by Laline Paull
‘Mr Coroner!’ Sawbridge did his half push-up on the seat in front. ‘Long friendship has its ups and downs, and I believe Mrs Osman is diverting our attention away from our common interest.’
‘Agreed, Mr Sawbridge. Mrs Osman, in view of the limited time and availability of all parties, please confine your questions to our remit: how and in what manner, did Tom Harding meet his death. We do not seek existential causes that may extend back several years to wars illegal or otherwise, nor to plumb the psyches of our witnesses.’
‘Hear hear!’ called Sawbridge, and clapped his hands slowly.
‘Your Honour, with respect.’ Mrs Osman turned to him. ‘Is it not also the function of any inquest to fearlessly investigate all causes and seek out and record as many of those facts concerning the death as the public interest requires—’
‘Yes, thank you, Mrs Osman. I am quite up to date with Lord Lane’s pronouncements, and the requirements of my own office.’ Mr Thornton laced his fingers and bumped his hands down on the table with each word. ‘Can we go on?’
‘Certainly. No further questions, thank you, Mr Cawson.’ Mrs Osman sat.
Sean had sweated throughout his testimony and wanted a shower at the White Bear, but there was no time. Concerned for him, Martine had come down earlier than he expected, and had researched a small bistro a short walk from the court. They repaired with Sawbridge, who primed her for her own testimony.
‘Smile, but not too much. I say that because if beautiful women don’t smile, they’re perceived as aloof and threatening. But if they smile too much—’
‘Everyone gets the wrong idea,’ Martine finished. ‘Believe me, I know.’
‘Try not to finish anyone’s sentence either.’ Sawbridge tucked into his veal. ‘So clever of you to find this place.’
‘Maybe you should give me some performance notes.’
‘I hoped I might.’ Sawbridge grinned, refusing to take offence. ‘You are the brilliant, soignée, femme-fatale who is responsible for the breakup of this poor chap’s marriage – best you get over it now, because that’s what they’ll say about you.’
‘It could be worse.’
‘Ha. It might well be. But regardless, you did everything you could to save Tom, and Sean here has been distraught ever since.’
‘I have.’ Sean had barely spoken since they got there. He felt hyper-sensitised – he saw a trace of makeup on Martine’s face, and then he saw it everywhere. All over her skin, on her eyelashes – even some clever paint that gave her hand a pale shimmer. He took her hand and looked at it. Tiny little flecks of mica, suspended in lotion. Misinterpreting the gesture, she smiled and squeezed his.
‘Darling. It’ll be OK.’
‘Of course it will,’ said Sawbridge. ‘Tell him to eat or he’ll keel over.’
‘He can’t, when he’s agitated. I’m the same.’ Martine took a mouthful of food. ‘Tonight he’ll be hungry.’
‘I do hope so. He needs his strength.’ Sawbridge winked at him. ‘Join in whenever you feel like it, or not. Anyway, this afternoon should be OK. We’ve got a video postcard, I believe they call them, from Miss Radiance Young. Then it’s Martine. And the glaciologist, Professor Roger Kelly. Ocean Physics at Cambridge. Controversial with the oil lot, adored by the green lot, so we’ll have to watch out for him.’
Martine leaned forward, her hand on Sean’s thigh.
‘You’re the hero of this story, don’t you worry.’
Sawbridge grimaced.
‘What?’ she asked.
‘The survivor is rarely the hero,’ Sawbridge said. ‘We must go carefully.’
Gangrene, as it develops in a frozen limb, is not so painful as it is odorous. It stinks fearfully and one cannot get away from it. The nurse had a special cure. She captured small lemmings – the Arctic mice that multiply faster than guinea-pigs – killed them beside me and laid the warm skins on the open wounds, bloody side down. After some hours, during which she caught more, she peeled off the skins, the decayed flesh adhering to them, and replaced them with new ones. She also muttered magic formulas over the foot and sang pain-killing songs.
Nevertheless, the flesh fell away until the bones protruded. I could endure no blankets touching them, and the sight of them sent my nerves jangling. If the room was warm the stench was unendurable; if it was cold, I froze. I went through a living hell, and each night felt that the old man with the scythe was close after me.
