by Sam Nash
Hers was a delicate, softly spoken tenor. She could carry you away on a mystical journey of dragons and leprechauns come bedtime, just with her lilting voice. I recall her stories of a world with driverless, superfast vehicles and machines that could build land in the middle of the ocean into any shape that pleased the eye. What an imagination she had.
A pounding on my door, pulled me from my contemplation. My attempts to hide my surprise failed, as when I opened it, there stood Lady Charity from the train to London. She wore a tailored trouser suit befitting the expensive accessories. A far cry from the odd clothing collection adopted before. Without awaiting introductions, she barged her way into the hallway and struck a belligerent pose in the sitting room. I closed the door and followed her into the lounge.
“You, are supposed to be on a flight to Rome.” She gawked at me through oversized sunglasses, then made a show of removing them slowly.
“Is that so? And you are?” I tried to remain polite, but I could feel my irritation rising.
“I know so. I gave you the ticket myself. Do you not remember? You are of sound mind, I take it?”
“There is no need to be rude or unkind. If you are not going to tell me who you are, or of whom you represent, I should like you to leave now.” I moved towards the front door, glancing back over my shoulder. She sat down on the armchair, set her bag down on the carpet and folded her arms. As I returned to the lounge, she studied the whole length of me, from top to toe.
“So, you are he. You are not as I imagined, before meeting you in the rail carriage. I suppose I should have realised that you would set you own agenda. I’d like some tea. Do you have people for that?”
“No.” I had a shrewd idea of whom she represented, but I wanted her to confirm it. “Who are you, and what do you want?”
“Oh really, are we going to play that game?”
“Sorry?”
“You pretend that you have no clue what is going on, and I have to lead you through the whys and wherefores like an infant.” She sneered, that upper-crust haughtiness that is employed whenever they feel a lack of superiority.
It was my turn to glare. This arrogant messenger from Rome, with a thick plummy English accent, dared to look down her nose at me in my own house. I was seconds away from physically booting her out. She must have caught my vibe, since she changed her demeanour and affected a more gracious air.
“Come now, Dr Lawrence. Let us talk.” She gestured for me to sit opposite her on the couch. That threw me a little, I must say. After all that has happened, I was rather expecting her to call me my lord, or a variation thereof. I sat. I waited. Eventually, she began.
“Not many have refused the invitation to an audience in Rome. That will be considered more than an impolite snub. You have some mighty bridges to build.”
“An audience? You are not talking about The Pope, surely? I’m not even a catholic.” I was rambling. I knew it, but couldn’t stop myself. Mentally regrouping, I regained my self-possession.
“Certainly not” that haughtiness rearing up again. “What use would he be? No, you were expected to meet with the man of real importance - someone who would know how to deal with a resurgence of your kind.”
“I beg your pardon?” Another uncontrolled outburst, this woman really knew how to get under my skin.
“You know, someone professing to be of The Family. We have had to deal with similar events in the past. Authors claiming to have found evidence of familial ties, tracing hereditary links back and so forth. Most are easy to quash before they get media attention. You must be a special case, if the Father General has requested your presence.”
I was hoping for more clues. Something to give me an idea of who, and from what, I was defending myself. “Father General?” I sounded pathetic. Ignorant, just as she had predicted.
Her lips pursed as though I had offered the worst kind of insult. “The Very Reverend Superior General, of the Society of Jesus.” She said in a commanding and faintly ridiculous style.
I took a slow breath, taking my time to think of my response. After all, I had just stood up the Black Pope of the Jesuits, one of the most powerful men in all of Christendom. “Please offer my sincere apologies to the Very Reverend. No offence was meant by my absence.” I stood up in the hope that she would take the hint, and collect her things to leave. She did not.
“I will re-book the flight at the earliest opportunity and escort you as far as I am permitted.” She said, staring me back down onto my seat. Evidently, this debate had not yet reached its conclusion.
“Of course, any other time, I would be honoured to meet with the Father General. It’s just that I have prior engagements and commitments that I must attend to.”
“Oh, yes. Your practice. I’m sure that they can buy out your partnership, find a replacement. Relatively easy solution, that one.” Her attitude, unshakable, she was insinuating that my ticket to Rome should be a one-way flight, never to return. I hadn’t thought to check the wording printed on the docket.
“You expect me to leave my home and family, and take up residence in Italy?” I was astounded. My life and work registered as so inconsequential to her, that I could drop everything and leave.
“I suspect it is one of the things Father General would be discussing with you, had you caught the flight this morning, as arranged. My husband, was to meet you at Fiumicino Airport. He is the true brethren, of course. No women and all that.” She reached down to her purse and pulled out a hanky, then dabbed at the bloom of perspiration on her neck. Was that a symptom of her age manifesting or perhaps the fact that women were deemed superfluous to Jesuit membership that riled her into a sweat?
I was rather riled myself. My life is not theirs to command. At present, it was Anthony Knight’s. I recalled the threat regarding Lily and her lover. How much time would Knight permit me to get my house in order, before the threat became action? I had to be rid of Lady Charity and take the photos to Lily’s house in Hove.
