Unofficial and Deniable

by John Gordon Davis

  ‘Okay, want me to pick up something?’

  ‘I’ll pick up a couple of steaks.’

  ‘I’ll get ’em, just you ride carefully, please.’

  By six-thirty she was pedalling downtown to Gramercy Park, zipping in and out of traffic. She let herself into the apartment complex, locked up her bicycle in the archway and strode across the courtyard to the rear building. She let herself into his ground-floor apartment. ‘I’m home …’

  It worried Harker, her riding that bicycle in rush-hour traffic: he didn’t mind her cycling in the early morning, but New York traffic in the evening gave him the willies – and she rode so fast. Once she did have an accident, skidded into the back of a braking car, took a bad fall, sprained her wrist and was nearly run over, but she was only concerned about her goddam bike. He offered to fetch her every evening in his car, he even offered to have a cycle-rack fitted so she could take the machine with her and cycle back to her apartment in the morning – but no, she insisted she needed the exercise both ways, ‘after all we drink.’

  ‘You’re in magnificent condition; go to a gym if you need more exercise.’

  ‘Gyms are so boring. Aerobic classes are boring. But riding a bike is a little adventure each time, you see people and things. That’s why I like dancing, expressing yourself in motion, letting it all hang out …’

  She was in very good condition but, yes, they did drink a good deal. Like most soldiers, Harker was accustomed to heavy drinking to unwind, and now that there was no combat he could unwind as much as he liked. Similarly, like most writers, Josephine drank to unwind.

  ‘I spend my entire working day alone, without colleagues, without anybody to talk to except myself, nobody to seek advice from, and by the end of the day I’m pretty damn sick of myself and I want a bit of fun.’

  Josephine redecorated Madam Velvet’s dungeon, installed subdued lighting, put plants around the Roman-style whirlpool bath, scattered imitation bearskin rugs on the cement floor, stocked the ornate bar, filled the prisoners’ cage with colourful imitation flowers; she even hung some kinky whips, chains and leather boots from the ringbolts in the wall. She brought in two armchairs, a television set with a video-player – and, in the corner, some more up-to-date gymnasium equipment. In one piece of daunting machinery the manufacturers had managed to squeeze every artefact for the torturous development of the muscular system.

  ‘Everything you can get in a well-run gym, but in the privacy of your own home, to quote the advertisement.’

  Harker looked at the gleaming contraption. ‘Is it safe?’

  ‘Don’t you like it?’

  ‘Shouldn’t it be fenced off to protect visitors? Shouldn’t we be wearing hard hats like those politicians on television? What’s this costing me?’

  ‘It’s your birthday present!’

  Every day he worked out before going to Harvest House; and he found it a turn-on to watch her sweating on the machine. He bought himself a mountain bike like Josephine’s and on weekends they rode in Central Park and around Manhattan Island, sometimes across the Hudson River into New Jersey. In the fall they took a week off work and rode into upstate New York to see the riotously beautiful autumn colours. They rode almost five hundred miles in seven days and when they returned to Manhattan they were so glowing with health they did not want to stop.

  ‘Then let’s not. Let’s say to hell with work and just keep going all the way to Florida …’

  That night, lying in the hot whirlpool bath in Madam Velvet’s dungeon, sipping cold wine, she said, ‘Know what I want to do one day? Have a farm. Maybe only twenty acres, but in beautiful country like where we’ve just been, with a tumbling stream and some forest and pastures for grazing a few horses and a cow or two, and a big pond for ducks and geese who’ll all have names, and a few chickens to give us eggs. And the horses will be mares so we can breed good foals, and we’ll have a tractor so we can grow alfalfa for them. And we’ll exhibit our animals at the livestock fairs and win prizes.’ She smiled. ‘I love New York, it’s so stimulating, but really I’m a country girl.’ She added, ‘Our house won’t be very big, more like a cottage really, because I don’t like housekeeping, but it’ll be very pretty. And my study will be upstairs, so I have a view of the pastures and the pond while I write.’

  It was a pretty thought. ‘Well,’ Harker said, ‘we can achieve all that, but what about my work?’

