I remember going home feeling as if I had committed a crime and that everyone would know what I had done. I was sure they’d see it in my face and so I avoided looking directly at people. I was sure that my hand, the one I had used to betray my convictions, would give me away.
Lady Macbeth says What, will these hands ne'er be clean? ... all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand.
That's how I felt but, of course, the world didn’t stop and nobody ever knew what I’d done — not until today — but it does highlight the potency of one’s conscience.’
The General Studies programme was one of the innovations that Arthur had introduced into the sixth form curriculum. In an attempt to motivate his students into thinking for themselves he deliberately arranged provocative lectures for them.
‘It’s important that they become aware of the world outside of school,’ he told the staff. ‘I don’t want to brainwash them but I want us to feed them provocative ideas that will make them begin to think for themselves. In a year or two they will be on their own out there and I want us to know that we have done our best to give them perspective, to help them to think rationally.’
That morning the discussion that followed was centred upon conscience and belief, the part that religious convictions play in people’s lives. Daniel found himself drawn back to the problem of Scimitar. Was Scimitar real or was it just his ‘inner voice’ making itself felt? He tried to lead the discussion towards the way in which people ‘hear’ their inner voices but the rest of the group didn’t understand.
‘You seemed very positive about the role of your conscience,’ Sophie said afterwards. ‘I think that’s one of the qualities that makes you so special.’
‘It’s not about me,’ Daniel said, trying to deflect the issue away from himself, ‘it’s just that some people seem to be indifferent to their beliefs while others seem to be led by them.’
‘Perhaps some people don’t have strong convictions and that’s why they do dreadful things.’
‘But people do dreadful things because of their convictions. Think about the Crusades or Hitler’s persecution of the Jews. I’m sure they acted because they believed that what they were doing was for the best but how do you know what’s right? And, come to that, what is the difference between right and wrong?’
‘That’s the problem everyone has to deal with. We never have the benefit of hindsight so we have to make our decisions in the best way that we can.’
‘But how do you know that your conscience is right?’
‘We don’t know. Perhaps your conscience is just the reflection of the way you’ve been brought up, the combination of everything that you’ve experienced.’
‘But surely there has to be some guide, some principle that you can measure everything against?’
‘Religion?’
‘Which religion? They don’t all agree.’
‘This is getting too deep for me,’ Sophie said with a grin. ‘I mean, I like having serious discussions with you but I don’t have the answers and it ends up making me feel inadequate. I want to understand but there are so many things that I can’t get my head round. Perhaps you should read philosophy at university.’
‘I don’t think that would help,’ Daniel said, feeling a bit foolish.
He wanted to share the problem of Scimitar with her but Scimitar had said that he must wait until the time was right. But who or what was Scimitar? If Scimitar was just a figment of his over active imagination, how foolish would he feel when she laughed at him?
‘I mean,’ he went on, ‘I like facts. I’m a practical guy and I like to know what I’m talking about, what’s real and what’s not.’
But no sooner had he said it than Daniel realised that this was exactly the problem; he didn’t know for sure. How could he prove it once and for all?
‘Do you want to come round this evening?’ Sophie asked. ‘Dad’s going out and we’d have the house to ourselves. We could do something that’s real.’
‘You’ve become quite shameless,’ Daniel said.
‘I’ve got a good teacher!’
Later that afternoon Sophie had her tutorial interview with the Head. Arthur liked to take an interest in each of his senior students and made time to talk to them about their university applications.
‘So,’ he said looking through his notes, ‘you want to read history. I think you’ll be an asset to any department.’
The tutorial went over her school career and the progress she’d made.
‘What will you do if Daniel doesn’t get into the same university?’ the Head asked as the interview was drawing to an end. He knew it was a provocative question and he was interested to see how Sophie would react.
‘I don’t know,’ Sophie said, disarmingly honest. ‘I suppose we’ll do the best we can.’
‘You’ve grown close these last two years, everyone knows that, but these relationships don’t always survive leaving school.’
‘Ours will.’
‘You seem very sure.’
‘I am. I didn’t want to become involved with anyone but something drew us together. We’ve been through so much and if we have to live apart for a while it won’t change the way we feel about each other.’
‘I hope you’re right. I just wanted to point it out so that you can give it some thought.’
‘We’ve talked it through. Daniel seems very sure that everything will work out fine.’
The tutorial ended and Sophie made her way to the library. She took out a book but her mind was far away. There are so many special things about Daniel and me, she thought, wondering if anyone would ever understand just what Daniel meant to her.
‘Do you think your Dad knows about us?’ Daniel asked Sophie later that evening as he unfastened her bra strap.
‘How do you mean?’
‘Well, you know.’
‘I think he must have guessed but he never says anything. Sometimes, when I come in smiling, he asks if I’ve had a good time and then I’m sure he knows but he never pries. I suppose he trusts me. Us.’
