“Just a minute,” the voice wasn’t very loud, but it had a considerable depth, and people turned their heads to look toward it, and Harriet looked too and saw Ben Shoeman leaning forward in his seat, one hand up like a schoolboy signaling his teacher. “I want to ask a question.”
“By all means,” Sir Daniel said, and smiled affably. “By all means.”
“If your setup isn’t a charity, what is it?”
“A consortium, sir. I had thought I’d explained—”
“As I understand it, the word consortium means a partnership, an association. Is that right?”
“Well, yes. I suppose that is a definition.”
“A partnership or association entered into for profit? I want to ask you and your—colleagues—a very blunt question, Sir Daniel. What’s in this plan for you? I for one never yet heard of businessmen putting up money for anything but business. If they want to make philanthropic gestures, they don’t form themselves into consortia. They philanthropize as individuals and get the glory for it So what’s in it for you?”
Sir Daniel stood and stared at him for some moments, and his face looked thinner as his upper Up rose very slightly and his nostrils pinched.
“I find your question a very unpleasant one, sir. A downright slur—” There was a scatter of shouts of “Hear, hear” and “Pipe down, you slob!” and “Shut up!” from the audience, but Shoeman went on as though he had heard nothing.
“I hope it is a slur, Sir Daniel. But the only way you’ll convince me is by answering my questions. How is the money to be handled? What sort of return will your businessmen and financiers and industrialists get on their investment?”
“I decline to answer so insulting a question, sir. I do not need to. We are not a public company—”
“Ah! So you don’t deny you’ve formed a company? That the thing’s organized like any other business scheme?”
“Why should I deny it? There’s nothing wrong with running things in a businesslike way, surely? If more of this country were run as efficiently as my colleagues and I run our concerns, we’d all be a lot better off—”
Once again, the roar of approval leaped up, and seeming to gain strength from it, Sir Daniel thrust his hands into his trousers pockets, and rocked gently on his heels, a faint smile on his face as he stared at Ben Shoeman. “Altogether, sir, I venture to suggest there are a damned sight too many grubby, pie-in-the-sky unshaven—begging your presence!—halfwits around already, all a damned sight too ready to knock down the good solid institutions on which this country’s greatness was founded, and offering nothing—nothing—to put in its place. No, sir, don’t you try to dirty us with your nasty little mind and your nasty little slurs! We are not interested in the views of those who cannot observe a generous gesture without assuming some evil lies behind it. We are ashamed of nothing we are planning, and if you think otherwise—well, sir, all I can say is that that tells us more about you than about us!”
From the far side of the dais there was a wave of movement, and Harriet saw the man called Peter Lister gesticulating furiously and J. J. Gerrard cried quickly, “Thank you, Sir Daniel Sefton! And just before the close, let me give our lady guest—who else?—the chance of the last word! Dr. Berry! How do you feel about the great offers that have been made here tonight?”
Irritation overcame her again, and once more she allowed herself the luxury of speaking without thinking first.
“Frankly, Mr. Gerrard, I couldn’t be less interested in all this posturing about and fussing over money! I’m a woman with a job to do, and if some people want to enjoy themselves playing the philanthropist, that’s their concern. For my part, I just want to be left in peace to get on with my job—”
The audience rustled ominously with a sussuration of whispers, and someone shouted, “Shame!—Who bloody pays you then, but the ones that find the money?” She closed her eyes in sudden weariness, and then, gratefully, heard the tinny music again, rising over the audience’s audible irritation with her, heard J. J. Gerrard cry, “Well, folks, time has defeated us on this issue at any rate—stay tuned and we’ll be back in a few momentary moments with more probing in ‘Probe’—”
The images on the monitor screens shivered and rolled and then blackened, and Harriet sat for a brief second, unbelieving. Was it all over? And then someone was standing beside her, speaking, and she blinked up at him. “I’m sorry—what did you say? I wasn’t listening.”
“Would you care to take a seat in the audience for the third half? We could find a place for you there toward the back, and—”
“Oh, no—no thank you. Really, I’d—all I want is to go somewhere quiet and cool.”
“Well, of course! I know just how it is! Look, I’ll get young Sue to take you to the hospitality room—we’ll have to move a bit fast though—we’ve only a couple of minutes before we’re back on the air.”
