And now the camera came back to watch the tiers, and they seemed to be moving, lifting and rippling as the people began to spill out of the tidy rows into the aisles, tumbling, running, leaping down the steps to the central area, and now the scale of the place could be more easily seen. There must be hundred of thousands of them there, she thought, hundred of thousands -ta-ta-ta-t-t-t-ta –
The voice went on and on, relentlessly soft, relentlessly beautiful, and the people she was watching were crying, tears running down their cheeks, and throwing their arms up towards the figure in the red pulpit who still stood there, white and remote and slender in the bright lights thrown on him. More music, more sweeps of the cameras, showing the hordes of happy, beautiful people, laughing now as well as crying, hugging each other, looking as though fires had been lit inside them, as if they were translucent and light could shine right through their skins.
‘Born again.’ The voice sank, softly, almost to a whisper. ‘We are. Will you be too?’
Slowly the screen blanked and the lights in the room came up to their former level as the wall panel unfolded and covered the screen. She sat there, silent, looking down at her hands.
‘You see?’ he said after a moment. ‘You see who Adam Lancaster is?’
‘Someone told me –’ She lifted her head and looked at him. ‘You’re very popular in California, I gather.’
He laughed. ‘Popular? My dear child, what a word to describe my Western crusade! I am California! Soon I shall be New York as well. And London. And everywhere else in between –’
She shook her head, amused suddenly. ‘How does it feel to be a continent?’
For the first time there was a sharpness in him. ‘Oh, you can laugh. You English – so supercilious, so clever, so cynical! You can laugh!’
‘We English? As I remember it, you were as English as I am! Come off it, man! I may have been only nine when I last saw you, but I wasn’t stupid! And there are things I remember that mayn’t have made sense then but are beginning to now –’
He looked at her, seeming to be as relaxed as he had been when she first arrived but there was a watchfulness in him now.
‘What do you remember?’
‘That you and my mother were – close friends.’ It was a lie and she knew it. He’d been just one of the boarders, no one special. Not a Gerald or a Morty –
Her eyes widened as the thought came into her head. Morty. Morty in bed with Dolly, the bump heaving and lifting as she stood at the door and watched them. Morty and Dolly.
And Morty and Andy, standing close together in the kitchen as she came in, and jumping apart. Morty and Andy sitting close together in the dark in the dining room and someone coming and telling Dolly he’d seen them there, and Dolly shrugging and saying. ‘Listen, love, if they likes bread-and-bread sandwiches, it’s no skin off my nose. Live and let live, that’s my motto –’
‘And you and Morty Lang,’ she added, softly, watching him. ‘You and Morty Lang. I’m beginning to understand, I think. Just beginning –’ She frowned, working away at her memories, picking at the knots in an effort to untangle them. ‘He was scared out of his mind, Morty. And his bully boys, the way they – is that what the stupid man was so scared about?’ She was talking almost more to herself than to him. ‘Scared about what I remembered? Scared I’d tell people? No, it couldn’t have been that. Could it? I never saw anyone so –’
‘I see I’m going to have to be fairly firm with you.’ He was on his feet now, standing looking down on her. ‘I really must be firm with you. This can’t go on, you know. I can’t have all this time-wasting nonsense going on.’
‘Time-wasting. Who the hell brought me here in the first place, damn it? I don’t want to waste your time, believe me! It’s too much waste of my own.’
‘You’ve been making a nuisance of yourself, young woman,’ he said and she grinned. She was feeling more in command of the situation than she would have believed possible. It was shadowy still, a lot of it, but things were beginning to slot into place. Just beginning.
‘How?’ she said perkily.
‘Bothering Morty. He doesn’t want to be bothered, and I don’t want him bothered. Do you understand? I really don’t want him bothered. You will stop pestering him.’
She laughed aloud at that. ‘You are funny, you know! You stand there lecturing me like a schoolgirl and – I’m a big grown-up lady, you know that? No one tells me what to do or not to do, no one.’