“It is kind of the Father General to invite me, but I am unable to accept. I have some pressing business that cannot wait. So, if you will excuse me…um…madam, I’d like you to leave now.”
“I don’t think you understand, Dr Lawrence. This is not an invitation, this is a direct order. Your claims must be dealt with swiftly. If the Father General finds that there is some credence to your history, I suspect he will insist upon bestowing a suitable position in recompense. He has such a generous and kind nature. You would have to disavow any notion of being related to The Family and take up the faith and so on. Then he would need to address the issue of your son and grandchildren.”
My mouth went dry. She said grandchildren, not grandchild. They know. In retrospect, I am sure that Anthony Knight said the same thing. I thought we had been so careful. Now there were more lives at stake. I have to get a message to Doc Wildman and warn him, but first, I had to be rid of this unrelenting woman. My breakfast defied gravity for a moment. Swallowing hard, I said; “And if I refuse?”
Her face pinched into a tight scowl. “I expect plan B, will come into operation. Eliminate all potential risks to the faith at source. And I do mean, all the risks.”
So, there it was. Give your life up to the faith, and we might spare your family. And I thought that servitude to Anthony Knight was all that I had to worry about. It was the same jeopardy, posed with different words. The images of death swirled around in my crowded head, fuelled by uncontrolled emotion. I could not think objectively. There had to be a way out of this madness, but neural overload shut down my mental faculties.
“You seem to be struggling to comprehend your situation, Dr Lawrence?” She tilted her head to gain eye contact with me.
Fury and fear bubbled close to the surface, but I managed to halt their release. “No, I fully comprehend.” My teeth ground together, jaw locked. I stood up and moved to the hallway.
This time she took the hint and followed, gathering up her handbag and pulling
her collar straight. “I will return to my hotel to arrange our flights. Pack lightly, Dr Lawrence. A cabin bag should suffice. You have kept Father General waiting for long enough. There will be no time to collect hold luggage at the airport.”
I thrust the door shut right behind her. I know not whether it hit her trailing foot and I care even less. Grabbing my car keys and the second brown envelope from the coffee table, I peeked out of the hall window to check that she had gone from the street and dashed to my car.
A fine day, mid holiday season, and the roads were jammed. I tried a favoured rat-run, through the back streets and crossing bus lanes, past the cricket grounds and down into the apartment blocks of Hove.
The speed bumps skimmed the exhaust of the Volvo as I took each one too fast. David’s house nestled in a quiet cul-de-sac beyond the shopping precinct. Pulling onto their drive, next to David’s car, I grabbed the envelope and hurried to the front door. What was I going to say to her? I couldn’t tell her how I came by the photographs. Her response was always bound to be explosive, regardless of my approach.
With no time to ponder, I rang the doorbell, fidgeting with urgency. I peered through the frosted pane of the door. There were no moving shadows in their hall. I pressed again, still no answer. She could have walked to the park or the shops with Mary. They could be anywhere. I jogged to the side of the house, reached over the high gate and unbolted it.
The lawn was mossy and unkempt, more evidence of David’s dereliction of paternal duties. I had a sudden panic that Anthony Knight’s henchmen may have reached Lily before me. A transitory thought of her body laid out cold in the grass, Mary sobbing by her side. Rounding the corner of the house, I exhaled my relief. Her mousey curls blew over her face as she hung out washing on the clothes line. A quick scan across the patio and I registered Mary, playing in her sand box.
My solace short lived, as I detected Lily’s dander rising the moment she spotted me. To her, I am an extension of the man who regularly abandons her in favour of his career. I am nothing more than a convenient baby sitter whenever her lover calls. Mary ran to greet me, tugging on my shirt, forcing me to bend down so that she could kiss my cheek. I crouched low and whispered; “I’ll come and play with you soon, sweetie pie, but right now, I need to talk to your mum.”
Mary wandered back to her box of sand while Lily squared up to me, both hands on hips, pouting. I wished I had thought through my approach in the car.
“Lily, I know where you were last night, and what you were doing. I say this, not as an over-protective father, but as someone who has your best interests at heart. You need to stop seeing this man immediately.”
Her initial look of surprise faded into one of annoyance. She turned back to her washing line, and re-pegged items as a distraction. “I have no idea what you are talking about, but if I were seeing someone, it is no business of yours.”
I could see this was going to be more painful than anticipated. Why do people having affairs always think they are being subtle? With careful deliberation, I unsheathed the photographs from the envelope and held them out for Lily to see. The topmost image allowed no room for disagreement.
Lily drew in a sharp breath. “You had me followed?” It was more than anger fermenting behind those pale eyes. The invasion of privacy, to her, was the highest form of betrayal. She expertly twisted her role from perpetrator to victim, and garnished it with a few timely tears.
“Not me. These were posted through my letterbox earlier today.”
“Then who?” She grabbed the pictures from me, as though holding them behind her back could make me magically un-see them. It was time she knew how serious this was. David may be bound by the Official Secrets Act regarding his true occupation, but I am not.
“The people David work for.” I said, in a steady solemn pitch.
