“So you’re saying Gavin’s just a regular bastard?”
“I’m saying he’s just profoundly damaged. That makes him behave like a regular bastard, and can I just make one thing quite clear? You were right to be upset about the incident with Moira.”
“You don’t think I was being priggish?”
“There’s nothing priggish about being appalled by a man who uses a vulnerable woman to boost his ego.”
“But according to Gavin’s story, Moira wanted the sex even more than he did!”
“Yes, but there are two problems with Gavin’s story, aren’t there? The first is that it may be a fantasy from start to finish, and the second is that even if he spoke the truth the incident was still a disaster.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I know where Moira’s at, and let me tell you, without breaching any confidences, that the very last thing she needs right now is a close encounter with a man who intends to treat her as the human equivalent of a Kleenex tissue—use once and dispose.”
I hesitated for a moment before saying: “Well, I certainly don’t want to criticise her, particularly if she’s acting out of a deep unhappiness and particularly as Gavin’s enough to make any woman plunge into promiscuity. If I found him so sexy, how can I blame Moira for doing the same?”
“Past tense? ‘Found’ not ‘find’?”
“I couldn’t find him attractive now after the way he’s behaved, harassing me to pieces one moment and screwing Moira the next! Obviously he’s sick, and I don’t find sickness sexy. So I can relax.”
“I don’t want to sound cynical,” said Nicholas, “but relaxation would almost certainly be a big mistake. I’m glad Moira’s enabled you to see Gavin in a clearer light, but you still need to be on your guard.”
“But how sure are you that he’ll surface in my life again? I really tore a strip off him just now, and he obviously doesn’t want to come near St. Benet’s.”
“True, but I’ve got a feeling neither of us has seen the last of Gavin Blake . . . I must say, I’m intrigued by the way his path’s been intersecting with yours.”
“That’s just the result of a random chance.”
“Yes, but God works through random chances—they’re all part of the creative and redemptive process. I wonder if you’ve been setting out on a new phase of your spiritual journey.”
“Well, don’t ask me—I’m just a beginner Christian with no spiritual gifts whatsoever!”
“My dear Carta—”
“Look, you’re making everything much too complicated and the situation’s actually very simple: Gavin wants to add me to his babe-list, and he’s prepared to stalk me to do it—and if that’s of any interest to God whatsoever I’ll eat a stack of Appeal brochures!”
“God’s interested in everything.”
“Yes, but—”
“I agree Gavin’s making a nuisance of himself, but I don’t think he’s a stalker.”
“Then how do you explain his behaviour?”
“I think he’s trying to communicate with you,” said Nicholas, “and I suspect that what he really wants has nothing to do with sex at all.”
X
I boggled at him. “But that’s crazy! If you could hear how Gavin carries on when he and I are alone—”
“He thinks that’s the only way he’ll win your attention, but I doubt if he’s really interested in you, the person behind the image you present. My theory is that you’re a symbol to him, and that it’s what you symbolise which is so attractive.”
“But what on earth do I symbolise?”
“The world of Richard Slaney. Just think for a moment. You’re obviously of special interest to him, and it’s unlikely to be just because you’re an attractive blonde—for a man like Gavin attractive blondes are a dime a dozen. What’s special about you is that you’re a friend of Richard’s, someone who lives in another world from the world Gavin now inhabits. Richard took Gavin through the looking glass into that world, and although Richard’s now dead the link with that world isn’t over so long as you’re around and Gavin finds ways of staying in touch with you.”
I went on staring at him. “But what am I supposed to do?”
“Maybe you can help him.”
“You’re joking.”
“Okay, it’s a big ‘maybe’ but the possibility’s there. Now, I’m not saying this is going to be easy and I’m certainly not saying it’s going to be risk-free—”
“It sounds like one of those insane new sports where people try to kill themselves for the adrenaline buzz.”