He signaled a tall girl in very tight trousers and an even tighter shirt, who was leading in another woman, a small blonde in a very shiny purple dress, trailing necklaces and chains, her fingers stiff with rings.
“Sue—hello, Miss Ascole!—would you just sit here please, and I’ll be right with you—Sue, be a lamb and take Dr. Berry back to the hospitality room, will you? Then come back fast—I’ll need you. Right, now, Miss Ascole—we’ve got your props over there on that little table, and your cat is in his cage just underneath it. He’s been a bit fractious, I believe, but I daresay we’ll cope with him—can’t expect a witch’s cat to be exactly of bundle of purrs, can we?”
And the little blonde woman giggled and the chains round her neck clashed softly, and Harriet, suddenly feeling quite desperately tired, followed the lanky Sue out of the heat and noise of the studio to the cooler quieter corridors beyond.
They gave her sausages on little sticks and a plate with a curly crustless ham sandwich on it, and a few sad olives, and thrust a very large glass of gin and tonic into her hand, and she stood there bemused by the sound and the smokiness and let it all happen around her. She could see Theo on the other side of the room, talking to the little witch woman, Miss Ascole, who clashed her chains at him and sparkled while Theo gave his celebrated impression of an extremely sexually responsive man (“But I am extremely responsive, Hattie,” he had protested when she had told him mildly that it wasn’t kind in him to treat women at parties so. “Maybe,” she had said. “But not, in my experience, to the sort of women you turn it on for”; “Not to any sort of woman, dear heart. But I do enjoy getting my own back on the breed, sometimes. If there were more women like you I wouldn’t have to.”) Beyond him she could see J. J. Gerrard talking very animatedly to an incredibly handsome girl wearing clothes so fashionable that she hardly looked real, and then she saw Ross-Craigie push through the crowd toward them, a glass in each hand, to stand very close to the girl with a proprietorial air, and, amused, she thought, “All the trappings of success—they suit him—like his glasses.”
She played with the idea of Ross-Craigie in glasses of assorted shapes, oval and David-Hockney-round, and harlequin-spangled-upswept, and wanted to giggle into her gin. She knew she was too tired to drink at all, really, but it made her feel better, not relaxed so much as removed. In her present state, she could stand and look at the scene about her, at the overcrowded hospitality room crammed with people all desperately working at impressing each other, much as an ornithologist sits in a hide and observes the absurdity of mating rituals.
She must have been spoken to twice at least before she realized she was not in a hide, and turned her head to answer. Patty was standing there, with Ben Shoeman towering over even her five-foot-eight inches, her hands in the pocket of her sheepskin coat, smiling and a little flushed with embarrassment.
“Ma, you look half-pickled—glazed and definitely not of this world. Was it so awful? I did feel for you, really I did.”
“It was horrible. Darling, you must be cooked in that coat. Do take it off.”
“Now I know she’s been drink
ing. It’s the only time she comes the motherly bit—you didn’t mind me bringing Ben, Ma?”
“It’s the only time I dare come the motherly bit. Hello, Ben. How are you? Mind? There wouldn’t be much point in saying so if I had, would there? Fait accompli and all that. Though in fact I’m almost grateful to you, Ben. While you were talking, they couldn’t expect me to, and that was a comfort.”
“But you did agree with him, Ma, didn’t you? You can see that horrible Sefton creature’s jumping on your back to make himself money? Look, what was all that about your joining his precious new establishment? You aren’t going to, are you? After what you said at the weekend, though, I don’t suppose …”
Harriet laughed suddenly into her glass, and that made her cough, and Ben thumped her back with a genial ferocity that almost stunned her. “My dear Patty!” she managed to say eventually. “Last time I saw you you were solemnly advising me to find myself a commercial establishment where I could carry on my research without any of the pennypinching we have at Brookbank, and now you say that! it’s enough to make anyone choke”—and she coughed again and wiped her eyes, and thought with a moment of intense longing of her bedroom at the cottage. So tired.
“Patty, you didn’t! What the hell were you thinking of?” Ben said.