‘He never remarried.’
‘I asked him about it once but he said he was a one woman man and that my mother still filled his heart.’
‘I’d never have thought that he could be so romantic.’
‘He is. He’s sad but at the same time I think he’s happy for me. I just don’t want to put him in an awkward situation.’
‘Quite. It’s the same at home. They never ask where I’ve been or where I’m going. They always assume that I’ll be with you.’
‘And you are?’
‘Always. I’m a one girl boy, just like your Dad.’
‘The Head, at my tutorial, he asked what I would do if we don’t get into the same university. What would happen to us. He suggested that perhaps this is just a school romance.’
‘Do you think that?’
‘No, of course not. But then, everyone at our age thinks that they’re in love for ever.’
‘Jed doesn’t. He can’t wait to meet other girls.’
‘What about you?’
‘What’s got into you? You know that we’re different. We have the real thing. Have you got doubts?’
‘No. But the Head made me think, that’s all.’
‘At least he’s doing his job then! Making us think. You’re very special, Soph.’
Sophie smiled and pinched him; she didn’t like her name being shortened but she knew that he only did it to tease her.
‘It’s not just the sex,‘ Daniel went on, rubbing his arm, ‘although that’s damn good, you’re my other half, the bit of me that’s missing. It’s like when we’re together we make one complete person.’
Her hands were everywhere and Daniel was finding it increasingly difficult to focus his thoughts on anything else. He felt as if he was on fire. Her hands, his hands, everything was in the touch. Shivers of delight ran through him where his skin came into contact with hers.
Chapter 22
&
nbsp; Dr Jonathan was sitting at his desk in his office in the history faculty of the university in early October and didn’t take in any of the names when he scanned the list of new students assigned to him for tutorials. Over the years he had come into contact with hundreds of students whose names he had long forgotten because keeping them in the forefront of his memory served no useful purpose. In retrospect he supposed her name must have jangled a raw nerve somewhere in his subconscious but it did nothing to prepare him for the shock of seeing her for the first time.
His new tutorial group came into his study, three girls and two boys, and for one painful moment he thought that she had come back to haunt him; Sophie was the image of her mother. Slender of build with the same corn-gold hair falling neatly about her shoulders, she had her mother’s open but slightly quizzical gaze.
He watched as the students settled on the chairs he had set out for them. Sophie looked around the room and then looked intently at him. His heart nearly stopped. He remembered the slightly questioning look with which her mother had regarded him all those years ago and he felt the same surge of attraction for Sophie that he had experienced for her mother. Struggling to put those thoughts out of his mind, he turned to the business of the tutorial and concentrated on sorting out their timetables.
It was not until later that evening when he was back at his cottage that he allowed his thoughts to turn back to Sophie. It dawned on him that he was being given a chance to put things right. Because things had gone so badly wrong with her mother, there was no reason to think that the same would happen with Sophie. She was here, unwittingly thrust into his presence, available and perhaps even more attractive than her mother had been. Quintessentially English, she seemed quiet, modest and completely unaware of her beauty.
What was he going to do? The answer should have been easy. Living in his newly reformed self it should have been ‘nothing’ but life isn’t like that. Even the simplest of situations is much more complex than it seems and as he thought about Sophie he came to believe that doing nothing was not an option.
Until this morning he had convinced himself that the business with her mother was long gone, a different part of his life, closed and no longer relevant to the person that he had become, but now he was being forced to accept that the memory of Sophie's mother burnt just as fiercely as it had ever done. Fanned to new life by the sight of her daughter, it had neither vanished nor faded with time. The only way he could be free of it was to bring closure because, torn between the desire to atone for the past and his attraction to Sophie, he felt lost, in limbo.
Sophie would be a fresh start. Unlike the other women he had been with, he was sure that she was not worldly wise, not sullied by broken romances or sordid liaisons and he allowed himself the indulgence of dreaming about spending time with her. He would charm her, pay court to her, show her that he truly loved her and, in the fullness of time they would make love, finally eradicating the memory of her mother. In its purity, their love would purge his soul of the darkness that hovered at its edges; it would lay to rest the ghosts of the past, proving once and for all that he could love and care for someone.
The pull of the other side of his nature was strong but he could resist it. He was determined to resist it. What he already felt for Sophie was different; it was an elevated sensation, not mere lust. He wouldn’t rush things. It would take time for her to accept him, that much was obvious, but he felt confident. In due course their moment would come and all he had to do was to be prepared for when it finally came. Planning was everything. History showed that. Time and time again opportunities had been missed because people, nations and civilisations had not been ready. It would not be like that for him.
There would be risks, of course. He’d led an enchanted life and, apart from the nightmares, it had been an enjoyable life although he suspected that his past would catch up with him at some point in the future. The thought no longer obsessed him the way that some things did, but it was always there, lurking in the back of his consciousness. It was one of the few things of which he was certain.