“—but if you treat him with as much respect as you’d treat any other friend of Richard’s he’ll eventually realise he doesn’t have to come on like a sex addict to win your attention, and then it might be possible to build some sort of life-saving bridge to him. The big danger, of course, is that if you ever respond to him sexually everything could wind up wrecked, and when I say ‘everything’ I include Gavin himself who’ll feel cheated that you couldn’t after all lead him into Richard’s world but just treated him as a hunk of meat fit only for the world he already occupies.”
I took a deep breath. “Nicholas, I do appreciate the compliment you’re trying to pay me, but I’m not a priest, I’m not a pastoral worker, I’m not—”
“Not your brother’s keeper?”
I groaned and covered my face with my hands. “Why’s Christianity so often so difficult?”
“Because life’s so often not so easy! But listen, Carta, you’re getting intimidated because you’re thinking of this as a once-in-a-lifetime project, whereas the truth is it’s just an unusual example of something that crops up every day. We’re all called to help each other as best we can, that’s the truth of it—it’s as if we’re all cells in one body, we’re all connected, and sickness in one cell can’t help but affect the healthy cells—the healthy cells can’t remain neutral, can’t opt out, they’ve got to stand fast against sickness if they’re to survive. And that’s why, in the most real sense, I have to be my brother’s keeper—his health and mine are interdependent.”
I made one last attempt to wriggle off the Christian hook. “Nicholas, on a purely rational level, how can you be sure I can help Gavin in any way whatsoever?”
“I can’t be sure. Maybe I’ve got it quite wrong and Gavin’s been sent to help you.”
Nicholas was clearly off the planet and orbiting in deep space. Finishing my coffee without further comment I stood up to pay the bill.
XI
We were settling ourselves in the car minutes later when I suddenly said: “There’s something I’ve forgotten to tell you.”
Nicholas paused, his hand on the ignition key, and looked at me expectantly.
“Gavin’s manager. This woman who’s involved in vice and who’s apparently so nervous of priests she forbids Gavin to talk to anyone in a dog collar. Her name’s Elizabeth.”
“Oh yes?” Nicholas started the engine and began to reverse out of the parking space.
“Okay,” I said, “okay. I know I’m obsessive about Mrs. Mayfield, but when Gavin disclosed—”
“Hold it.” Nicholas changed gears and drove back into the parking space. As he switched off the engine he said: “Did you say the name Mayfield to gauge his reaction?”
I sighed. “He didn’t bat an eyelid. Maybe he only started working for her after she abandoned the healing business in Fulham. Or maybe he just never knew she operated a business using that identity. The police always thought, didn’t they, that the reason why she was able to vanish so suddenly and so completely was because she’d developed a parallel identity somewhere else.”
“Did you ask Gavin what his Elizabeth’s surname was?”
“No, stupid of me, I was too busy thinking of Mayfield.”
“If we knew the surname I could ask the police to check for previous convictions, but my guess would be she’s clean—in fact if she’s Mayfield, she’d have to be clean in this other identity or the
police would have linked up the fingerprints. Remember Mayfield had a record?”
“Gavin certainly implied to me she was clean. The point came up when he stressed his own work was entirely legal.”
Nicholas mulled this over for a moment before asking: “How does she avoid a charge of living off his immoral earnings?”
“He doesn’t see clients at her house and the money he pays her could be passed off as rent for his Lambeth accommodation. Or maybe, as we’re talking of an upmarket business, he pays money into a numbered offshore account.” I paused to marshal my thoughts before saying carefully: “If we compare the two Elizabeths, we can see there are some suggestive coincidences. Number one: Mrs. Mayfield had a vice record, and Gavin’s Elizabeth—Elizabeth X—is running a male prostitute. Number two: although Mrs. Mayfield was jailed on vice charges in the 1960s she retained her Mayfield identity afterwards for her psychic healing practice, probably because she had a reputation in that line, and Kim told me that when he first met her years and years ago she was operating out of a room in Lambeth. The coincidence here is that Lambeth is where Gavin lives with Elizabeth X.”
