The Loop

by Anabel Donald

  ‘Oh, yes. Everybody does. But she knows how much he loves her.’

  Brief silence.

  ‘So what does it mean?’ said Nick impatiently. ‘And what shall we do?’

  ‘Hang on a minute, Nick,’ I said. ‘Grace, do you think Malise’d mind if that loop was common knowledge? If it was splashed over the tabloids, for instance?’

  ‘He wouldn’t care at all for himself; he’s a reckless exhibitionist, he comes out of it rather well, and it’s very long ago. For Sally – not so easy to tell, but she’s well protected, and she’s never photographed so most people wouldn’t recognize her anyway. The estate’s crawling with security, she doesn’t read the papers, she’s cocooned. She has a very small circle of friends . . . I’ve only met her once, when her gardens were open to the public.’

  ‘I didn’t know you liked gardens, Grace.’ said Nick. ‘I don’t, much, but I wanted a butcher’s at Sally.’ ‘Why?’ I said. Barty smiled.

  Grace looked awkward. Unusually. Breezy and complete disclosure was her normal mode. ‘Total confidence?’

  ‘Of course,’ I said.

  ‘Nick?’

  ‘I swear,’ said Nick.

  ‘Barty knows already . . . We’re talking ten years ago. I was thirty-five.’ She ground to a halt.

  ‘And Malise thought you’d be a great head to a fourth household?’ I said, to help her out.

  ‘I’d lost my nerve. Briefly. About the future. I wanted more children. Then I looked at Sally, and I couldn’t.’

  ‘You actually considered being part of a harem?’ said Nick, deeply shocked, her heroine wobbling. ‘But you told me, women should make their own lives. You told me.’

  ‘Wait till you’re older, Nick,’ I said. I’d never felt warmer towards Grace, and I showed it by not showing it and ploughing straight on. ‘How do you think Malise would feel about Sally having a child?’

  ‘It would depend if it was his. But if it was, why would she have given it away? Doesn’t make sense. He’s always been very dynastic. And generous. He can afford to be. Each of his kids gets a well-funded childhood and a million in cash when they turn eighteen,’ said Grace.

  ‘A million,’ I said, wheels clicking inside my head. ‘When did he marry Sally?’

  ‘1971,’ said Barty. ‘I was at the wedding. With Miranda.’

  ‘Who’s Miranda?’ said Nick.

  ‘His first wife,’ said Grace, looking at me.

  ‘You straights are hopeless,’ said Nick. ‘So messy. I’ll love you for ever, oops, no I won’t, how can you trust each other?’

  I ignored her. I’d reassure her later. ‘So Jacob was born before their marriage. When Sally was very young, and stoned most of the time, probably . . . Thanks, Grace, you’ve been a great help.’

  ‘A million’s a lot of money,’ said Barty lightly. ‘You will be careful, Alex?’

  ‘Very,’ I said. ‘Very. And I’ll meet you at Alberto’s at eight. Have you booked, Nick?’

  ‘Table for two, eight o’clock, upstairs,’ said Nick.

  ‘Grace, one more thing,’ I said. ‘Your chap in Aberdeen. The authority on sects. Can I have his number?’

  ‘We’ve got it already,’ said Nick. ‘In my notes.’

  ‘Why?’ said Grace.

  I shook my head. ‘Not important,’ I said.

  ‘OK, then. What time is it now?’ said Grace.

  ‘Just after twelve,’ said Nick.

  ‘Take me to lunch, Barty,’ said Grace, chuckling. ‘Perhaps not to Alberto’s.’

  When we were alone, Nick looked at me uncomfortably. ‘Alex . . .’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘What do you think they’re going to do?’

  ‘Have lunch,’ I said firmly.

  ‘But when Grace chuckles like that . . . I don’t like that bit of her.’

  ‘Nick, it’s a waste of time being jealous of Grace. She’s just herself. She’s not your lover anyway, is she?’

  ‘How do you know?’ said Nick aggressively. ‘She might be.’

  Silence.

  ‘Anyway, Barty’s your lover,’ she said. ‘Isn’t he? Don’t you care what he does?’

  ‘It’s just loops, Nick. What people do. Because it’s familiar, and comforting, and they can stay on the rails that way. Grace’s confidence was shaken by remembering how nearly she signed up with Macho Malise. Grace’s confidence is an awesome thing, so the shaking of it is that much worse. Barty’ll comfort her.’