When a man is sick and cold and lonely he gets strange ideas, and one day I told the nurse that I wanted to have those toes off. She thought that might be the best thing to do, and she knew just how to do it – bite them off at the joints and prevent the ghosts from occupying my body – her mouth would close the wounds immediately. I thanked her very much, but took no stock in her method; instead, I fitted a nail puller over each toe and banged it off with a hammer.
I cannot attempt to describe the physical pain – but there was a spiritual pain, too – in discarding a portion of my own body, even a part that would never be of any use to me again.
Arctic Adventure: My Life in the Frozen North (1936)
Peter Freuchen
28
The courtroom absorbed Martine’s business glamour as she took the oath in her unlocatable accent of cosmopolitan privilege. The coroner’s clerk stared at her slightly too long. Mr Thornton, unsmitten, asked for her account of the events at the ice-cave.
Martine channelled demure respect. She told Mr Thornton how thrilled she had been to work on such an important venture. How delighted to bring such exciting value to her green-minded investors, all hungry for rare ethical vehicles such as Midgard Lodge. She was excited herself to go to Svalbard for the first time and believed in the power of spending real time with one’s partners, as people, not just financial co-investors. She expressed her deepest condolences to Tom’s family, and told them how Tom believed Midgard Lodge would be a place where great things might be accomplished, to the benefit of the whole world.
‘Confine yourself to the facts and avoid speculation, Miss Delaroche.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Sean knew Mr Thornton’s neutrality would have offended Martine on other occasions, but she understood her role. He had seen her protean ability before, matching herself to the taste of the dominant force, before gradually moulding it to her agenda.
She described how they prepared with every precaution to go to the cave, how Sean could not have done more for their safety. Everyone travelled at their own risk, she was herself intrepid when it came to skiing and diving and driving – she’d been allowed to drive her father’s collection of sports cars from a young age – so it was a great surprise to her when she did not like the cave experience. When Joe and Radiance decided to go back, she did too. Only when all three were in the last part of the tunnel with the ladder in sight did they hear the sound of the collapse behind.
When they got out, Mr Long and Mr Bjornsen – Danny and Terry – were already on their way down because they’d seen the sudden change in the weather. As soon as they realised they couldn’t break through what had fallen, they hurried back to the Lodge to raise the alarm. Despite insisting that she must stay to try to save Sean and Tom, she’d had to submit to being taken back to the Lodge.
And then the most terrible sleepless night of the storm, not knowing if they were alive or dead but fearing the worst, and in the morning came the Sysselmann’s team and then thank god – and here Martine shamelessly crossed herself like the good Catholic she was not – they found Sean, out in the snow. Miraculously alive. Martine looked out at Sean, tears in her eyes. Then to the coroner, lest he miss the full benefit of her emotion. That was all she had to say.
‘Not quite all, Miss Delaroche, I believe both counsel have questions. Mr Sawbridge, please go first this time.’
Sawbridge would rather have mopped up any damage Mrs Osman might have tried to inflict, but could only agree. He spoke gently, to signal Martine’s fragility.
‘Miss Delaroc
he, what do you think this project represented to Mr Harding?’
‘The chance to influence the environmental conscience of the business community, from a position of soft power.’
‘Soft power?’
She allowed herself a small smile.
‘When people are sharing important experiences, when the stress of the deal is put to one side and they are enjoying themselves, it is so much easier to come to agreement. That is one of the most important things about the Lodge; how the environment itself speaks every language. The spiritual quality is stronger there, it touches people inside. It’s truly humbling.’
‘Quite.’ Sawbridge looked genuinely impressed. ‘How would you characterise the mood of the participants on this expedition, to see the eclipse at Midgard Lodge? We have heard about the unavoidable delay, and you were all very busy people. What was the mood like, on the day of travel?’
‘Very upbeat. Like an amusing, wonderful, school trip.’ Her smile faded. ‘But with a tragic outcome. At least we have resolution now.’
No, don’t say that, shouted Sean in his head. Resolution of what? Osman will go there – you were doing so well. Come on, Nicholas, bring it back.
