She took up the narrative again where he was wandering round India. There was a lot about a guru and shunning meat and eggs because they contain an infinity of beings. She skipped the guru’s teachings, and carried on reading at the point when he met an American woman called Jenna, who wasn’t physically attractive, but assertive and interesting. They took a room on the upper floor of a traditional house in Agra where they pooled funds to pay for a lavatory to be plumbed in. The family and servants were used to defecating in a corner of the courtyard, the excreta cleaned up by a woman of the Dalit caste. There were more lugubrious situations when he left Jenna and went to Tibet, where he lived in a Buddhist monastery for a while. He wrote a lot about the Tibetan way of dealing with corpses: taking the bodies up the mountain and leaving them to be consumed by vultures. This was a symbol of the unimportance of the body – a shell, and the illusory nature of life. The only hope was not to return, which was the ultimate aim of Buddhist practice. He shaved his head and drank buttered tea and span the prayer wheels at the monastery. He didn’t find nirvana.
His brother, Jem got married, but his wife took the child away to Canada. There was a sort of pattern in that because his mother had left him and his twin when he was two years old. Then came more stuff about travels: living in a Berber village, learning pottery skills from a master in Japan, who was also a philosopher. He didn’t find himself there either, so he returned to London and trained as a psychotherapist. People, or rather what made people tick, interested him very much, but the practice of listening to people began to bore him. He then studied anthropology, and was making an experiment in group dynamics by founding a community of disaffected strangers in Brittany, France. This was a leech on his trust fund, but he didn’t want to ask his father’s advice about finding investors. It was a friend of a friend who introduced him to the group of wealthy financiers that funded the building of the conference centre....
She closed the file. She knew how the story ended.
6
Rudyard ran another check on Schmidt. The man in the pictures that Mackie had taken on the day of Gerald’s funeral was not the Schmidt at the bank. She mentioned the fire chief’s statement that the fire was started by a remote device. Also the visit to L’Oiseau and his fear of spilling the beans.
‘Schmidt went to the loo a number of times that night. We had a lot to drink.’
‘The German services weren’t forthcoming about him. If he was one of theirs, I doubt he’d have started that fire. Which points to Babel involvement, or US intelligence. He might be a double agent. When is the Magic Lantern Convention?’
‘Jem Roman will be going out soon after his brother’s funeral. He’s offered to drive me.’
‘Good. Aim to discover what that’s all about, who attends, and so forth. And keep an eye on him.’
Jem called her that evening to thank her for sending him the USB memory stick. She had copied the one given to her by Rudyard. There was no mention of common ownership of the château, but there was a note of the contributions of community members and guests to date. The £200 she contributed was listed. He’d forwarded a copy of that file to his solicitors. Regarding the Servants of Light Convention, the excellent Jacqueline had the set up well in hand. She had booked accommodation at a five star hotel in a nearby resort, only fifteen minutes drive from Pont du Calvaire, and arranged the catering at the château.
‘Five stars will be expensive.’
‘The members wouldn’t expect anything less. They don’t want buckets and spades. Jacqueline has negotiated a discount for a group booking. I’m paying for your stay there. She knows about it.’
‘That’s very generous of you. When are you laying your brother to rest?’
‘On Wednesday. The undertakers you suggested have been superb. After the interment of the ashes, I’ll be set to go back to France. How is your son?’
‘Oh, he’s all right. His girlfriend has moved in. Thank you for asking.’
The truth was that Niall was not all right. He appeared to be sliding into depression, in spite of the presence of Tanya. He’d begun to resent her for going to class, and took it out on her when she came back to the house in the late afternoon. There wasn’t a performance every night, but she went to the studio every day.
‘Why don’t you do a bit at the barre downstairs?’ she asked him.
‘That’s why Paddy put it in for you. You’ve got your own private studio.’
‘You just don’t get it, do you, Ma? Number one: the doctor told me not to put too much of a strain on my leg. Number two: I feel like shit. You know, I was cursed by a taxi driver who nearly ran me down on the morning before I had the shit kicked out of me. He said he hoped a million flies would attack my arse. Well, it worked.’
‘It didn’t stop you from going to the pictures and drinking in the pub. I’m not saying that’s a bad thing. I think it’s a sign you’re on the mend. Don’t fret about the corps. You’ll be back in there in a month or two. They said they’d have you back.’
‘They said I’ll have to re-audition.’
‘Well, that’s par for the course. You’ll pass it.’
‘I was on track for a career dancing solo roles.’
‘You’ll get back on track. I know you will. Be positive.’
‘You’ve not gone back to the police. Have they chucked you out?’
‘I told you, I’m on secondment. I’m just having a little break.’
‘Cushy.’
‘I’ll have to go away again soon. Be nice to Tanya when I’m gone. She’s in love with you. Don’t hurt her.’
7
Mackie helped Jem unload the boxes of brochures and agendas from the back of his BMW estate. He had brought a collapsible trolley to carry the big Criterion lantern which he was putting in the auction. He believed it would find a seller amongst the American delegates because it was made by Colt in the USA. Apart from telling her about the lantern and angles of projection, he’d said little on the drive back to France. She sensed that he was grieving for his brother. There was still a smell of burning in the air.