There had been a time when his night terrors had almost paralysed him. Waking up in the dark, certain that something catastrophic was going to happen, he would decide to change his life and to try to make amends for the wrong he had done, but the addiction was too strong for his weak resolve. His determination faded with the darkness and as the realities of the day took over, he would slip back into his old, comfortable life.
For every action there is a consequence; he was prepared to accept that. He no longer felt things so keenly, not in the same way that he had when he was younger. Perhaps it was just another result of growing older, of becoming mature. His life had been fun; he didn’t feel too badly about anything even though the day was coming when a knock at the door or the ring of the bell would be the end of his comfortable living and bring unimaginable changes.
Of course, it might not come to that, he might die first. An accident driving to work or crossing the road, a heart attack or even a fatal disease — life was unpredictable and anything could happen. He thought back over the people whose lives he had altered so abruptly. They hadn’t expected it. Nothing would have been further from their minds. That’s how he’d like it to be for himself; one moment everything normal and the next everything different.
It wasn’t a question of merit, of what people deserved. It was best if there was no choice. The worst possible thing he could imagine was being in a situation where he had to decide what was going to happen to him, whether he should go on living or take the easy route and choose to die. That choice should always be made by someone else; God, perhaps, or fate or chance.
Frequently, when he woke in the morning, he would pause for a moment, thankful that he had another day and yet wondering if this would be the day when everything would change. There had been a time when he lived in dread but that was long past and now he thought it was his sacred duty to continue along the path he had chosen all those years ago. Well, if he was honest with himself, not so much the path he had chosen but the one that he had taken on the spur of the moment. He would rise, eager to start the day and ready for anything that might happen. There was much to accomplish; in each of his lives.
Sitting in his armchair he allowed himself a moment of reflection, time to think of what he might have become if he hadn’t decided to take a walk to the factory that morning and if he had not seen the thief with the money. Probably a lot poorer he thought with a wry grin and life would certainly have been a lot less exciting. He pushed away thoughts about the episode with Kerry, Sophie’s mother, that was something he wanted to avoid, and instead he focussed on the future.
And what about the future? Sitting in the quiet comfort of his home he found himself being carried along with a wild fantasy. He closed his eyes and saw himself with Sophie. It wasn’t a moment to be rushed; it was a moment to be savoured, a pause while he contemplated the extreme pleasures that lay ahead. Once he would have been in a hurry and he would have pushed on, eager to complete the task, fearful lest he should fail, but the passing years had given him experience and now he relished being in control. Nothing could go wrong, not at this point, and extreme haste would just lead to an anticlimax and incomplete fulfilment.
Part of his pleasure was anticipating the outcome; he could savour each and every step along the way. It was a journey; there was the beginning, a middle and the end, and only he knew for sure where it was going. Sophie might guess, she might have her own ideas about the future, but gradually she would come to understand how the journey must end. Indeed, she might be impatient for its conclusion but building up to that moment was what would give him the deepest satisfaction and he would not rush it.
The journey had already started. When they met that morning a train of events was set in motion that he could not stop, even if he tried. The matter was out of his hands; like Sophie, he was just a played in this drama.
This evening everything was quiet and peaceful. Tranquility hu
ng in the air and if it weren’t for that little thrill, secretly throbbing away, he could have believed that this was just an ordinary evening. He fought back the urge to move and forced himself to remain seated in his armchair. This was no ordinary time; it was the culmination of work that had been in progress for the last fifteen years, even longer if you counted in the events of that fateful morning.
He had come to believe that nothing happened by chance. It had been fate that had led him as a young boy of eleven to the discovery of the dead man. If he had not been there the man outside the shed would never have frightened him into going back to school and settling down to work.
If he hadn’t worked so hard, often as an antidote to his nightmares, he would not have had leisure time before going to university and if he’d been out at work he certainly would not have had the time to spare to go to the factory site. The coincidences went on piling up, too many to be mere chance. It was the path of his life, his destiny, already mapped out for him and all he did was walk the route.
He hadn’t expected to find anyone at the factory, let alone a man counting money. Even now he could remember the thrill that had run through his whole body, from the dizzy anticipation in his head, through the tightness in his groin to the weight of his feet; even had he wanted, it would have been impossible for him to turn away. He had watched, mesmerised by the methodical flick of the notes as the man counted them, lured into a sense of false security as the wind soughed through the empty warehouse. Then he had seen the gun, the wind had gusted and the door had blown shut. Everything had happened so quickly that it was only when he was holding the gun, the noise of its retort still ringing in his ears, that he realised he had become a murderer.
Later, when he’d had time to think it through, he came to realise that he was the victim of circumstance and not the perpetrator of a killing. It was something that had happened to him, self-defence, not something that he had done. There was the money, of course; that had taken up most of his thinking and finding a safe place to hide it had been a major problem.
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