“Oh, for God’s sake, Ben, I wasn’t thinking of defecting to the bourgeoisie or whatever, so stop glaring at me! All I said to Ma was that Gordon had a point in urging her to leave Brookbank and go somewhere else. Only he said it to encourage her to make a lot of money for herself, and I said it because I knew bloody well she’d never get much chance to get anywhere with her work at that tatty setup she’s with—”
“Ha—Gordon! Forgive me, both of you, but Gordon—”
“Dr. Berry, is there anything I can get for you?”
She turned her head to find Sir Daniel Sefton standing behind her and looking very directly at Ben.
“What? Oh, no. Thank you, nothing.”
“Ah. Well, perhaps you’d care to sit down somewhere? This place gets incredibly crowded after a program. So many hangers-on come freeloading, you know. It happens every time—I’ve appeared on several of these programs now. I must say they’ve never before allowed the audience in for drinks, however—” And he put a hand on her elbow and tried to lead her away.
“Er—no, thank you, Sir Daniel. I’m fine here. May I introduce my daughter? Patty, this is Sir Daniel Sefton, of—””
“How d’y do,” Patty said, redfaced, and raised one eyebrow a little at her mother, but Harriet hurried on, “—and—er—Ben Shoeman, Sir Daniel Sefton—”
“We have spoken, of course,” Sir Daniel said frostily, after a moment. “And frankly, sir, I’m not a little amazed that you have the effrontery to come in here after the exhibition you made of yourself.”
“Oh, don’t be amazed, Sir Daniel,” Ben said and smiled down with considered impudence at the older man. “Not effrontery at all. I kind of have a right to be here, you know? Like, I’m one of the family.”
“Ben, shut up,” Patty said, her face reddening more. “There’s no need to—”
“Well, what’s need got to do with anything? He wants to know what right a representative of the hoi polloi, like me, has to be here, so I’m telling him. Like, Sir Daniel, Dr. Berry here is my common-law mother-in-law on account Patty is my common-law wife. I guess you like labels, so there’s a couple for you.”
“Oh. Oh. I see. I’m sorry, Dr. Berry—”
“Sorry you were rude to us, or sorry she’s my common-law mother-in-law, Sefton? Forgive me if I can’t go on with this ‘Sir’ business. It kind of sticks in my craw.”
“And you—” Sir Daniel stopped, and Harriet could see him literally bite back his anger, and then he smiled thinly. “You must forgive me. When I was brought up I was taught to apologize when I had unwittingly offended a lady, and old habits die hard.” He turned to Harriet. “Tell me, Dr. Berry, did you find the program interesting? A pity we couldn’t explore the issues raised a little further, but time, you know, and this audience participation thing J.J. is so keen on—it does limit one rather.”
“It didn’t seem to limit you any, Sefton. And you were one of the audience, or so I thought. Or was that just one of the phony plants they go in for on this program, the sort people like you relish?” Ben said offensively.
“Mr.—Mr. Shoeman. I am trying very hard not to pay any attention to your somewhat juvenile exhibitionism.” Sir Daniel spoke softly but his voice carried, and some of the people standing near the little group stopped their own talk and turned to look curiously at them.
“But you seem determined to turn this private social occasion into some sort of—of Speaker’s Corner. This is hardly the time or place to indulge in such half-baked heckling, and hardly courteous to your—er—to Dr. Berry or her daughter. If you wish to have an argument with me, you are at liberty to do so, but not here and not now. I will be happy to give you an appointment if you contact my secretary tomorrow morning. Dr. Berry, may I ask you to spare me a few moments of your time? Social occasion though this may be, it does have certain professional overtones, and I would—”
“Oh, no you don’t, Sefton,” Ben said loudly, and now almost everyone in the room was listening, and Harriet felt rather than saw Theo start to push his way through the crowd toward her. “No, you don’t. I want to tell you something in a professional way. I’m by way of being a person who takes a professional interest in matters that affect ordinary people. The hoi polloi, you know? And I want to tell you that I am not about to sit down and let you and your crew of money-grabbers get your greedy hands onto the work of people like Dr. Berry. I’m telling you that I have every intention of finding out one hell of a lot more about your plans, about how you intend to make hay for yourself out of your precious new establishment, and when I do find out, I am going to tell the world, loud and clear, just what it is that—”
“Hey, hey, so what gives here?” J.J.’s voice cut in with a heavy joviality, and he came to stand beside Sir Daniel and look at Ben with his eyes narrowed. “Is this a private fight, or can anyone join in?”