The château had an air of desertion. Jem called as they entered the hall, but no one came. Jacqueline had hired a team of cleaners to spruce up the library and dining room, where a buffet lunch and refreshments would be taken. Jem found it all satisfactory. He wanted to mark the pictures so the members would know what was coming up. Mackie was exhausted by the journey. She needed a rest and a cup of tea, but he wanted to get stuck in.
They began with the philosophers on the staircase, marking them with red stickers.
‘Peter told me he wanted to be remembered as a philanthropist — fund orphanages, care homes, and so on. I could set up a charitable trust in his name from the sale of these ugly humans. What do you think?’
‘I think it would be a great memorial. Fitting. — Excuse me.’ She let out a long yawn.
‘You’re tired. I’ll take you to the hotel. I can carry on with this when I come back. I’m staying at the château because I want to fine tune the arrangements before the members arrive here in the morning. Jacqueline is coming to help this evening. She’s a star.’
‘I’ll stay till you finish the pictures. Would you like a drink of tea while you’re working? I’m parched.’
‘That would be very welcome.’
Sofka and Herbert were in the kitchen.
‘My mother told me to knock before I went in through a door,’ Herbert said.
‘My mother did, too. I just wanted to see how you’re getting on.’
Sofka snorted. ‘Joanna has left.’
‘She chickened out,’ Herbert said.
‘That’s not a problem. We ‘re not interested in lightweights. We intend to fight to keep our home here.’
‘Iris too?’
‘Of course. She was the first to come here. We’ve invested our life savings in the château. We can prove that.’
‘Did you find a will ?’
‘I’ve been in touch with
a member of Babel. I wrote an icon for him recently. I think you saw it. He’s a financier. We propose to open a school of the arts here. We don’t need much to set up. I can create a website. We will offer bed and board with extra fees for the workshops.’
‘You’ll have to talk to Jem about it. Not now, though. He’s busy getting ready for the magic lantern convention.’
‘I bet that hasn’t stopped you carrying on with him where Roman left off.’
‘Herbert, I’m sure your mother would have made you wash your mouth out with soap. You’re a big boy now. Grow up. I’m not going to stay here. I’m going to the hotel where the Convention attenders are staying.’
‘You know that Roman was at it with the French girl?’
‘Are you going to the Convention? You were invited, weren’t you? It sounds interesting.’
‘I might go,’ Sofka said. ‘One of us should be there to keep an eye on things.’
‘Jem’s hired a security firm to do that. There’ll be a lot of covetable objects here, and a lot of wealthy people.’
‘Don’t think you can intimidate us. You can tell him that, too.’
‘Tell him yourself.’
A security van had arrived when they went to get Jem’s car. He walked round to the side of the house where they could hear voices. ‘I’ve told them to pitch their tent out of sight,’ he said. ‘It was too close to the house.’
‘They shouldn’t be in a tent, should they? They should be guarding the loot.’
‘They’ll be working in shifts. There are six of them to cover twenty four surveillance. We’ve had to get a fire engine to come because one of the presenters wants to demonstrate the process of making limelight.’
‘Is that a fire hazard? I know they used it in the theatre.’
‘You’ll find out more about it tomorrow. It’s on the morning schedule. I’ll give you a programme now. Yes, it is highly inflammable.’
8
The five star hotel reminded her of the nineteenth century buildings in Nice. It was as though some giant edifice from Disneyland had been transplanted to this small Breton promenade. She was grateful for the comfort and the view. The sun shone here in this coastal resort, but there were no trees on the seafront. The climate was maritime, the winters too cool for palms. She was glad not to be staying at the château.
The quickening passion that she’d felt for Roman had abated. Still, she missed him. It was easy in a crossword puzzle to confuse philosopher, philanthropist, philanderer — whichever fitted the grid. There was something in all those words that defined him.
A gull settled on the balustrade of her balcony, and fixed her with its yellow eye, its head in profile. At the tip of its long, sharp beak were two red spots. She named it Roman, and hoped it would come again. She still hadn’t been able to cry for him. The job had hardened her. But she was warming to Jem. He was a bit cranky regarding magic lanterns, but that was understandable with the Convention coming up. He was plain-spoken and level-headed.
She went down to the terrace, which was sheltered from the seafront by another large balustrade. A waiter approached and asked her what she commanded. She ordered a gin and tonic. ‘With ice and lemon, please.’ She had forgotten the French for these words already.
‘May I sit here?’ A balding man with a round, yellow face was asking to join her. He sat, without waiting for her assent, and offered her a cigarette from a silver case.
‘I don’t smoke, thank you.’
He put the cigarettes back in his breast pocket without lighting one for himself. The waiter brought him a thimbleful of coffee and a glass of water. He downed the coffee in one.
‘You look as though you needed that,’ she said.
‘I had a long distance to come. I live in Amsterdam.’
‘Are you here for the Servants of Light Convention?’
‘Yes – are you? Are you presenting a paper?’
