by B M Gill
Thirza arrived at The Lantern at a few minutes after five and was told that Fleming had provisionally booked a room for her. She had every intention of staying there no matter what it was like so promptly confirmed the booking.
"Is Mr. Fleming in?"
The reception clerk told her that he was having tea in the residents' lounge on the first floor and directed her there. The lounge, originally a bedroom, had a red flocked paper and was furnished in black imitation leather. Its narrow bay window faced the sea. Fleming, the pot of tea untouched on the small oak table beside him, was standing with his back turned to her looking out.
She said gently, "Hardly my scene – as you said."
Surprised out of his reverie, he turned and smiled at her. "You improve it."
She joined him at the window. "It's a good view – that's its saving grace, I suppose?''
"That and the beer. Now you've seen it, will you stay?"
"I'll stay." She slipped her hand through his arm. "Why order tea if you don't intend drinking it?"
"I forgot about it. It's the only room here with a television set. I'm hoping to catch the local news." He told her about Corley.
She had spent part of the day finding out all the relevant information about the inquest. That Lessing was an old boy of the school hadn't surprised her. Robert Breddon,.the coroner, hadn't let it out, but she had other sources. She was pretty sure that all the inquest would produce would be a statement of identification – a few general questions – and a verdict of accidental death. If John wanted to fight for damages and kill the school in so doing then she would take the battle on, but only if there was the slightest chance of winning it. She didn't think there was. Her own fees she would gladly waive, but litigation was an expensive business. She had never believed in pouring money away in a lost cause. She asked him about the child who had gone missing. ' "He's about David's age,"
"Do you know anything else about him?"
"No."
She looked at him astutely, "You see it as more ammunition?"
"It could be. Let's hope he doesn't end up as David ended up."
She was relieved that he was able to get down to basics. At times they both found it extraordinarily difficult to talk to each other.
They sat and watched the local news. Corley wasn't mentioned at all. She got up and switched off the television. "It's probably rather soon. Lots of children go missing. They don't hit the headlines for a day or two."
It was his suggestion that they should go for a walk before dinner and while she was up in her bedroom changing her shoes he phoned the school again. This time he got through to someone who sounded like Alison Brannigan, but could have been a school secretary if Brannigan ran to one. He gave his name and asked for Jenny. The voice told him to hold the line and at the end of five minutes said that she couldn't be located. He asked if the missing boy had been found. The silence was almost palpable for a minute or two and then the receiver was replaced. An outright no would have been more sensible. Brannigan, he thought, was cursed with a stupid wife.
Jenny, who could quite easily have been found if Alison had bothered to look, phoned The Lantern herself an hour later and was told by the reception clerk that Fleming was out, but had booked in for dinner. "Have you a message?"
Jenny said she hadn't.
She wanted to meet him. He was in her mind all the time. She wasn't entitled to any time off, but Mollie would cover for her for an hour. In the last few days Mollie had become pathetically keen to seem as efficient as possible. She told her she was going out – but not for long. "The infirmary is empty. If Neville shows up and I'm needed you can get me at The Lantern."
Mollie asked dryly, "Booze or Fleming?"
"So the grape-vine flourishes."
"In this hot-house atmosphere, dear, what do you expect? And the lesser of two evils is booze."
Jenny forgave her. John had given her a rough ride and her seat on the saddle was still precarious.
Dinner at The Lantern was served from seven onwards. Jenny, still in her matron's uniform, arrived at seven-thirty. They were in the middle of the fish course. His woman, whoever she was, was dressed in deep blue and the highlights in her hair were silver. Waves of jealousy bordering on pure and simple hate tingled through her like electric shocks.
Thirza said quietly, "There's a girl with red hair and murder in her eyes willing me dead. She's standing in the doorway."
Fleming glanced over his shoulder and then, forgetting to apologise to Thirza, got up quickly and went over to her.
His delight in seeing her halted her exit. "Jenny! I've been trying to get you all day."
She didn't believe him.
"Your school phone was in continuous use. When I did get through you weren't to be found."
"I was there." Her underlip was thrust out sulkily like a child's.
"And you're here now. We've only just started dinner. You must join us."
"Dressed like this – and join who?"
"Thirza Crayshaw- an old family friend, the solicitor who's representing me at the inquest.", Thirza, watching, thought, so that's the one, and was surprised. The hurt and the pain had rolled off him like a cloud melting in the sun as he saw her and spoke to her. The only thing she obviously had in her favour was youth – and that wasn't always an asset. Her uniform dress was ridiculous, it" even had cuffs. There were belt slots, but no belt. She had the freckles that went with red hair and hadn't bothered to disguise them. She didn't bother to disguise her feelings either. She had the look of a betrayed lover who was being gradually coaxed to a state of faith.
She wasn't sure of him.
Nor he of her.
So they hadn't known each other long.
The affair was at the delicate perimeter of what could be a deep and healing permanency – or just transient. Whichever way it went his response at this moment was good to see.
I lay no claim, she told Jenny silently. Lay him and claim him and make him normal again – if you can. And good luck to you.
