a fair job at mimicking Iles’s voice. ‘“This is Gold. Shoot him.” John might not be aware of the full damage he caused in Sandicott Terrace, but he will know he opened fire and hit the Jaguar. He’ll understand that if police kill him now because he won’t yield there’ll be no public or judicial outcry. Everyone will accept he was an all-round active menace and had to be made safe. He will have opted to be made safe by getting wiped out. He won’t opt for it.’
Chapter Fourteen
2007
Obviously, Manse Shale knew he had to be careful about what he said to Naomi and how he said it. When he concentrated at full power he reckoned he got most of his grammar fairly OK. He certainly did not regard grammar as just something fancy. He believed it was sensible to have as much of it as you could by listening to people who already had it and noticing the way they put it all together. You might not get it all at once, but a few very small errors might happen to anyone, known as slips of the tongue. Think of John Prescott, ex-deputy Prime Minister, who’d been to two universities, not just one, and you would of thought they had lectures on how to stop your tongue slipping, by people whose tongues did not slip, showing students it could be done. But John Prescott sounded like he wanted to kick the language to death with a steel-toecapped boot.
Manse could tell Naomi had no trouble with her grammar. She would notice if he really messed up, though she’d probably be too polite to tell him. If she thought he sounded like an ignorant slob, she might decide he was not right for her. So Manse said to himself, ‘Watch it, Manse!’ That was grammatical! He’d met Naomi only an hour ago, but already felt he’d like to hold on to her. He admired slimness in a woman. It wasn’t only that they both loved the Pre-Raphaelites, or, for Naomi, some of the Pre-Raphaelites. Mansel considered this similarity between them just a sign of something that could turn out deep.
Also, obviously, if this did happen, he’d eventually have to tell her what his type of commerce was. In that kind of relationship it would be wrong to keep such a matter confidential. For one thing, she’d need to be warned about the dangers of the game, not just to him but to her, also, and to Manse’s children. Some difficult people worked in this trade. They could get impetuous. He had certainly told Syb about his business and advised her to be watchful. The stress might be one of the reasons she cut loose and went to Ivor, this roofer or chef or vet in North Wales. She’d be safer there. How she’d met Ivor he couldn’t tell. For now, Manse couldn’t tell either whether Naomi did flits, also, but he wouldn’t want to give her too much strain this early. She had the sort of face that shouldn’t be given strain.
There was a shop next to the gallery where they sold poster-prints of most of the paintings on show. Naomi picked out Lorenzo and Isabella by Millais and an Arthur Hughes. Manse didn’t feel certain about the best way to deal with this. He thought it would be forcing things ahead too fast if he tried to pay and make a present of them. When it came to women, money could be a difficult topic. He’d hate it to look like he thought he could buy his way into closeness with her. That would be vulgar and flashy.
Also, he had an original Hughes at home, almost certainly genuine: if Naomi ever came to his house and saw the art there she might feel
hurt that he’d thought it enough to give her a couple of mass-produced prints. Of course, he hoped she would come to his house one day. So, he didn’t offer to pay for her posters, and instead let Naomi hand over her own cash.
Naturally, he watched her face and body for anything that revealed she considered him a tightwad – say the sudden screwing up of her lips or an angry limb-twitch. If he saw either, or both, he’d try to make out he hadn’t noticed the sale because he was examining some other shop items. Often he’d found that limb-twitches in women could come from a lot of rage and/or disgust. He had a plan ready. Manse might say: ‘Oh, you must let me get you those. Please! It’s a privilege, in truth!’
Manse often found that if he was trying a line with a woman he regarded as a bit above the usual class he’d produce old-time, long-gone phrases such as ‘in truth’. It was like something from an ancient drama about the upper-classes. But maybe it sounded weird and comical to the woman. He had a twenty very handy, to prevent any additional delay in these possible tricky moments. It would be best if he got the money to the shop assistant before Naomi paid. Otherwise, Manse would have to persuade her to take it afterwards. This could be awkward. She’d probably refuse. And, if she didn’t, there’d be the matter of change. The posters cost £7.99 each, which meant she’d have to give him back £4.02. He would detest all that carry-on with coins. He’d feel like a shop worker himself. The difficult point was she might not show the anger and contempt at his meanness until after she had paid the assistant. These complications really troubled him.
But, no, Manse spotted nothing to tell him he’d disappointed her, not before she paid nor after. She acted like someone absolutely used to paying her own way, used to acting independent. Did that hint she had no husband or partner at present? You could tell she was the sort who would have her personal ideas about The Light of the World, though many thought it great.
Manse bought a Millais and a D.G. Rossetti poster himself, Ophelia and Beata Beatrix, using the twenty. He needed to strengthen the idea that he and Naomi had similarities, were a natural pair, but he wouldn’t overdo it by buying exactly the same, like naff couples who wore clothes that matched. Obviously, he’d never frame and hang cheapo prints in his residential property. This wasn’t the purpose. He wanted Naomi and himself to leave the shop together, each with rolled posters under their arm. In Manse’s opinion, this made a kind of bond.
He put the prints under the left arm, keeping his gun hand free. But, as Joan Fenton had said, he was probably safe enough in London, hidden among the crowds. Clearly, it did not matter which arm Naomi carried her posters under. Manse didn’t think the bond would be weakened suppose she placed them under her right arm. Exact resemblance wasn’t vital. If any trouble did come, he’d be able to defend her because his posters would not stop him getting fast to his shoulder holster. He considered he had a responsibility for her, even though she didn’t know the chief sort of work he earned from and the kind of enemies he might have. Did that Hackney family at the funeral really believe Denzil saw himself off, a two-pistol suicide? He hadn’t told Joan Fenton about those people.