‘You came here, didn’t you? Because I told you to.’ The mood changed, sharply. He seemed to have shifted his ground and regained some control over himself. It was only now that he had returned to his previous urbanity that she realized just how rattled he had been. ‘My dear, we really must stop being so silly, mustn’t we? All I wanted was to meet you as an old friend, tell you what I was doing, and share some happy memories. When I heard you were coming to the States I thought – how splendid! What a lovely opportunity! That’s all.’
‘Oh, how natural! How reasonable! What could be more – more normal than to send a couple of – of special constables in your private force to pick me up at the airport, hang around me at Lincoln Center and then bloody near kidnap me! What could be a more reasonable way of greeting an old friend!’
‘My dear, I meant only to make our meeting easier! This is a hard place to find and you’re a stranger in New York. I didn’t want to put you to any trouble. That’s all! I do assure you –’
‘Then let me go now. If that’s all it was, let me go. Right now.’
‘By all means.’ He smiled and went back to the bar where his equipment for the film was and pressed a button. A voice came, disembodied and tinny, into the room.
‘Sir?’
‘In ten minutes, Gregory, please, the car for Miss Dundas.’
‘Sir.’
He came back and stood beside her, still smiling. ‘You see? It was just to be friendly. That’s all.’
She was back where she had been, tense, her muscles knotting at the back of her neck. In this state he was much more menacing than he had been, and she stared at him, trying to understand.
‘I’m sorry to hear of Dolly’s death,’ he said, and sat down again. ‘A good soul, your mother.’
‘A good soul? To you, who never drinks and who gets upset by bad language? Dolly, a good soul?’
He produced a smile of infinite loving-kindness. ‘Her sins shall be forgiven her. Tell me, my dear, did she die – in penury?’
‘What’s it to do with you?’
‘Nothing at all. I was just – I remembered that old house, you see, and then I remembered that she had moved on, gone to a bigger place. I’ve heard all about it. A big hotel in Bayswater. A far cry from Acton.’
‘You know a lot about what’s happened, don’t you? How come?’ She was beyond trying to fence with him. All she could manage now were bald questions, blurted out. She was beginning to feel very tired.
‘I like to keep in touch. I have my – old friends there still, you know.’
‘Morty?’ She shot it at him, wanting to see if he would react as he had done before, but he just lifted one eyebrow and smiled.
‘I have my old friends,’ he said again. ‘They keep an eye on things. They told me she’d died, you know. Told me you’d inherited her hotel. And her debts.’
He was watching her closely and she screwed up her eyes to clear her vision. She was getting more and more exhausted, and it made it difficult to think clearly.
‘What’s that to do with you?’
‘I’m interested in anything that happens to old friends! Tell me, have you managed to find what you are looking for?’
‘What? I don’t understand –’
‘Oh, dear, Margaret Rose, of course you do!’
‘Don’t call me that!’
‘Hornby did.’
She sat there staring at him, her eyes no longer sandy with fatigue, strung up and taut.
‘What did you say?’
‘Hornb
y called you Margaret Rose. So did Codling and the Reader sisters – so did everyone. All the good old people from the good old days –’
He was smiling gently and she stood up, shaking her head.
‘I’m tired. I want to go. Where’s this car you promised me?’
‘On its way, my dear child, on its way. You’re still looking for him, then?’
‘Yes. No. I mean, I don’t know – it’s none of your bloody concern –’
‘Of course it isn’t.’ He stood up too and looked down at her and she stood as still as she could, feeling that any movement in her now would make her vulnerable, encourage him to hit her; a ridiculous, crazy idea, because he was the quietest, gentlest –’
‘Well, we’ll just keep an eye on things, shall we? My friends will tell me what happens. But I thought you might be interested to know that I’m interested. After all, I’m a very important person, now.’
‘Really? How nice for you.’
‘It’s tens of thousands now, but soon –’ He smiled again, his chin lifting and once more the years slid from him and he looked as young as he did on the photograph. ‘– soon it will be everyone. Everyone who matters. And then – well, you’ll see. And I really can’t have anything spoiling that, can I?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ She turned her head to look at the lift doors in the far wall. Had she heard a faint hum? Was he really going to let her out?