“The Physics Department at Brighton Uni? That’s ludicrous.” She snorted, a mixture of alarm and derision.
“David has two jobs, Lily. Physics lecturing is just a cover.” I watched her reactions as she assimilated this conflict in her mind. In those seconds, I imagined all the inexplicable and aberrant events in their marriage coming into focus and slotting into place.
“You are suggesting that my husband is some sort of spy?” Her voice hushed but intense.
“I’m not suggesting it, Lily. I know it. Technical specialist.”
She repositioned the photographs in front of her. “He took these?” Her eyes were wide in terror at the thought that her husband had been watching her during her passionate liaison.
“No, it wasn’t David, but the man who had you followed, also has command over him. This man is both treacherous and ruthless, Lily.” If I could just make her see that neither I nor David are the enemy. That all I wanted was to keep my loved ones from harm. I touched my hand to her shoulder and steered her further from the house and any potential listening devices. “Is there somewhere that you could take Mary for a few days? Somewhere that you could just turn up unannounced?”
“Why? I don’t understand. Why would anyone be watching me? I’m not a threat to anyone.” The animosity displaced by distress. I needed her to be clear headed, to act decisively, not fall apart.
“Lily. Please believe me when I say that you and Mary are in danger. You must take her somewhere remote, somewhere they could not predict.” That seemed to crystallise her thoughts. Her maternal instincts kicked in and I could see the mantle of a lioness protecting her cub, prowling beneath her skin.
“I have a friend in Wales. I can take her there.” She said, reaching up to unpeg the wet washing.
“Leave that. They could be watching us right now. Say nothing about Wales when you get indoors. Scribble down a telephone number for me to reach you, pack what you need and tell Mary that you are taking her shopping. Drive the car into the garage and close the door before loading up suitcases. With any luck, they won’t bother following the car to a supermarket.”
“I’ll go the big shopping centre at Hollingbury first. I can lose anyone that tries to follow us in that chaos.” She said with a determined note in her voice, but I could see that she was trembling beneath her summer dress.
“Good. Has David called?”
“Yes, not long ago. I told him that you needed to speak to him. He said he’d do his best to ring you later.”
With a seed of hope germinating in my heart, we gathered up Mary and entered the lounge via the patio doors. I stowed the contact number that Lily provided in my wallet. Then I hugged Mary and left them to their silent packing and preparations. Fingers crossed that any planted devices are limited to audio and not visual capabilities.
My drive home was more sedate than the frenetic rush to David’s house, but still, I was eager to return in case I missed his telephone call. I had barely enough time to check the answering machine and put the kettle on, before Lady Charity was once again at my door.
“You have arranged cover at your surgery?” She said, omitting all pleasantries as she stepped across the threshold uninvited.
“Not yet.” And I had no intention of doing so, but I could not say that out loud. I took my time in the kitchen, made the obligatory tea, and then left her in the lounge with a science journal while I went upstairs to pack.
With Lily and Mary secreted away in the Welsh wilderness, I needed to find a way to prevent any attack on David. If only I could get a confidential message to wherever he was stationed, huh, what am I saying? Knight would have monitoring systems on all incoming and outgoing telephone calls, and has probably arranged for David’s assassin to share the same work shift. He is ensconced in the enemy’s camp, under the illusion that he is on the side of justice.
How then, could I get a message to Doc Wildman to warn him that the interested parties know of our family secret? To give him time to take adequate precautions? If I have to go through with this ridiculous charade, I guess I could make a discreet telephone call from the airport.
I packed
a few clothes and my wash bag in a holdall, dug out my passport, then sat on the end of the bed. If only I had inherited my father’s ability instead of patchy visions, I could have sent David a telepathic message directly into his mind. I used to think that David had dodged a bullet, the gift having skipped a generation, an absence of the turmoil that having abilities unleash, would be his saving grace. Who could have known that being normal would make him expendable to the British government? My thoughts induced another wave of nausea.
I could hear Lady Charity’s weighty footsteps downstairs, muffled by the carpet and then, a change in tone as she clip-clopped along the hall to the foot of the stairs. How could I stall until David’s phone call, without enraging her further?
“Hurry up, Dr Lawrence, or we will miss another flight. I have my assistant waiting outside to drive us to the airport.” She yelled up the stairs. Her assistant - was that a euphemism for bodyguard? A large, perhaps armed, man trained in killing people and hiding the evidence. I did not respond to her. She waited a moment then began thundering up the stairs.
I grabbed my holdall and scrambled across the landing. “I’m coming…almost done.” Blocking her progress, she turned and retreated down the remaining steps, her eyes thinning with suspicion.
“Do you have any documentation that you should bring with you to show the Father General?” She said, hovering next to me like a ghoul. What did she think I would do, make a run for it? Where would I go? The Jesuits have people everywhere, probably more so than Anthony Knight.
“Only the legal papers regarding the transfer of assets from the Earldom, but they make no reference to the lineage beyond my great uncle.” I dumped my bag on the settee and made a point of collecting the empty milk bottles from the sink and taking them to the rack on the doorstep. I was right. The man in the car blocking my driveway was so huge that his shoulder grazed the side window.