‘I understand.’ Sawbridge was aware of the danger. ‘The pain of not knowing where Tom was lost.’
‘That’s right.’ Martine wiped her eyes again. Sawbridge held a look of deep compassion for several seconds. ‘No more questions. Many thanks, Miss Delaroche.’
‘May I?’ Osman was up before Sawbridge was back beside Sean. ‘Miss Delaroche, you work in a so-called “clean-tech” equity firm, is that correct? Raising capital for environmentally friendly businesses?’
‘I’m very proud of that,’ Martine was considerably less charming to women than men. ‘It’s something I strongly believe in.’
‘I notice your company stresses its business ethics, and the ethics of all its partners, of which you are one. Is that also correct?’
‘Why would anyone trust us otherwise?’
Mrs Osman considered this.
‘Do you think personal ethics have anything to do with business? Or, to put it another way, do you think a moral code is important?’
‘Of course.’ Her eyes went to Sean for the briefest moment. Mrs Osman turned to follow Martine’s look. Other heads did the same.
‘Yes. I would have thought it was,’ Osman went on smoothly. ‘So, for instance, someone with a … flexible attitude … to morality in their personal life, might also carry that over … into business dealings.’
‘Are you accusing me of something?’ Martine became poised and still.
‘Is it not a fact,’ pursued Mrs Osman, ‘that you were accused of stealing jewellery – a necklace, I think? – from the wife of a man with whom you were having an affair? While you were living in Geneva? I do have the dates, somewhere.’
‘That was a vile accusation, and withdrawn!’ Martine flushed, the first time Sean had ever seen her do it. ‘It was a gift, I had no idea it belonged to her. I returned it.’
‘But only after being threatened with court proceedings.’
Martine made a sound of contempt and exasperation. ‘She was old and jealous and she wanted revenge.’
‘Not very sisterly of you, Mrs Osman,’ called out Sawbridge. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be a feminist?’
‘Justice is my interest,’ Mrs Osman continued in the same calm tone. ‘And my professional experience shows that people in the habit of having affairs, are also in the habit of frequent … economies … with the truth. And because, Miss Delaroche, I have reason to doubt the trip to Svalbard was as harmonious as you present it. I believe that, despite your shared endeavour, there was no love lost between yourself and Tom Harding, because he was a friend of Mr Cawson’s ex-wife and, rightly or wrongly, held you responsible for their divorce. I believe you disliked Mr Harding, Miss Delaroche.’
‘I’m still sorry about the accident! And you blame the woman because the man falls in love with her?’ Martine dropped her eyes. ‘Sean pursued me and I couldn’t resist. I didn’t know he was married at first. I’m not proud of that.’
Sean sat forward in shock. Martine in the sauna of the Kempinski hotel in Berlin, asking him if he liked her tan lines. He was trying to keep his word to Gail, no more dalliances. Martine naked, tanned dark and pale, telling him she knew he was married, it suited her better. Getting up to stand above him, his weakness plain to see.
‘I wanted Tom to like me,’ she told Osman. ‘I knew how much his friendship meant to the man I love. And yes, I wanted him to respect what I had brought to the deal, not to behave as if he was the single thing that made it happen, and I was just one more corrupt piece of the business.’
Mrs Osman spun the silence before she spoke, very quietly. ‘There was corruption?’
‘I didn’t say that! I meant his attitude was that we were all corrupt capitalists and he was the holy one coming in to set us all straight. So no, I didn’t like his attitude. And no, he didn’t like me. But that had nothing to do with the accident or how hard we tried to find them both, or how sorry I am that he died! I don’t know what you’re trying to say to me, or make of me, or why you’re questioning my integrity. It’s insulting!’
Sean removed his hand from his mouth. Unmasked by Osman, Martine could not have projected a worse image. Sophisticated, defiant, aloof. He heard Sawbridge’s low intake of breath beside him and knew he felt the same. Mrs Osman nodded gently.
‘I’m simply searching for the truth about—’
‘I’ll tell you the truth,’ Martine broke in. ‘The ice-cave collapsed, Tom fell and died. It was a terrible accident and I had nothing to do with it. I would never have come here if I’d known it was going to be so’ – she looked directly at Osman – ‘ugly.’