“Lambeth isn’t the most privileged of areas. Can I be tiresome enough to remind you of all the shady ladies called Elizabeth, convicted or otherwise, who have inevitably made it their home?”
“Okay, I know I’m seriously nuts about that vile woman who pretended to heal Kim of all his cosmic psychological problems and made sure he never got the right help until it was too late, but the fact remains that if Mrs. Mayfield hadn’t peddled that fake healing and encouraged his sexual deviancy by introducing him to that occult society—wait a moment, I was almost forgetting! There’s a third coincidence. Nicholas, Mrs. Mayfield had City contacts—Kim wasn’t the only City high flyer who belonged to that society. So the third coincidence is—”
“—the fact that Elizabeth X must also have had City contacts to launch Gavin. Yes, that’s all true, Carta, but there isn’t a shred of evidence, is there, to prove the two Elizabeths are one? The earnings from vice, the Lambeth connection and the City contacts could all be random coincidences, and a quite different Elizabeth, based in Lambeth, could have built up (for example) a City catering business, made numerous affluent contacts and decided to sell Gavin in addition to boardroom lunches.”
I offered no argument. I just said: “Maybe if Gavin stays in touch I can find out more.”
“I was afraid you’d wind up saying that,” said Nicholas.
XII
We sat there in the car park of the Little Chef a mile from Compton Beeches and looked at one another. I was the first to glance away, and as I did so I heard Nicholas say firmly but not unkindly: “Befriend Gavin if you can. But don’t just use him in an obsessive quest to come to terms with the past.”
I found myself unable to reply and eventually Nicholas said: “I’ve got a lot of sympathy for you, Carta, where Mrs. Mayfield’s concerned, but the danger is that by brooding on the past you’ll pay insufficient attention to the present. Don’t get so locked up in the events of 1990 that you ignore what’s happening in 1992—and I mean what’s really happening in 1992. What’s really happening isn’t Mrs. Mayfield making a dramatic return to your life. What’s really happening is Gavin, crossing and recrossing your path, and it’s Gavin you need to focus on, not that part of yourself which is still welded to the memory of Kim’s death. Gavin may never cross your path again, but you can still pray for him, and praying for him is probably much more in line with what God requires of you at this moment than dwelling in frustration on the elusiveness of Mrs. Mayfield.”
I thought hard. At last I managed to say: “I’m sure you’re right,” and after a moment I was even able to comment: “The more obsessed with her I get, the more power she has over me and the more likely I am to behave nuttily—and the last thing you need is a nutty fundraiser ruining the Appeal.”
I sensed Nicholas’s relief.
We finally drove away.
XIII
“I’ll tell you one topic that never surfaced today,” said Nicholas as we reached the City, “and that’s Richard’s proposed donation to St. Benet’s. Maybe he never told Moira about it.”
“If they were close enough to talk about Gavin during his last hours, I see no reason why Richard wouldn’t have mentioned the donation plan,” I objected, “particularly as the donation was linked with his guilt about not getting involved with family therapy.” But less certainly I asked: “What’s the etiquette on jogging a widow’s memory about her husband’s promise to give to a good cause?”
“You pray she isn’t suffering from amnesia.”
I sighed.
“I could put out a tactful feeler later,” said Nicholas as the car reached the Barbican at last and began to travel east along London Wall, “but I’d have to pick the right moment and that could well be several weeks away.”
“Even if Moira does know about Richard’s promise,” I commented gloomily, “she might well hesitate on the grounds that it was over-generous.”
“You really think she wouldn’t honour the commitment?”
“After what she got up to today, I feel I no longer have any idea what she might do.”
Nicholas was halting the car by the traffic barrier of Monkwell Square. “We’ll discuss it all tomorrow,” he said incisively. “Meanwhile give my regards to Eric . . . How was that brother of his when you saw him last weekend?”