  ‘Well,’ Josephine said reasonably, ‘you’ll be able to do a great deal of your publishing work at home, of course, but our country place will be close enough to Manhattan for you to be able to drive down once or twice a week so you can keep your finger on Harvest’s pulse – that’ll be no sweat, particularly if you have a chauffeur. Daddy’s got two, neither of them have enough to do and he’s promised me the use of one of them if I move closer to him upstate.’

  In the late autumn Josephine decided it was time to take Harker up to Massachusetts to meet her father. The country was beautiful. The gates to the Valentine property loomed up majestically against green pastures, a winding avenue of old oaks led up to an imposing mansion, the walls covered in ivy. Harker switched off the engine outside the ornate front door.

  Josephine said, ‘Just be your ever-charming self. You’ve been in tighter corners than this.’

  Harker expected the big front door to burst open, the old man to come beaming out. But no: the door was locked. It was a butler who opened it.

  The library was the size of a badminton court, the walls lined with laden bookshelves, the big room divided by more bookcases; a mezzanine floor was above, equally lined and laden. Denys Valentine, about sixty years old, tallish, thick-set, grey-haired, handsome, stood in front of his big marble fireplace, before the crescent of leather armchairs, whisky glass in hand, and said with a self-conscious smile, ‘Josephine’s told me a bit about you, of course, on the telephone. It’s a pleasure to meet you.’ He gave a thin smile. ‘A great pleasure.’

  Harker had been invited to sit down but he preferred to remain standing because his host was doing that. He knew he was being assessed and he felt on his mettle. ‘Equally, Denys,’ he said with a smile, and waited.

  Denys Valentine cleared his throat, then said resolutely, ‘Josephine has indicated to me that you and she are … more or less living together.’ He cleared his throat again.

  Harker resented this: he and Josie were mature people, for Chrissakes.

  ‘That’s true. But she continues to maintain her own apartment, where she works every day. We only see each other in the evenings.’

  Denys Valentine said, with another thin smile, ‘And in the mornings.’

  Harker looked at him, also with a thin smile. ‘That’s true, yes.’ He added: ‘And I’m confident I speak for Josephine when I say we are very happy.’

  Valentine turned a steely eye on Harker. ‘But I am not happy. If you’ll forgive me for saying so.’ He paused. Then: ‘I don’t think any father likes his daughter living in sin.’

  Harker had to conceal his smile. ‘Sin?’ He shook his head politely. ‘I don’t believe that’s how it is, Denys. To be happy, to be in love, can hardly be a sin.’

  Denys Valentine looked at him. ‘Out of wedlock it is a mortal sin, I’m afraid, the scriptures are clear. “Cursed are the fornicators.” Quote, unquote.’

  Harker had to stop himself smiling. What do you say to that? So he nodded politely.

  ‘Well, Jack?’

  ‘Well what, Denys?’

  ‘What are you going to do about it?’ Valentine paused, then went on, ‘To me it is clear. You must either desist or you must marry. Immediately.’

  Harker looked at him with a twinkle in his eye. ‘And which of those two options would you prefer to see happen?’

  Valentine shifted, then turned to the liquor cabinet. ‘How’s your glass?’

  ‘Fine at the moment.’

  ‘Please help yourself when you’re ready.’ He poured whisky for himself and said: ‘I want what’s best for Jose
phine. Clearly it is not good for her – for her immortal soul – to be living in sin. But alas that doesn’t mean that getting married is necessarily good for her either.’ He turned back to Harker. ‘I must be frank and tell you that I have great difficulty in reconciling myself to your previous career, Jack.’

  Harker frowned. ‘You mean you don’t like the fact that I was in the South African military?’

  ‘But more that that,’ Valentine said, ‘I am a pacifist. When I was drafted into the army during the Korean War I was a conscientious objector at heart. I don’t believe in taking human life – that’s my Catholic belief, my family’s belief. The only reason I didn’t appeal against being drafted was because my law degree and a few of my father’s friends in politics guaranteed me a non-combatant role in the Judge Advocate’s department, doing court-martials.’

