No Gentle Possession

by Anne Mather

  ‘Alex! Alex – is that you?’ His father’s voice was indistinct. It was not a good line.

  ‘Yes, Howard. Where’s the fire?’ He was laconic. It was a long time since he and his father had had any real communication with one another. They saw one another frequently, they talked frequently; but always there was that unseen barrier between them.

  ‘Alex! I’ve been trying to reach you since ten o’clock!’

  ‘I was out.’

  ‘I know that, dammit. Couldn’t you leave notification as to where you are?’

  ‘They knew where I was.’

  ‘Then why the hell didn’t somebody contact you?’

  ‘I guess you didn’t make the position too clear.’ Alexis was bored with this conversation. ‘In any case, I don’t see why whatever you’ve got to say couldn’t wait until morning.’

  ‘Don’t you? Don’t you?’ Howard Whitney was breathing heavily down the telephone and Alexis could picture him propped against the desk in his study, his face reddening with frustration as he endeavoured to restrain the temper which Alexis himself had inherited. A big man, as tall as Alexis himself but stockily built with a thickening waistline, he was forced to maintain a rigid diet to avoid the blood pressure which was already evident in times of stress. ‘Damn you, Alex, do you know what Knight has done? He’s attempted suicide!’

  ‘What?’ Alexis, who had been reaching for one of the slim cigars he favoured, stayed his hand. ‘You mean – he’s dead!’

  ‘No.’ His father bit off the word harshly. ‘No, fortunately he was found in time. He’s not dead – just off his head, I hear.’

  Alexis took a deep breath and wrapped the towel more closely about him. ‘I see.’

  ‘Is that all you can say?’ Howard burst out.

  ‘What do you expect me to say?’ Alexis shook his head. ‘Give me a chance to take it in.’

  ‘You’re to fly home first thing in the morning,’ went on Howard grimly. ‘I want you here, in my office, before noon.’

  ‘I’ll think about it,’ Alexis was controlling his own anger now. ‘I’m not a boy any more, Howard. Don’t try to give me orders!’

  ‘Alex!’ There was a short explosive silence, and then his father went on more reasonably: ‘Alex, for God’s sake, man, do as I ask. I have to talk to you. And not like this.’

  ‘Where’s Janie?’

  Howard snorted furiously. ‘You’re not still interested in her, are you?’

  ‘No.’ Alexis was cool. ‘But as one human being to another, I guess I can feel sympathy for her, can’t I? Or don’t you know what that is?’

  ‘I shouldn’t waste my sympathies on her,’ retorted Howard brutally. ‘But as far as I know, she’s still at the apartment.’

  ‘Did she—?’

  ‘—find her husband? No.’ Howard was definite about that. ‘He took an overdose of drugs at the office. The night watchman found him. He telephoned her.’

  ‘I see.’ Alexis digested this. ‘Okay, okay, don’t distress yourself. I’ll fly back tomorrow. But I don’t see what there is to get so steamed up about.’

  ‘Don’t you?’ Howard caught his breath. ‘Well, maybe you will tomorrow. You think about it, right?’

  ‘Right.’ Alexis reached for a cigar and put it between his teeth. ‘Is that all?’

  ‘Isn’t it enough?’

  Alexis lit the cigar and inhaled deeply. ‘Fine. See you some time before dinner. That’s the best I can promise,’ and he rang off.

  He smoked his cigar thoughtfully for a while, and then stubbing it out went back into the bathroom to finish drying his hair. When he returned to the bedroom he had put on a towelling bathrobe and he flung himself on the wide bed and stared up at the ceiling. His father’s call had banished all thoughts of sleep he might have had, and he felt a rising sense of frustration at the inadequacy of the information he had been given. But then telephones were not particularly confidential pieces of equipment and he supposed he could understand his father’s reluctance to be too explicit. Even so, it was an unsatisfactory state of affairs.

  He thought about Janie Knight. He hadn’t seen her since the beginning of December last year, which must be about six weeks ago now. Of course, after he had stopped seeing her, she had telephoned him, numerous times, and even visited his apartment, although Drake, his manservant, knew better than to let her in. She had not been able to accept that it was all over, and he had hoped these weeks at Grüssmatte would convince her irrevocably that he meant what he said. And now this had happened, and while he didn’t feel any sense of blame, it left a nasty taste in his mouth.