‘As the truth so often is. Thank you, Miss Delaroche.’ Mrs Osman sat down. Sean looked at his hands as Martine stalked back to them, furious. A PR disaster. How on earth could Osman possibly have known about Tom blaming Martine? Then he understood. From that reliable troublemaker, Ruth Mott.
Stunned by Martine’s misrepresentation of the start of their affair, Sean did not trust himself to speak to her until they were in private. She had twisted it completely. When the break was called, he made an excuse and went to the lavatory, leaving Sawbridge to cajole her out onto the fire escape to keep him company while he had a quick puff – and, Sean knew, deliver a cautionary briefing. He returned to his seat and busied himself with his email until they came back. Without a word, she knew he was angry, and he knew she did not care.
The next testimony was ‘a video postcard’, the coroner announced, from Miss Radiance Young, a partner in Midgard Lodge. He had requested a testimony by Skype if she could not attend in person, but believed she was literally in space as they spoke. She had however, sent the answers to his questions.
The screen behind him brightened and Radiance’s face smiled out at them. She was wearing a white zip-up sports top with stripes down the arms, and sat against a blue tessellated background with a Cyrillic logo. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail revealing small but sparkly diamond earrings.
‘Hi, Sean,’ she said to the camera. ‘Hi, all court officials. Hi, Joe, you naughty man, if you’re there too. Hi, Ruth Mott – Bear Lady.’ She dropped the smile. ‘Hi, Martin.’ Then she leaned forward.
‘First I want to say please tell Tom’s family sorry we couldn’t find him. Very sorry. Thank you for passing on this message.’ She looked down at something in her lap. ‘I’m going to answer all the questions one time, right? OK. We all had a good time together, no argy-bargy except stressy Bear Lady and Joe at the restaurant. But everyone loved Tom, no arguments, everything was great! Joe’s plane was very nice, Midgard Lodge is very beautiful, so well done Martin for that. Good taste bad person – no joke!’
The coroner paused it. ‘When Ms Young says “Martin”, I take it she refers to Miss Delaroche – is that correct, Mr Cawson?’
‘I believe so,’ said
Sean. He felt Martine tense beside him. Sawbridge had clearly failed to pour oil on troubled water.
‘Joe rode with me to the cave,’ Radiance said from the back wall. ‘Very strong man but an old man too, right? No good in tight spot, I said to him, when we got out. Breathing like this’ – Radiance closed her eyes in a grimace and demonstrated rapid, panicky breathing. ‘I thought he was dying of heart attack. But it got worse! The bad sound inside – then Martin starts shouting all weak and screamy, and the bad weather comes from nowhere. Nowhere, like it happens there.’ Radiance shook her head sagely.
‘We got back to the first place under the ladder, but you can feel the shaking in the walls – like this’ – Radiance shuddered her whole face and body, raising a few titters. Granny Ruby looked around indignantly. On the film, Radiance seemed to remember the camera.
‘Storm cut out phones, right? Solar blasts. So interesting but bad news here. Long and Bjornsen treat us like kids, made us go back to the Lodge to call for help. Martin useless, Joe no good. Even me. We thought: Sean dead, Tom dead. For sure.’ She shook her head. ‘So sorry, to Tom’s family. Very beautiful man. I liked him a lot.’ She looked down, then back up with a big smile. ‘OK – and by the way, Martin, if you’re there: “I must tell you friendly in your ear, sell when you can, you are not for all markets.”’ She blinked innocently. ‘As You Like It. Just popped into my mind when I thought of you.’
The screen went black, and the clerks opened the blinds. People whispered, and Sean could hear a few muffled laughs, then the room quieted for the coroner.
‘Perhaps some of you are familiar with the physics of glaciers, with their caves and calvings. I’m not, so I’m pleased to have the benefit of an expert witness in Professor Roger Kelly, chair of Ocean Physics at the University of Cambridge, who has kindly made time for us.’
Sean watched him take the stand, and the secular oath. He was a kindly-looking donnish type who gave the impression he’d be more at home in a country pub than roaming the oceans of the world, as was his preferred habit when not teaching. Professor Kelly looked out.