“I thought he looked tired. Too many visits to those dying AIDS patients in the hospice perhaps.”
“I must give him a call.”
We parted, and then setting the day’s emotionally exhausting events aside I prepared to relax with Eric over the meal he had promised to cook to welcome me home.
XIV
“Let’s hear the bad news first,” said Eric, passing me a glass of Nuits St. George. “How was the sleazeball?”
“He took one look at my bodyguard and decided to spend his time chasing someone else.”
“Honestly? Tell me everything!”
I launched into a blow-by-blow description of what had happened; I thought this was more likely to generate an atmosphere of trust, an essential ingredient in the reconciliation we were still working on after our big row the previous weekend. Even so, I found myself becoming irritated when Eric showed signs of sliding into another snit. I thought that by now he should have been able to set aside the humiliation he had suffered last Saturday, but apparently I had been expecting too much. Or was I dealing here not with humiliation but with simple jealousy? That seemed unlikely. I could see that Gavin was sexy enough to make other men grind their teeth, but what I couldn’t see was why an intelligent, sensible man like Eric should sink into such fury over a mere prostitute, no matter how good-looking the prostitute happened to be. It would have been far more typical of Eric if he had just laughed and exclaimed: “Poor sod, what a loser! Don’t tell me you think he’s gorgeous!” But that kind of balanced response was definitely not on offer.
When I had finished my story he refilled our glasses, set the bottle down with a thump and said: “I think Nick’s gone crazy. What rubbish to think that Gavin’s been put across your path for a purpose! This guy’s seriously bad news, and the idea that he could ever be a benign part of your spiritual journey is just sentimental twaddle—and what’s worse, it’s dangerous sentimental twaddle!”
I kept calm. “To tell you the truth, I too thought Nicholas was nuts at that point, but—”
“Lewis is the one who’s got it right, of course. Gavin Blake’s nothing but a metaphysical typhoid-carrier, and you should never under any circumstances see him again!”
“Well, the odds are I never will,” I said, somehow managing to stay cool. “But don’t you think Nicholas was right to say we’re all like cells in one body, all called to help one another in the fight against sickness?”
“Of course he was right, but that’s not the point at issue here! We’re not talking about the principle implied in ‘I am my br
other’s keeper’— we’re talking of the application of that principle!”
“Sorry?”
“Think of the poor in Calcutta. We’re all required to care, but we’re not all required to be Mother Teresa, giving hands-on help. Most of us are required to care by praying or sending donations or both.”
“Yes, I see, but—”
“Now apply that to the Gavin situation. You can pray for the bastard, of course you can, but the idea that you should give hands-on help is ludicrous! He’s definitely one for the psychiatrists!”
I knew it was unwise to argue but I found I had to fight the implication that I was just a dizzy blonde who couldn’t cope. “Maybe God thinks I’m uniquely suited to help Gavin.”
“God wouldn’t be so dumb! Why should he use a vulnerable woman to help this psycho?”
“But am I so vulnerable? I’m smart, I’m tough, I’m streetwise—”
“Oh, come on, Carta! You’re vulnerable because you’re obviously fascinated by this totally sick testosterone package who hip-swivels around as if he had WANNA FUCK? tattooed on his chest!”
“Eric, you’re losing it. Stop right there.”
“I just want to make it crystal clear that I’m not going to let this rat gnaw our relationship to pieces!”
Making a huge effort I kept my temper. “Listen,” I said. “ I have no plans to see Gavin again. Got it? And I’m convinced I gave him a big enough brush-off today to ensure he leaves me alone in future.”
“But he won’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re there, like Mount Everest. He’s got to conquer you. He’s committed.”
“Rubbish!”
“It’s not rubbish! After his romp with Moira today isn’t it obvious he’ll stop at nothing? The trouble is women get moronic when they’re mixed up with a man like that—all they want to do is swoon into his arms and simper: ‘Take me’!”
The Heartbreaker Page 16