  ‘Don’t you care about him?’

  ‘Of course. But he’s feeling threatened too, and irritated with me, and he and Grace go back a long way, and I’m sure she’s good value. Besides, he’s been watching porn.’

  ‘That?!’ said Nick. ‘He can’t have liked that . . . I don’t understand.’

  ‘Just a guess.’

  Silence.

  ‘So what do we do?’ said Nick bleakly.

  ‘We have our own loop.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘Guess.’

  She pushed up her cap and tugged at her hair anxiously. Then she smiled. ‘Work,’ she said.

  ‘You got it.’

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  The voice of Professor Fairlie, Grace’s sect man, squeaked through the phone speaker at Nick and me. He sounded educated, Scots, old and entirely unsurprised by my call. He brushed aside my introduction. ‘If you need to know about the Tubbies, I’ll tell you what I can, but I’ll ask you to make it short, since lunch-time approaches.’

  ‘Very few questions,’ I said.

  ‘Fire away.’

  ‘It looks to me as if the Tubbies got an injection of money a few years ago. Their church is in very good repair. Any idea what that came from?’

  ‘The sale of the Thomas Tubmaster collection to Chicago University in 1989, I would think.’

  ‘The collection?’

  ‘Tubmaster’s books and a great deal of manuscript material, owned and preserved by the sect. I was surprised they decided to sell, but they had a forward-looking Master at the time and the collection fetched a substantial sum.’

  ‘That wasn’t the current Master, Abraham, was it?’

  ‘No. Abraham took over some two years ago.’

  I crossed ?Tubbies finances off my list.

  ‘Most of the male Tubbies go into the Army for a short time, is that right?’

  ‘All the male Tubbies go into the Army. It is their duty to prepare to fight for the faith.’

  But Jacob didn’t. ‘So if one doesn’t, why would that be?’

  ‘Your guess is as good as mine. Perhaps the Army wouldn’t accept him on health grounds? If he stayed within the sect, that is the only reason that comes to mind.’ ‘Perhaps,’ I said. But Jacob had seemed healthy, and he hadn’t told Jams he wasn’t.

  ‘They are, as you’ve probably gathered, heavily militaristic. The Tubbies lost a whole generation in Flanders in the 14–18 war. Courage, endurance and heroic self-sacrifice are key Tubby virtues.’

  The First World War. In Flanders fields . . . The tips of my fingers itched and the tumblers in my mind were clicking round into line like a fruit machine. Then they stopped clicking, and I saw it. Not a line of fruit. A line of flowers. And a face.

  Nick saw my expression. ‘What is it? Alex, what is it?’

  ‘Early November,’ I said.

  ‘What?’ said Nick.

  ‘Miss Tanner? Are you there?’ said Fairlie impatiently.

  Very nearly there, I thought. Almost. Then I concentrated again. ‘Something completely different,’ I said. ‘Are Tubbies required to give a certain proportion of their income to the church?’

  ‘Indeed. Fifty-one per cent goes to the Lord, in the form of the current Master.’

  ‘Fifty-one per cent . . . Would that also apply to a large one-off payment?’

  ‘It applies to any money received. Money is the currency of the beast.’

  ‘Last question,’ I said. ‘The Tubbies are opposed to modern inventions, I understand. They�
�re forbidden the use of electricity, for instance.’

  ‘Exactly so.’

  ‘How do they cope in the Army? With modern communications equipment? Most of that must be electricity-based.’

  ‘They are permitted to use what they must.’

  ‘And now they run a security firm. They must use electricity in that, and videos for surveillance, surely?’

  ‘The same would apply. They use the tools of the beast for the work of the Lord.’

  ‘Thank you. Professor,’ I said. ‘Enjoy your lunch.’

  When he’d rang off, Nick said, ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Neither do I, completely,’ I said.

  Then I dialled Sandra.

  ‘My dear! I’d almost given you up! But I expect you were very busy,’ she said.

  ‘I was. I’ve got the loop, and I know who Jacob’s father was.’

  Silence. ‘Aren’t you clever?’ she said. ‘Have you told dear Jams?’

  ‘We need to talk. Not on the telephone. Urgently,’ I said. ‘Can you take a train down this afternoon? That’d be much quicker.’