‘No,’ she laughed. ‘I know nothing about magic lanterns. I’ve just come along for the ride. Jem Roman invited me.’
‘I’m Piet Hyugens. I will be talking about the phantasmagoria. It started in France.’
They shook hands. ‘I’m Mackie Divine. The only other person I know here is Jem.’
‘Ah yes. Little Gem. His shop is a treasure trove. He is our president.’
‘I think he’s going to talk about the Criterion.’
‘So he still hasn’t sold it? The Dutchman winked. ‘It’s in the auction catalogue. I won’t bid for it because I have two already.’ He looked over his shoulder at the empty chairs on the terrace. ‘I thought more people would have arrived by now. Maybe they will be coming later.’
‘Some are coming from the USA and Canada, I believe.’
‘Yes, and from South Africa also. And you, where do you come from?’
‘I live in London. Jem drove me out here today. He’s up at the château, fine tuning arrangements.’
‘Is London still swinging?’
‘You know his brother died recently.’
He was grave. ‘They were identical twins, I believe.’
‘Peter lived here.’
‘Peter – Piet in Dutch. Did you know him?’
‘I stayed at the château for a while, on retreat. I was there on the night of the fire. There seem to be a lot of arson attacks in this region. Have there been any where you live?’
‘Arson is illegal fire – deliberate fire, yes? I can’t recall any at home, but in Germany there have been and, I heard, in Belgium. There won’t be a fire here, I think. We lanternists take precautions.’ He winked again.
‘Jem has hired a security firm.’
‘Very wise.’ He stood up. ‘Please excuse me. I must take a shower and change my clothes before dinner.’
The route back to the lift led through the bar. There was a single customer, drinking cocktails. It was Schmidt. She touched him on the shoulder.
‘Hey!’
‘I never expected to see you here.’
‘I’m here for the Convention. Had to come. What can I get you?’
‘I’ll have a Perrier, thanks. Ice and lemon. I’ve just had a large gin and tonic.’
‘Bartender!’ He raised his hand. ‘A Perrier for the lady and another one of these.’ He was drinking martinis.
She climbed on to a barstool. It was fun sitting at the bar in a five star hotel.
‘Have you been using your truncheon since we parted?’
‘I’ve got it with me. It’s in my bag upstairs. Are you interested in magic lanterns?
‘Sure am. My grandpa gave me a Little Gem lantern for my tenth birthday. I’ve been giving shows ever since. The second lantern I got was a replica of a phantascope. It’s got a stand on wheels. I used to spook old ladies and girls with shows from the phantasmagoria. Phantoms, devils, skeletons. I got a lot of props. That lantern had a cool projection system, very advanced for its time. Bartender! Will you have another drink?
‘I’ve still got this. It’s my shout.’ She searched for her purse.
‘Put that away. We live in different financial realities.’
‘OK. Thanks. I’ve just met the man who’s giving a talk on the phantasmagoria. Piet Hyugens.
‘Yeah? I’m looking forward to it. I don’t care about them holding the Convention here this year. The hotel is fine, after that labour camp. How are they all at the old château? Have you seen them?’
‘They’re pissed of because the château is going to be sold.’
‘Are they coming to the Convention?’
‘Sofka may come. She wants to open an arts centre. I don’t know where she’ll get the funding.’
‘The château here reminds me of the Château de Moisse where some of the first phantasmagoria shows were held. It was erected by Count Jean-Francois de Beaufranchet in 1843. There was a collection of phantasmagoria material, but it got lost. I want to get the Criterion that Roman’s selling. Have you seen the auction catalogue? It’s a Colt, 1893. The original version. Nice pie
ce of Americana. It cost sixty dollars when it came out. That was a lot of money then.’
‘You’re a banker. You can afford it.’
‘Yeah. And you carry a truncheon. That creases me up.’
‘Who do you really work for? I’m with British intelligence.’
‘You are, huh?’ He shook her hand. ‘Then we’re confreres.’
‘US intelligence. German?’
‘Don’t tell on me. I won’t tell on you.’
‘You’re a spook. That’s funny, with your interest in phantom shows.’
‘Does that amuse you?’
‘I take what I’m doing very seriously. We’re trying to prevent an uprising in Europe.’
He nodded. ‘Europe is important to the US. We won the First and Second World Wars in Europe, and we’ll win the third.’
‘You think there’ll be a war?’
‘The EU is a pain in the ass as far as US business is concerned. Corporation taxes, restrictive ecology laws, insistence on taxing the wealthy to pay for welfare. Take your National Health service. What’s wrong with private insurance? It pays out more. All these little countries speaking different languages and falling out with each other. The UK is different. You Brits behave like an ally. That guy, Cameron can see the benefits of the American way. No banking restrictions, freedom from taxation and federalism...’
‘The US is a federalist system.’
‘Not like the EU. The laws vary widely state to state. My home state, New Hampshire, has no taxation at all. The state motto is: Live Free or Die. That’s democracy.’
‘Live free and die if there are no taxes to pay for education and welfare.’
The Retreat Page 15