  David Vanning was most put out the next morning when Alexis broke the news to him that he was leaving as they had breakfast together.

  ‘But, Alex, we’ve only been here a couple of weeks. Surely your old man can do without you for longer than that!’

  Alexis smiled rather ruefully. ‘It seems not, Dave. I’m sorry, but there it is. Still, I guess Rosemary will find the time to console you!’

  David made a helpless gesture. ‘That’s not the point, Alex. Rosemary’s okay; you know I’m very keen on her, and I guess one day we’ll get married and all that, but – well, she’s no athlete, and I don’t intend to spend the rest of my holiday hanging round the hotel or making shopping excursions into Innsbruck.’

  Alexis rested his elbow on the table, supporting his chin on one hand. ‘Do I detect a note of dissatisfaction in your voice?’ he queried lazily. ‘Surely the romantic idyll hasn’t begun to pall already?’

  David looked slightly embarrassed. ‘It’s not that. It’s just that – well, her parents are always around. We never get any time alone. Not really alone, that is.’

  Alexis looked amused. ‘Well, that’s what comes of doing things by the book.’

  ‘What do you mean? Coming here with her parents?’

  ‘More or less.’

  ‘They’d never have let her come away with me alone.’

  ‘Hard luck!’

  ‘I suppose you think in my position you’d have managed to persuade them.’

  ‘I didn’t say that.’

  ‘No, but you thought it.’ David lifted his shoulders dejectedly. ‘Hell, Alex, is it absolutely essential that you leave today?’

  ‘Absolutely, I’m afraid.’ Alexis finished his second cup of coffee looking idly through the restaurant window on to the groups of holidaymakers making their way towards the ski slopes. ‘I suppose I ought to go and see how they’re getting on with my packing. I shall be sorry to leave all this.’

  David grimaced. ‘I half wish I was coming with you.’

  Alexis’s lips lifted at his friend’s outburst, but then his attention was arrested by a sleek continental coach that was slowly progressing along the village street. He was suddenly reminded that the girl he had met last night in such unusual circumstances had said she and her group were leaving today. The coach was most probably for them.

  ‘Did you hear what I said?’

  David’s irate tones brought his attention back to the present and he looked at him apologetically. ‘No. What did you say?’

  ‘I said I’d ring you once I got back to London.’

  ‘Oh, yes, yes. Fine.’ But Alexis was preoccupied. He rose abruptly to his feet. ‘I’ve got to get moving. What are your plans for this morning?’

  David lay back in his chair shrugging. ‘I don’t know. I’ve been promising to take Rosemary on the nursery slopes for days. I guess I could do that.’

  Alexis nodded, and then with a sense of compunction he patted David’s shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, man. But there’s nothing I can do.’ He paused. ‘Be seeing you, then.’

  ‘Yes. Sure.’

  David nodded, managing a faint smile, but as Alex crossed the restaurant to reach the hall, he could see David’s dejected reflection in the long mirrors that flanked the swing glass doors.

  The flight from Salzburg landed in the late afternoon. It had been delayed by bad weather conditions, and it wa
s even snowing slightly at Heathrow as Alexis left the plane.

  The formalities over with, he emerged from the reception lounge bent on finding the nearest bar and a stiff drink. He knew he was delaying the moment when he would have to take up his life again, but airports were those transient kind of places where one was in limbo, a condition he presently desired.

  But as he climbed the stairs to the bar, a voice he recognized only too well, called: ‘Alex! Alex, where are you going?’

  He halted reluctantly and turned, looking down into the well of the hall where a fur-clad feminine figure was waving vigorously at him. He hesitated only a moment, and then with resignation descended the stairs again. He knew perfectly well that had he pretended not to hear her and gone on to the bar, she would have followed him.

  Reaching ground level, he turned up the collar of his sheepskin coat against the cold draught of air which swept through the hall, and said, in drawling tones: ‘Hello, Michelle. What are you doing here?’

  Michelle Whitney smiled up at him warmly. She was an attractive woman of medium height, but wrapped in the expensive sables she looked particularly elegant. ‘Alex darling,’ she cried reprovingly. ‘Where else would I be? I’ve come to meet you, of course. Your father sent me. I’ve been waiting around for simply hours!’