  ‘I could . . .’ she said consideringly.

  ‘And bring Abraham Master with you. The head of the Tubbies, you know—’

  ‘Yes, I know who you mean. That might be difficult . . .’

  ‘Tell him I have the right. Then he’ll come. And I want Cot and Nappy there, as well.’

  ‘Cot and Nappy?’

  ‘Your two hard men who were staying at Balmer Leisure Services. The ones you told about me.’

  ‘Derek and Dennis?’

  ‘If they’re the ones who look like wrestlers. I want them with us when we have our chat.’

  ‘Will you be bringing any chums?’ she fished. ‘It’ll be a friendly little chat, I hope?’

  ‘To our mutual advantage. I don’t want to make trouble. I just want to tie up the case for my client. I’ll bring my assistant, Nick.’

  ‘Such a sweet girl, I’ll look forward to seeing her again,’ she said warmly. Nick made a vomit-face while Sandra gushed on. ‘Shall we say – six o’clock? At my little place in Queen’s Park? We’ll be very comfy there, and I’m sure you can find it again, after dropping in unannounced the other morning.’

  ‘I’m sorry about that,’ I said insincerely.

  ‘I was disappointed you didn’t trust me, but I understood, a girl has to look after herself, doesn’t she?’

  ‘OK, see you in Queen’s Park at six. And – one more thing – I might bring an American friend. A man.’

  ‘A man?’

  ‘A friend of Jacob’s.’

  Pause. ‘Will he be – difficult?’ she said.

  ‘Absolutely not. Very co-operative, I’m sure,’ I said. ‘We’ll all be chums together.’

  ‘So long as you’re certain,’ she said. ‘I do hate awkwardness, don’t you?’

  We rang off at the same time.

  ‘Now what?’ Said Nick.

  ‘Now we make the date with Carl,’ I said. ‘And then there’s something I want you to get for me.’

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  I’d asked Carl to meet us at my flat at half-past five. He was early, and eager. Less so when he saw Nick. He looked to me just as beautiful as he had in Chicago – much more beautiful than Johnny Depp – but more foreign. His race-cocktail skin bloomed exotically in the blurred, muted London light. It was drizzling outside and his face, dewy from the damp, reminded me of a rain-forest flower in the tropical house at Kew Gardens.

  As I settled him down on the sofa and Nick made him a cup of coffee, I wondered at myself. How had I ever had the chutzpah to sleep with a man so obviously not just rungs but whole ladders above me in the sexual pecking-order? Why had I not smelt Hamelins-full of rats?

  Perhaps I had. And sprayed the smell away with aerosols full of rationalization.

  ‘I’m real glad we’ve managed to meet up,’ he said, quickly and quietly, before Nick came back. ‘I’ve been thinking about you, ever since . . .’ He left the rest of the sentence for his eyes to finish. ‘We can spend some more time together? Alone?’

  ‘Possibly tonight,’ I said. ‘As I told you on the phone, I need you to help me out at a business meeting first. As a friend of Jacob’s.’

  ‘I don’t see how that can be,’ he said. ‘I don’t see what help I can give.’

  I smiled.

  ‘Black, no sugar,’ said Nick, thrusting a mug at him.

  He smiled at her captivatingly. She stared back, uncaptivated. ‘So who’s involved in the business meeting?’ he said, clearing his throat.

  * * * * *

  The front door of Balmer Leisure Services was opened by a dyed blonde, motherly woman in her early forties wearing a nanny’s uniform and smelling strongly of baby powder. ‘You must be the visitors for Sandra,’ she said. ‘She wants a word with Alex alone first. If you two nice people wait in here, I’ll bring you a big mug of cocoa.’ She opened one of the doors on the right of the hall.

  ‘That OK with you, Alex?’ said Nick.

  ‘Fine with me,’ I said. ‘You can keep Carl company. In you go, both of you.’

  ‘It’s a normal office,’ said Nick, surprised. I don’t know what she’d been expecting: desks in the shape of baby-changing tables, perhaps.

  But she was right, Balmer Leisure Services had a perfectly normal office, about twelve feet square, with a large desk, several chairs, and filing cabinets. I stuck my head in to check there was no sign of Master or Cot and Nappy. I didn’t want them getting together yet.

  ‘It’s Nick and . . .?’ said Nanny.

  ‘Carl,’ I said.