Jenny had arrived at The Lantern believing she could eat a substantial meal if offered one, but she discovered when she sat down at the table that she could scarcely eat at all. Thirza, adroit at the social graces, kept up the necessary patter of conversation. Threesomes – even this particularly awkward threesome – she had always been able to handle. Closer relationships eluded her.
It was over coffee that the first reference to Corley was made.
Fleming asked abruptly, "Why did he go?"
Jenny, carefully spooning brown sugar into a cup that was too-small, said "Neville?… I don't know."
"No – Corley. The lad from the school."
"Neville Corley, If he had a brother he would be Corley Minor. If he were one of three then I don't know what he'd be – perhaps Corley subminor." She was talking nonsense and knew it. Thirza had badly upset her, just by being there and looking as she did.
Thirza observed unnecessarily, "You don't approve of the British public school."
"I don't approve of depersonalising children."
Thirza tried to draw her out. "Speaking generally, it can't be a bad system. Of course there are pockets of disaster -
the Grange is probably one of them. The fault is usually at the top – what's the head like?"
Jenny put her cup down untouched. "Caring."
Once spoken she considered it and believed it to be true. Within his personal limitations, Brannigan was caring.
Thirza pursued it. "Then -weak?"
Jenny thought, If you weren't batting on John's side our conversation would end now. As it was she considered the question for some while before answering. "It's a great deal easier to be tough and single-minded than it is to be open-minded and fair. The head before him, so I'm told, was brilliant. I think that means he was as thick as a board and doled out punishment like an army sergeant major."
She looked at Fleming to see how he had taken her defence of Brannigan.
"Strength and bru
tality," he pointed out, "are two different things. If you captain a ship, you give the orders and the crew obeys them. If there's unrest you look into it and act. You say Brannigan is caring. It takes a stronger quality than care alone to keep a ship on an even keel. He should have known the rot was setting in – he should have located it and stopped it. If he had, David might have been alive." He was aware himself that he had said 'might have been' rather than 'would have been'.
Jenny drank her coffee quickly. She had already overstayed the hour. Fleming went out to the car with her. "I'm glad you came. I wish you could have stayed."
"Mollie Robbins is standing in for me."
"You mean she's sitting in her room with her headphones on like a female Nero while the school burns." He opened the car door for her.
She got in and rolled down the window. "Have you ever thought what would happen to her if Brannigan ditched her?"
"No. But I'll think about it now. Frankly, I don't give a damn and neither should Brannigan – the lads should come first."
She said curtly, "You'd make a splendid headmaster."
He was surprised into laughter. She was being moody and cantankerous and he knew the reason why. He lifted her hand off the wheel and held it in both of his. "I'm sorry Thirza spoilt our meal. I'm sorry you ate hardly any of it. She's decorative, and pleasant, and kind. Ruth was fond of her and so am I. Tomorrow at the inquest she'll do all she can. Tonight we'll sleep in our separate beds." He kissed her fingers gently and replaced her hand on the wheel. It occurred to him that this would be their last meeting before the inquest, but didn't mention it. Her attitude to the school was ambivalent and that was to be expected.
Jenny drove back to the Grange in a state of growing depression. Her jealousy of Thirza was as difficult to throw off as would be an invasion of persistent leeches. He might not sleep with her tonight, but there would be other nights. Any sexual dance with Thirza would be a slow and graceful pavane followed by a cool and lengthy disrobing – not a mad sprawl of tears and anger followed by an exquisite orgasmic burst of pleasure that her body having once known couldn't forget. She kept wanting him. She wanted him now.
She went up to the treatment room where she had left Mollie and found her putting wads of blood-soaked cotton wool into the waste-bin.
"For God's sake – what happened?"
Mollie, sweating slightly, managed a smile. "Young Carson tripped and banged his nose on the edge of his bed. I coped. He's all right." She added unnecessarily, "There was a gory mess."
"So I see. Did you let him stay in the infirmary."
"No – he's back in the dormitory."
"It's as well to keep an eye on him – at least for a while. By the look of that it's recent."
"Not that recent – I just didn't get around to clearing up." Her fat cheeks broke into a sudden smile giving her face an unexpected look of genuine pleasure "Corley's home and dry."
Jenny's mood swung upwards. "When?"
"Some time this evening. Bridgewater via Birmingham He needs to swot up his geography – or perhaps he was just unlucky with his hitches. According to Hammond, Brannigan got the news through the police."
"Not through his father?"
"No… I'm just telling you what Hammond told me. According to Hammond, Corley senior is nursing a pretty big grievance. He won't communicate with the school until he gets a coherent story out of his son. There won't be any marching back of the penitent… at least not yet."
Jenny absently picked up a bottle of surgical spirit and dampened a piece of wool with it. There were blood stains on the table. "Is he all right?"
"Yes, as far as we know. The police didn't say he wasn't."
After Mollie had left the room, Jenny put a call through to Fleming. He was surprised and pleased to hear her voice again so soon.
"You're phoning to tell me you have the night off after all?"
"No. I'm phoning to tell you that Neville Corley is safely home."