In fact, it was because Naomi didn’t know the chief sort of dealing he earned from, and the kind of enemies he might have, that he felt so much responsibility for her. She seemed willing to accept him as he was, and Manse believed she deserved gratitude and protection for this. Manse always thought of himself and his firm as here today, gone tomorrow, or even gone later today: no genuine solidity. He was bound to feel thankful to anyone who seemed to regard him as more than this – as more worthwhile than this. Perhaps it was a type of protection when he spoke to Geoff in that way. He hoped they didn’t see the sod now with rolled-up posters under his arm, like their-selves. Plainly, this would weaken the special, even unique, understanding Manse hoped existed between Naomi and him. Geoff would look like he was a part of it, too, although with that fucking leather waistcoat on.
If Naomi ever did come to his home, the one-time St James’s rectory, it was sure to be well on in their relationship, involving travel from London and a stop-over. By then, he thought he’d be able to make a kind of joke about not hanging the posters. She’d understand, anyway, when seeing the many originals there, in the rooms and large hallway. He thought he might tell her the situation before she actually came to the property, sort of prepare her for the surprise of finding not posters on his walls but actual paintings. He wouldn’t do that now, though, because it would seem arrogant and pushy.
Arrogance and pushiness Manse despised. Lately, he’d come across a word that described spot-on how he felt about arrogance and pushiness. ‘Averse.’ He was averse to arrogance and pushiness, no question, and to crude boasts of wealth. Besides, she might have more than he did – even though she bought prints – and would find it ridiculous if he started big-mouthing about his boodle and possessions. Her clothes and shoes looked pretty good to Manse. She knew fashion and could afford it. He thought she seemed the sort who would have regular manicures as well as the good grammar. He didn’t see any rings.
Manse had no objection to tallness in a woman. He could cope with that. It was summer. She wore a nicely cut, long-sleeved burgundy-coloured silk dress, and half-heel burgundy shoes. Quite a few of the women in Pre-Raphaelite paintings had on burgundy dresses but in flimsier material than silk. Mainly the dresses were blue. The Pre-Raphaelites went for blue.
A small café stood next to the poster shop. They didn’t have to go in there. They could of left together from the main exit. Or they could of said goodbye to each other in the shop and then gone out separately, the meeting very enjoyable, but over. That wouldn’t have been odd. But they sort of turned towards the café together automatically. It wasn’t necessary for Manse to say, ‘Would you like a cup of tea and a bit of a rest, Naomi, after quite a long afternoon on your feet, though pleasant?’ To sit together at one of the pub-style metal and wood tables seemed to occur naturally – unplanned yet like destiny, in Manse’s opinion. He believed off-and-on in destiny. Manse considered the way they made for the café another aspect of that pairing.
He thought to just buy tea and toast for both of them didn’t mean he was rushing her. He saw it as being civil and, surely, all should try for that in this very troubled world, providing where possible a little relief. They put the rolled posters in their cardboard sleeves on the table.
In front of the Prentis, she had spoken first, so he felt it would be all right, or even compulsory, for him to begin the talk now. He’d worked out in his mind a way of dealing with the matter of his occupation – the main one. Or of not dealing with it, at this point. It would be an obvious thing for her to ask what he did. He could say haulage or haulage and scrap and she might believe it, suppose she didn’t have much knowledge of what ‘haulage and scrap’ sometimes meant. What it meant was a front to fool the Revenue and make it easier for Iles to blind-eye Manse’s chief career in the various commodities. He decided that the best thing to do was speak very frankly, not about his career, though, but the relationship scene. This might keep the questions away from his business and should also lead Naomi to tell him how she was placed as to personal details.
‘Exploring a gallery can be a little exhausting, but I find art does offer a kind of comfort during periods of tension, such as, speaking for myself, the preliminaries to a divorce,’ he said. Hit her with it straight out. Manse thought she’d prefer he did it like that. She’d been very up-front about exchanging names. It was how she was.
‘Indeed, yes,’ she said.
‘Have you gone through a divorce, then, Naomi?’
‘Not a divorce, just splitting from a partner.’
‘Similar, I expect.’ He wasn’t keen on ‘partner’. You couldn’t tell the sex. He’d been going to say, ‘Similar, I expect, if the relationship had lasted quite a time.’ But he cut the last bit because the ‘if’ made it sound as though the relationship might not of lasted quite a time, which could signify she was flighty. He said: ‘I don’
t suppose an artist was thinking like that when he did his painting. He wouldn’t be wondering whether his work might help settle a man’s or a woman’s nerves owing to broken relationships many a year into the future.’
‘Perhaps not, though some had very problematical relationships themselves.’
‘Who?’
‘The Pre-Raphaelites. Holman Hunt was banging one of his models, who might have started as a tart. Rossetti spread himself. A man of great physical beauty, of course.’
These last words worried Manse. She sounded as though she might have been interested in Rossetti herself if she’d been around then. Manse never thought of himself as of great physical beauty, and possibly others didn’t, either. ‘Maybe it’s wrong of us to take their paintings over in that way – turn them into something not theirs but ours, like a Prozac prescription from the doc. A kind of stealing.’
‘Once it’s out there, art belongs to us,’ Naomi said. ‘It’s made to be looked at. Who are the ones who look? Us. What we make of it is our business.’
She had things so clear in her mind, and would talk with real punch and certainty. He loved that. He couldn’t always manage it himself. ‘My wife’s in North Wales,’ he replied. ‘We’re separated. We’ll be divorced soon. She never had any interest in galleries. That wasn’t what drove us apart, but she hadn’t.’
‘Not all do.’