‘It’s expensive, of course. A lot comes in, but a lot goes out. Expensive. I need all the contributions that come to me. I need them for God.’
He’s mad. That’s why he looks so young. That’s why all the cloak and dagger nonsense, all this – he’s mad. Fatigue was clamping down on her again, thickening her mind, making it difficult to think clearly.
‘Think about my message, Margaret Rose. Think about it. If you are born again, it will make it all so much simpler. Then you will be part of us, and share with us, and it will all be so much simpler –’
His smile was wide again, gentle, warm, enveloping, and she looked up at him and thought muzzily: Born again – born better. Not Dolly’s daughter. Better –
Behind her the lift doors slid open, and Greening was there and some of her exhaustion lifted, gave her enough energy to turn and walk towards him.
‘We shall talk again, before you go home, shall we, Margaret Rose? Gregory will come and fetch you, bring you to our rally. Tomorrow – being born again will be a wonderful experience for you. Won’t it, Gregory?’
‘Oh, yes, sir,’ Greening said, and smiled and looked at Maggy, and she shook her head. ‘Oh, yes,’ he said again. ‘You’ll love being at our rally. Tomorrow night. I’ll come and fetch you.’
23
‘I’ve got to get away.’ She whispered it to herself, sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the wall. I’ve got to get away. Right now. If they come back, take me to their rally, it will be the end. I’ll fall into the middle of it, right down the middle, and that will be the end of everything. The end of music, the end of –
You can’t. You’ve got another concert the day after tomorrow and then Long Island – you can’t.
If I were ill they’d have to let me go. Wouldn’t they? If I were ill –
She moved across the room then, first checking that her door was locked and angry with herself that she felt the need. She’d locked it as soon as she’d got there, and yet she’d become so jittery that she had to check again. This way lies madness. I read it in a book, obsessive checking of things you know need no checking is a sign of madness.
When she picked up the phone she didn’t know for certain who she was going to call. It was as though someone else was making the decisions, organizing her, and she heard her own voice almost with surprise, talking to the operator, giving her the number.
‘Hold the line, please, I’ll try to connect you right away,’ the operator said chattily. ‘The lines are good right now, just tried a London call –’
And then, blessedly, Theo’s voice after an eternity of listening to the double ringing tone.
‘Hello? Hello?’ he mumbled, and three thousand miles away she could see him, up on one elbow in bed, holding me phone to his rumpled head, his eyes closed as he tried to hold on to sleep. ‘Hello? Whassamatter –’
‘Theo. It’s Maggy. Darling, I’m coming home.’
‘What? Maggy?’ His voice sharpened and she felt his eyes snap open. ‘Maggy! Christ, what is it? What’s the matter? What’s the time? Are you ill?’
‘It’s way past one o’clock –’ She laughed then, absurdly. ‘Nearly seven in the morning, my dear. Time you got up anyway.’
‘Seven – Maggy, did you say you were coming home? You’ve got another three days yet –’
‘I know, but there’s something – I can’t explain now, but I can’t finish. Can you get another band out to fill those dates? I just can’t finish –’
‘Are you ill? Oh, Christ, I knew I should have come with –’
‘Yes, I’m ill. Say I’m ill. The incapacity clause – I’ll see a quack as soon as I’m home, get a certificate, we’ll be OK with the contract. Just get another band out here for the day after tomorrow and then for the Long Island date. I’m taking the first plane I can get on.’
‘But what is it? What’s happened? For Christ’s sake tell me, Maggy!’ His voice sounded almost despairing and she shook her head, wanting to tell him but too weary.