  Harker smiled politely. ‘Josephine has never indicated that she’s a pacifist.’

  Valentine said resolutely, ‘The only circumstance that justifies the taking of human life is to protect the lives of those whom one has a legal and moral duty to defend – like your children. However …’ He smiled thinly. ‘You’re completely finished with the army now, thank the Lord – Josie tells me you don’t miss it at all. However,’ Valentine said, ‘there remains the matter of whose army you were in – namely the South African.’ He glanced at Harker. ‘I have great difficulty with this. Josephine has tried to explain that you were fighting communism, and evidently she has accepted your … she has adjusted to the anomalous situation. But so far I regret I am unable to do so.’ He cleared his throat. ‘All my family are dedicated to democracy. To me it is incomprehensible that an honourable soldier can fight on the side of South Africa’s apartheid regime.’ He looked at Harker and spread his hands. ‘I’m sorry if I offend.’

  Harker said quietly: ‘Would you rather your honourable soldier fought on the side of Godless communism which does not permit any form of democracy?’

  Denys Valentine gave him a wisp of a smile. ‘Two tyrants fighting each other makes neither right. But since you ask, I am sure that the life of the average worker, the man-on-the-street in Russia, is more just and congenial by far than that of the average black man in South Africa.’

  Harker said grimly, ‘I do not defend South Africa’s apartheid, Denys. However, I assure you that it is much better by far than the destructive, chaotic poverty and bloody tyranny that communism and the Gold War have forced on the rest of Africa. And I assure you that the only political power capable – or willing – to take on communism in Africa these days is South Africa, I assure you that it is highly advisable to allow South Africa to defeat the communist tyrant before apartheid itself is defeated – as it will be soon, by its own people. Because without South Africa communism will overrun what’s left of Africa and the poor bloody continent will never recover.’ He raised his finger. ‘In other words, the only hope for Africa is South Africa – the only hope is that it will defeat the communist onslaught, and thereafter become the economic engine that will slowly revive the rest of Africa.’ He ended, ‘Without South Africa’s survival, the rest of Africa is a basket case, for ever.’

  Denys Valentine looked at him. ‘You think that South Africa is going to rejoin the human race soon? When will this miracle come to pass?’

  Harker resented the tone, not the disbelief. ‘When the war in Angola ends – and that’s going to happen soon. There are overtures by Cuba already. Russia cannot afford the Angolan war much longer – it’s an economic basket case and this new president – Gorbachev – is pulling Russia’s horns in. Soon he’ll sue for peace. South Africa will readily accept because the Angolan war is our Vietnam too and these international sanctions are starting to bite hard.’ He took a sip of whisky. ‘When the communist threat is removed, the new South Africa will start.’

  Valentine looked dubious. ‘And then what? How do you feel about being governed by blacks?’

  Harker was tired of being subjected to tests. He said, ‘I’m cautiously optimistic.’

  Valentine frowned. ‘Why “cautiously”?’

  Harker sighed. ‘Well,’ Harker said, ‘the rest of Africa has been chaotically misgoverned. But there’s a chance it will be different in our case because the failures of Africa are in part attributable to Africa being a Cold War battle-ground – both Russia and China threw money at the black tyrants to get them on side and so the West did the same, so misgovernment was allowed to flourish. Tyranny, corruption, genocide, inefficiency were rewarded with more and more money which the tyrants put into their Swiss bank accounts while poverty and disease descended on their unfortunate people. So a culture of shameless corruption developed which was tolerated by the rest of the world. But when the Cold War ends, that tolerance will change – if black politicians do not behave they’ll have their aid cut off. So I think South Africa’s black leaders will not have the freedom to abuse the country as happened in the rest of Africa. They’ll have to behave themselves.’

  Valentine’s judicial countenance turned irritated. ‘Behave themselves? Isn’t that rather arrogant? Have you shared your views with Josephine?’

  Harker was irritated too: he resisted the temptation to say, They’re hardly views, they’re fucking facts. ‘Of course I have. And she agrees with some of it. On other points we agree to differ.’

  ‘And what do you think of this book she’s writing?’