"I see. I'm glad." She knew that he spoke out of a depth of feeling "I knew you would be. I couldn't let the night pass without letting you know."
"Why did he leave – do you know that now?"
"No. All I know is he's home."
And David, she thought, will never be home.
For the first time that evening her gentleness broke through the protective crust of aggression.
"John… I mind about you… very deeply."
Afraid of a silence that might grow – or an answer that might be forced and artificial – she put the phone down. He had already experienced the difficulty of contacting her, so didn't try to ring her back. He had a lot to say. Or perhaps not so much – just a word or two that mattered.
Mind. A deceptively mild word. He could think of others.
Nine
THE CORONER'S COURT was held in a room in the local police station. The police station, barely ten years old, had a reception hall that wouldn't have shamed a four-star hotel. The floor was terrazzo-tiled and decorated with potted plants. The enquiry desk, manned by the station sergeant, was of best quality teak.
Robert Breddon thought with some nostalgia of the room in the town hall where all the earlier inquests had been held. This place, the product of the affluent sixties, put him in mmd of a tarted-up pub. The floor was damn slippy too, he always felt he had to pick his way across it with extreme caution. He had been coroner now for over twenty years, but couldn't learn to like the job. An essential part of it was to view the dead bodies, and most of them turned his stomach. There were a lot of drownings along the coast and some of them had been in the sea a long time. Identification – another essential part of the job – wasn't always easy for the relatives. Road accidents were almost worse. He never ceased to be shocked by what a steering-wheel and shattered glass could do to human flesh This case, today, saddened him, as all cases involving children did The Fleming child had been almost unmarked His light had gone out with no visible brutality At the mortuary he had looked asleep As was his practice he kept away from the court until the last possible moment In a small town like Marristone Port everyone knew everyone else and it wasn't easy to draw the demarcation line between friendliness and formality He'd golfed and had drinks with some of the jury, but it would be impossible to whistle up a jury unknown to him Lessing, he believed, was sufficiently professional to act in a professional mariner, and so were the police, but he couldn't vouch for anyone else The courtroom at ten minutes to two was almost full The public tended as a rule to ignore this type of entertainment, but today's inquest was just sufficiently out of the ordinary to pull them in The major role would be played by Brannigan himself Lessing would carry him as best he could, but nerves did strange things to people The blindfold was a complicating factor Fleming's representative, apart from a brief courtesy call, was an unknown quantity, and Fleming he'd heard was out for blood Before the proceedings got under way he got Lessing to identify Fleming for him and then spoke a few words of sympathy to him Fleming inclined his head in acknowledgment He hadn't known what to expect – certainly not a room like this There were high windows from floor to ceiling overlooking a small yard The weather had suddenly become very warm and the too-bright sun was partially screened by long green curtains which cast a green glow over everyone Even the coroner's white thatch of hair looked green like a dye gone drastically wrong He sat up on a dais with his clerk at a table in front of him The jury were to his right and the witness stand to his left The green sunlight washed over all.
It was like a film set He couldn't believe in any of it.
In a moment the cameras would begin to roll and mood music would play He began to have serious doubts about his sanity He couldn't recall David at all He couldn't even conjure up his features Thirza said quietly to him "You're okay " It was a command "It's like something shot on a bloody stage I can't feel David "
She understood his panic "You probably saw the place quite differently in your mind It's as real as anything you imagined "
Sh
e was aware that Breddon was looking over at her and trying to assess her potential He would, she hoped, be as professionally objective as he possibly could be To hope that of the jury would be like hoping for the moon As for Lessing – she disliked him on sight He was mentally divesting her, his eyes busy on her breasts The proceedings began with the identity of the deceased Not you, David, Fleming thought as he spoke the few necessary words, the deceased The place of death came next The hold of the Mariana Fleming tried to conjure up the memory of it and saw it quite clearly like a sketch in a book He could neither feel it, nor smell it, nor be appalled by it It was a hold in a ship – meaningless The police evidence was brisk and catalogued events like a railway timetable They arrived They saw They functioned They departed The blindfold was mentioned but not stressed The pathologist followed the police to the witness stand He identified himself as Edward Blane and spoke the oath in a sharp staccato voice He had, he said, carried out the post-mortem The coroner asked him to read out his report The only relevant findings at the post-mortem were a contusion of the left forehead without an associated fracture of the skull. There was no significant bleeding into the skin, which suggests that the contusion occurred at the time of death The cause of death was a fracture dislocation of the second and third cervical vertebrae with compression of the cervical spinal cord."
The coroner looked up from his own copy of the report. "In layman's terms – a broken neck?"
"That is so."
"Go on."
"There was no other evidence of any injury or illness apart from the findings described above."
"Have you anything to add to your report. Dr. Blane?"
"No The child's neck was broken by the fall. Prior to that he was in a good state of health."
The coroner turned to Lessing. "Do you wish to question the witness?"
Lessing shook his head.
"Miss Crayshaw, is there any question you wish to ask on behalf of Mr. Fleming?"
Thirza stood up. "Please – if I may. Dr. Blane, does your phrase 'any other injury' cover sexual assault?"
"Yes."