  ‘Nick and Carl. For the mugs,’ she said obscurely, then led me two doors further, knocked and ushered me in.

  It was a small room, furnished like a sitting-room with a real coal fire surrounded by a large fender over which children’s vests and pants were draped to air, two armchairs, and a large, open, wooden sewing-box on legs. Visible in the sewing-box was knitting-in-progress, a few lines of soft blue wool on narrow needles. On the mantelpiece was an array of photographs of small children, in silver frames. Sandra was sitting in one of the chairs. She was wearing cream trousers, a pink silk shirt, a cream cashmere cardigan, and big shiny pearls around her neck and in her ears. There was a pile of small grey woollen socks in her lap.

  ‘Alex! How lovely! Just sorting the socks for darning,’ she said. ‘Very important not to get behind with the darning. Waste not, want not. The young nannies don’t really understand, do they? As soon as a potato appears in a little one’s dear little sock, they throw it away and buy another pair. Not in Nanny Sandra’s nursery, oh no. Do you know what a potato is, dear? It’s what we used to call a hole ...’

  ‘Cut the crap, Sandra,’ I said briskly. Anxiety was making her drivel. ‘Are they all here? Master, and Cot and Nappy?’

  ‘Do sit down,’ she said sharply, all the warmth gone from her voice. ‘Don’t tower over me like that . . .’

  When you’re five foot and a bit you don’t often get accused of towering. Rather pleased, I sat down in the other chair.

  ‘They’re here,’ she said. ‘In other rooms. Abraham demanded a room to himself for his evening devotions. He’s such a . . .’ her voice died, and all I could hear was the gentle hissing of the fire. The room must be sound-proof. All the better.

  ‘Right,’ I said. ‘I’ll tell you what I think I know, OK, and then we sort out what to do.’

  ‘You’re so direct and commanding,’ she said. ‘And you have such a full bust. Ever thought of taking up my line of work?’

  I disregarded her. ‘I’ve told nobody what I’m going to tell you,’ I said. ‘Except Nick. And most of it need go no further, as far as I’m concerned, though I will tell Jams what happened to Jacob.’

  ‘Do you think she’ll make trouble?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘I think I can promise you that.’

  ‘Get on with it,’ she said, sounding more Yorkshire. Her hands were shaking.
/>
  ‘Jacob is the child of Sally, now Douglas, and Malise Douglas, born before they were married. Right?’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Sally was a dim, well-brought up child who somehow got involved in drugs and porn in the late sixties.’

  ‘She was unhappy at home,’ said Sandra.

  ‘And you took care of her, didn’t you? And so when she got pregnant, she came to you, and you looked after her?’

  ‘Yes.’ She rubbed her hands together in her lap. ‘It was a terrible thing for Sally. She was a child herself, and very vulnerable, and we had no idea that Malise was serious . . .’

  ‘So she didn’t tell Malise, and she had the baby, and you gave it to your sister to bring up. Then I suppose Malise reappeared on the scene and they married . . .’

  ‘He really loves her,’ she said. ‘He’s always looked after her.’

  ‘And she couldn’t have any more children.’

  ‘Jacob’s was a very difficult birth.’

  ‘When did she tell Malise about Jacob?’

  ‘Not until Susan died.’

  ‘Didn’t she ever think of taking Jacob back, to bring up herself, with Malise?’

  Sandra shook her head. ‘Sally didn’t think it would be fair to Jacob. To take him away from the home he knew . . .’

  ‘OK,’ I said. ‘But after Susan died, Jacob had the means. To trace his mother. And he didn’t recognize her from the loop but he recognized Malise, and he came to you to tell you what he knew because Susan’d told him that you’d made the arrangements for his adoption.’

  ‘You’re a clever girl,’ she said shakily.

  ‘And you knew that Malise gives all his children a million when they turn eighteen, and Jacob was past due for payment. So you suggested you arrange the claim, and the handover. Were you still in touch with Sally?’

  ‘Always,’ she said. ‘Sally was one of my girls. I look after my girls, I always have. She’s never been happy, poor Sally, but I did my best for her. So did Malise.’

  ‘So did Brownlow?’

  ‘He’s done his best to treat her. But there’s always been something there, some weakness – she couldn’t cope. I looked after her until she married. I do my best for all my girls, but specially for her, you must believe that. I love Sally like my own child.’