  Alexis considered her avid expression without enthusiasm. ‘That wasn’t necessary, Michelle. I’m quite capable of hiring a cab.’

  Michelle raised her delicately plucked eyebrows. ‘What a greeting! It’s just as well I’m used to your boorishness, darling, or I’d feel quite hurt.’

  Alexis’s lips were wry. ‘Is that possible?’ he queried mockingly, and was gratified to see her colour deepen.

  ‘Oh, you are a pig, Alex!’ she exclaimed heatedly. ‘I don’t know why I put up with it.’

  ‘Don’t you?’ He glanced round irritably. ‘Look, Michelle, I want a drink and as I’m perfectly certain that my father did not send you to meet me, in fact I don’t know how you got the information—’

  ‘I was there when your father phoned you last night!’

  ‘Okay, I’ll accept that. But now, I suggest you go home, and I’ll see you both later.’

  Michelle wrapped her fur-clad arms closely about herself. ‘Why can’t I have a drink with you?’

  ‘Because I want to be alone.’

  ‘Alex, please!’

  ‘No.’ He half turned away and then looked back at her. ‘Don’t worry. Your little secret’s safe with me. I won’t tell the old man.’

  Michelle pursed her lips. ‘There are times when I hate you, Alex!’

  ‘Good. That’s a healthy emotion.’

  ‘All my emotions towards you are healthy, Alex.’ She put a tentative hand on his arm.

  Alex looked down at that soft-gloved hand, and then into her face, and with a muffled gasp she released him. ‘I still don’t see why we can’t have a drink together. I am your stepmother, after all.’

  ‘Yes. Unfortunately I’m aware of that,’ retorted Alexis, brutally. ‘G’-bye, Michelle. I’ll see you later, at home.’

  Without another word, he swung back up the stairs, and didn’t look back, not even as he walked along the gallery.

  Alexis’s apartment was the penthouse of a tall block near Hyde Park, and Blake, his manservant, welcomed him home warmly some two hours later. As Alexis shed his coat in the hall of the apartment Blake said: ‘Your father’s been on the phone for you, sir. Several times. I told him you hadn’t arrived back yet, but I’m not sure he believed me. He said he had telephoned the airport, and he knew your plane had landed some time ago.’

  Alexis grimaced, and unfastening his tie, he walked ahead into the wide, attractive lounge. This was a room that always gave him pleasure and he looked about him with enjoyment, appreciating its comfortable elegance. There was a turquoise carpet underfoot, patterned in shades of blue and green, while the long settee and armchairs were natural-coloured, soft, buttoned leather. He was lucky enough to be able to afford all the luxurious accoutrements to modern living, but the massive television was seldom turned on, and in recent years his interest in the hi-fi equipment, which had once fascinated him, had dwindled.

  Now Blake came behind him, carrying his suitcase. ‘Have you had dinner, sir?’ he asked.

  Alexis turned from switching on a tall standard lamp, that had an exquisitely hand-painted shade, and frowned. ‘No, I’ve not eaten. I had a couple of drinks at the airport, that’s all.’ He took off the jacket of his suit and slung it carelessly over the back of a chair. ‘But don’t bother with anything for me. I’ll eat at Falcons.’ Falcons was the name of his father’s house at Maidenhead.

  ‘Are you sure, sir? It’s no trouble.’

  Alexis smiled. ‘No, I know. Thanks all the same. But I need a shower, and quite honestly hunger is not one of the things that’s troubling me at the moment.’

  Blake nodded politely. ‘Did you have a good holiday, sir?’

  Alexis considered before replying. ‘Yes, I suppose you could say that,’ he conceded grudingly. ‘By the way, make me some coffee, will you, and I’ll have it after I’m dressed again. It won’t do to arrive smelling too strongly of alcohol.’

  Blake allowed himself a smile at that. He was rather a solemn-faced individual, and as he was inclined to stockiness and was going bald, he did not at first strike one as being particularly amiable. But in fact, he had been with Alexis for six years now, and Alexis was well aware of the sharp sense of humour he possessed. Now, he collected Alexis’s casually strewn jacket before disappearing through a door into the kitchen, and Alexis walked across to his bedroom.