“The more people join in, the better I’ll like it,” Ben said, and grinned again, clearly enjoying himself hugely. “I was just telling your co-performer here—sorry, this member of your audience–that my nasty little mind is ticking over in its nasty little way, and that I’m going to investigate his consortium. Simple as that! Me, I’m one of your straight-up types. I don’t go about things sideways. I reckon this consortium idea stinks, and I’m about to show the world why. Okay? So are you joining in, or dropping out?”
“Ben, please, will you stop this at once?” Harriet heard her own voice almost with surprise. “I for one am finding all this very tiring, not to say irritating, and as your—your common-law mother-in-law, I’m asking you—I’m telling you, that I want no more discussion of this now. Is that clear?”
He looked at her for a moment, and then lifted his head and laughed loudly, and leaned forward and kissed her cheek noisily. “Well, for you, Harriet, for you, what else can I do? You’re the greatest, and I want you to know I really dig you, mother-in-law or not. Okay, Patty, let’s go, huh?” And he turned and pushed his way toward the door, smiling cheerfully at people he passed, several of whom looked away in embarrassment.
“God, Ma, I’m sorry. He’s not always so—hell, I’ll phone you at home, tomorrow, all right? Goodnight, love, and you were great.” And Patty kissed Harriet swiftly and followed Ben out of the room. After a moment the talk started again, louder than ever.
Behind her, Theo put a hand on her arm, and she turned to him with enormous gratitude. “Theo, take me away, now. I must be back soon anyway, to let Mrs. Davies get away—good night, Sir Daniel—Mr. Gerrard. I’m sorry about—oh, well. Good night.”
10
“CANCER DOCTOR in TV Punchup!” Theo said, his voice thick with disgust. “How these people can race themselves over their own breakfast tables is beyon
d me. How could anyone—even the veriest idiot, write such crap? Punchup, indeed!”
“It might just as well have been,” Harriet said, tiredly. “This morning, I really feel as though I’ve been pummeled. Have you read all the papers? Most of them seem to be going for me, don’t they? It’s a horrible sensation …” She shrugged her shoulders to cover the faint shiver of distaste that had run across her back.
“What is?”
“Being so thoroughly hated—some of these reports make me feel like the Borgias’ tutor. But I didn’t do anything to make these people quite so furious, did I, Theo? I hadn’t thought so!”
“You showed you were yourself, that’s all. Didn’t conform to the stereotype. And nothing is more likely to infuriate people, even induce their hate, than damaging their fantasies. They’re the most precious possessions anyone has. Not the reality of their lives, but their vision of it. That’s your sin. That’s why they’re howling for your blood this morning.”
“Theo, what are you talking about? When you get metaphysical or whatever it is, you lose me—”
“Metaphysical! Dear heart, you obviously don’t even know what the word means! You asked me why people—the papers—are pillorying you, and I’m trying to tell you. Look, the stereotype of the scientist—what is it? Sexless, certainly. A scientist can have gender, but no sex. This creature, this impossible creature, is supposed to be way above the ordinary concerns of mere mortals. This identikit scientist is devout and devoted, forever immolating him-herself on the altar of science, a science that is, of course, in existence only for the benefit of mankind. You must have seen it yourself umpteen times! There they are, those TV doctors, those filmic researchers, those novelish discoverers, selflessly struggling and suffering away, all to save the life of dear little Nell in the last reel or chapter or whatever. And what did you do last night? Instead of sitting there all be-haloed with your devotion to pure science, and looking with desperate anxiety over your figurative surgical mask at the agonies of dear little Nell and all her friends and relations, you sat there being Harriet Berry. Fed up with being nagged, and lashing out at the person who started the nagging going. My dear, you did a dreadful thing in the eyes of the Great British Public! Instead of laying your hand on Ferris’s fevered brow, or holding his wrist as you frowned over his pulse, or even sitting back and accepting your just dues, his gratitude, you lashed into that little man as though you were an ordinary woman. You complained about having your time wasted! And not content with that you made your scorn of their bandwagon charitableness painfully clear. Dear Harriet, real scientists never complain or sneer like that—unless they’re the other sort, of course.”
A Time to Heal Page 14