  Harker hoped he was changing the focus. ‘Well, I don’t know much about it,’ he said.

  ‘But she says you’re her guru.’

  Harker was annoyed that Josephine had told him. ‘She discusses parts of it with me sometimes, but she only allows me to read small bits now and again. But what I’ve read is very good.’ He added, ‘I’m not acting as her editor.’

  ‘Nor, I believe, do you intend to publish it?’ Valentine added, ‘I must say I agree, never mix business with pleasure.’

  ‘It’s more a matter of finance, Denys. Harvest is a small house. We published twelve books last year – two of them lost money, the other ten made a respectable profit, but not enough to enable us to put the effort into Josie’s book that it will deserve – advertising, publicity tours, et cetera.’ He looked at the older man.

  ‘And what do you think of her agent, Priscilla Fischer.’

  ‘She’s a tough cookie, Priscilla. She’ll make sure Josie gets the best deal in town.’

  Denys Valentine took a sip of whisky, then said: ‘Reverting to the matter of you two living together. Have you any plans about marriage?’

  Harker smiled uncomfortably. ‘It’s a bit early to say – we’ve only known each other a few months. But we have talked about it. I think Josie feels she’d like to retain her freedom for a while yet, to experience more of the world. That’s not unusual in writers.’ He looked at the older man, and waited.

  ‘And how do you feel about that?’

  ‘If and when we get married I want her to feel she’s seen life and has plenty to write about.’

  ‘“If and when”? I’m pleased to hear that you’re so realistic about this.’ He took a self-conscious sip of whisky. ‘Because I also don’t think Josie’s ready for marriage yet. She’s an exceedingly intelligent and talented person and she shouldn’t be burdened with the responsibilities of marriage for a long time yet – children and so forth.’

  Harker understood loud and clear that he was being warned off. ‘Well, Josephine will know her own mind in the fullness of time.’

  ‘But will she?’ Valentine said. ‘Artistic people often don’t know their own minds about anything although they think they do. Heads in the clouds most of the time.’

  Harker resented the innuendo. ‘She’s always seemed pretty sensible to me, Denys.’

  ‘Oh, extremely intelligent – all her life she’s been an A-grade student capable of figuring things out for herself. But, for all that, she is a dreamer who is really motivated by … unrealistic, unwise impulses.’

  Unwise impulses like me? ‘Well, Den
ys, you seem to be in a most unsatisfactory situation. You don’t want Josephine to live in sin with me, and yet you don’t want her to marry me.’ He restrained himself from saying, ‘So what the hell are you going to do about it?’

  Valentine cleared his throat, fiddled with his glass, then said, ‘I’d like to ask you for your cooperation – yours and Josephine’s.’ He paused. ‘Don’t see each other for six months.’

  Harker was taken aback. ‘And after six months?’

  ‘If after six months you still want to be together, so be it. I’ll accept it, but you’ll only have my blessing if you marry.’

  Jesus. Harker wanted to smile. It was the sort of thing a father might say to the suitor of his teenage daughter. Before he could muster a response, Valentine continued.

  ‘I’m prepared to make it as easy as possible for the pair of you to cooperate – I’ll pay for Josie to go abroad for those six months. Anywhere she likes.’

  Jesus. You are prepared … The arrogance of it. ‘And if we do not cooperate with you?’

  ‘I regret having to say this, but if you do not, I will not give either of you the time of day ever again.’

  Harker looked at the man. Jesus. And Jesus again! He could not conceal his smile. ‘Have you discussed this with Josephine?’

  ‘Not yet. But she has an inkling of my disquiet.’

  Your disquiet? Harker took a breath. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I cannot speak for Josephine, of course, but I can assure you right now that you will not have my cooperation, Denys. And I’ll be astonished if you get Josephine’s. I point out that not only are we both adults but we are both rather worldly ones who have seen rather a lot of life – and death. I’ll be astonished if you can tempt Josephine into cooperation by offering her an air-ticket to anywhere.’ He resisted the temptation to add that he very much doubted she would be intimidated by the man’s refusal to speak to her.