  In the shower, Alexis contemplated the evening ahead without pleasure. How much more enjoyable it would have been to arrive home and have nothing more pressing to do than lounge on the couch in front of the television all evening. Such a prospect attracted him. It was strange that someone who should become so easily bored with the so-called fleshpots, should find the idea of simply behaving like any one of another hundred million people so desirable.

  He examined his reflection in the bathroom mirror as he dried himself and was relieved to see that the past couple of weeks of exertion had successfully dispersed the faint thickening of his waistline that had been present before he left. Now there wasn’t an ounce of spare flesh on his lean body, and the outline of his rib cage was coated only with muscle.

  He dressed soberly in a charcoal grey lounge suit, to fit the occasion, he thought without humour, and drove down to Maidenhead, reaching his father’s house just before eight o’clock. Falcons faced the river, and in summer it was very pleasant to sit in the garden, watching the pageant of craft on the water. But in the middle of January, it had no such connotations, and although Alexis had spent part of his childhood here, he found the sight of the bare trees and the frozen, snow-covered gardens rather depressing.

  Searle, his father’s manservant, admitted him. Once Searle had had the title of butler, but in these days of shortages of staff, his duties encompassed so many other things, that such an appellation would have sounded pretentious. However, the old man seemed not to mind, and he welcomed Alexis warmly.

  ‘It’s good to see you again, sir,’ he exclaimed, taking his overcoat.

  ‘How are you, Searle?’ Alexis bestowed one of his rare warm smiles upon him.

  ‘Can’t grumble, sir. Mr. Howard’s waiting for you in the library.’

  ‘Has my father had dinner?’

  ‘Not yet, sir. He’s been waiting for you.’

  ‘Good.’ Alexis found that the drive had awakened his appetite. ‘Thank you, Searle.’

  He crossed the hall to double panelled doors, and taking a handle in each hand, he swung them open and stepped into the book-lined room which his father used as his study.

  Howard Whitney was seated behind his desk, and he looked up dourly as Alexis closed the doors behind him and leaned back against them, surveying the room thoroughly.

  ‘So you’ve finally decide
d to appear!’ he remarked grimly. ‘Not before time!’

  Howard Whitney’s voice still had traces of his northern ancestry that no amount of southern intonation could entirely dispel. He rose from his desk to face his son, and in his dark evening clothes he was quite impressive, big and broad and physically dominating.

  But Alexis was never dominated. He was as tall as his father and although he was leaner, it was a leanness of muscle and sinew that was far tougher than his father’s loose flesh.

  ‘I got held up,’ he said now. ‘Besides, I don’t see why I should account to you for my movements. I’m not a boy.’

  ‘No, you’re not!’ muttered Howard, reaching for a cigar, but refraining to offer one to Alexis. ‘If you were, you wouldn’t create the kind of mess we’re in at the moment.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Alexis moved away from the door.

  ‘I mean Janie Knight, Alex.’

  Alexis frowned. ‘I seem to have missed something along the way. As I recall it, last night we were discussing Frank Knight, not Janie.’

  ‘It’s all the same thing,’ retorted Howard. ‘My God, what is there about you that makes a woman like Janie Knight prepared to go to any lengths to get you back?’

  Alexis glanced across at the tray of drinks on a side table. ‘Perhaps you’d better start at the beginning,’ he advised dryly. ‘Do you mind if I have a drink?’

  ‘Help yourself!’ said Howard Whitney irritably, and Alexis poured himself a generous measure of Scotch. ‘Go on!’ he said.

  Howard shuffled the papers on his desk. ‘I wish to God you’d never got involved with her!’

  Alexis swallowed half his drink, surveying the remainder in his glass thoughtfully. ‘It was your idea,’ he pointed out.

  Howard clenched his fists. ‘Do you think I’m likely to forget that?’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Knight left a note – a suicide note.’

  ‘I see.’ Alexis was beginning to understand. ‘Where is it? Have the press got it?’

  ‘Nothing so simple, Janie’s got it. When the night watchman phoned her about Knight’s attempted suicide, she was first on the scene, before the ambulance or the police. She took the note, and she still has it.’