‘Darling, I can’t. I’m OK, really, and I’ll be on the next available plane. Just contact Josh, sort it all out –’
She packed her bag with all the speed she could, but still tidily, still organized, changing first into jeans and a shirt and boots and then quietly carried her luggage out of the room, leaving the light on and the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on the handle. Maybe, if they come, they’ll believe I’m still in there –
The clerk at the cashier’s desk was remote and matter of fact, behaving as though Waldorf guests routinely checked out at almost two o’clock in the morning, and she paid her bill with a traveller’s cheque, trying to keep her fingers from trembling, trying not to look over her shoulder at the still-busy lobby, trying not to show how tense she was. And succeeded very well, because as she left the cashier’s desk, still carrying her own bag, making for the lift that would take her down to the garage, she heard her name being called as a bellboy went through the lobby, paging her. ‘Miss Dundas, call for Miss Dundas –’ And she didn’t show any hint of reaction that she’d heard him.
It wasn’t till she was in the cab on the way to Kennedy that she realized that the call had probably been Josh or one of the boys, over there at their Seventh Avenue party, wondering what the hell had happened to her. Maybe she’d call from the airport. Maybe –
But she didn’t. She went through the formalities of talking to the clerk on the desk, explaining with limpid dewy-eyed honesty about the urgent call she’d had to go home, her father was dying – that was a nice one, she thought wryly – she simply had to get on the first available flight, and being treated with all the sympathy and help there was in the whole world. Sure, they’d get her on the first flight in the morning, somehow. Not to worry, Miss Dundas, we’re here to serve you, we’ll get you out on the seven a.m. –
‘Nothing before that?’ She said it almost in a wail.
The clerk shook his head. ‘Gee, no, I’m sorry, Miss Dundas, but there’s a hold on all flights out, you know? We can’t fly anything until the weather men give us the go-ahead. Like, there’s some fog – but they reckon to be clear by morning, so we’ll have you on that first London flight –seven a.m. You go to the coffee shop, huh? I’ll call you if we have any problems but I don’t reckon on any. And maybe you can get a little shut-eye there, stretch out on one of the benches maybe –’
But she didn’t feel sleepy. Tired, God, yes, tired all the way through to her middle. But sleep, no. She sat in the almost deserted coffee shop, drinking thick black coffee and watching the few people there w
ere, wondering idly why there was anyone here at all when there were no flights out till morning, listening to the woman with the broom moving desultorily between the tables singing with a high soft undulating sound –
It hit her suddenly as the woman came abreast of her and her singing changed to a broken syncopated rhythm, and she said, almost without thinking, ‘Are you born again?’
The broom stopped moving and the woman turned and stared at her, her eyes wide and bright. She was a big woman, sagging and lumpy, in a blue checked overall, with thin greying hair pulled back into a thin bun at the back of her neck. She had big rough hands, clutching the broom like lumps of old dried meat, and every inch of her bespoke the years of work and struggle and sheer misery that had shaped her. Yet her face was serene and happy and her eyes wide and beaming and she looked at Maggy with a joyous-ness that would have looked remarkable in a bride.
‘Oh, sister, and aren’t we the happy ones!’ She came forward and leaned close and kissed her cheek, all in one easy smooth movement and Maggy stared at her, startled. She smelled of frying and dust and cheap soap. ‘Glory, glory, aren’t we the happy ones!’
‘Not me,’ Maggy said. ‘I mean, I don’t know – tell me about it. Will you tell me about it?’
‘But you know! That’s why you asked me, because you know.’
‘I don’t know enough,’ Maggy said, trying to sound humble. ‘Will you tell me?’
‘I surely will –’ The woman looked over her shoulder to the self-service counter, and then began to move her broom to and fro, as though she were sweeping, but staying in the same place. ‘God wants us to tell the truth to all who will hear it.’
‘Are there many people born again?’ Maggy said, watching her, and the woman smiled, her face lifting even more.
‘Oh sister, there are, there are. In California, he tells us, “most everyone is hearin’ the word and running and flocking and leaping to come to the good life!” And here in New York, well there’s some of us, but after tomorrow – tonight, I should say – after tonight there’ll be more and more and more! God will take New York to be his own, and Adam Lancaster will lead us safe over the river to the peace of bein’ born again!’
Reprise Page 25