by Niels Hammer
“What is it you want?”
She fixed a steely cold gaze upon him as he stood trembling and wet like a winter Cat wanting to seek shelter by the fire in her hearth. The tone of her voice had been mean and black with suspicion – but her attitude was probably more the result of a professional sense of caution than an expression of any positive dislike of him as a person – in spite of their second encounter.
“I come to give you the explanation I was prevented from giving you the day before yesterday.”
As she began closing the door in his face he showed her the wristlet.
“Do you recognise this?”
In order to know how much he knew she would have to listen to what he had to say – and yet he felt that she was inclined to disregard him as well as the mystery he personified – so her attitude was strangely anomalous. It would be vital for her to know who he was and what he wanted – questions which she indeed had asked him already. And yet she looked at the wristlet as if it did not matter if she had seen it before or not. Her sang-froid indicated the degree of her self-control. He would have to compel her to listen.
“I bought it from a man in Greek Road, Deptford, the man to whom you sold it after breaking into the house of George and Suzy Salisbury the sixteenth of February last year.”
She still looked at him as if she refused to believe a word of what he was saying and he kept getting more and more wet with the cold drops from the dull clouds above his head.
“I’m sure you remember George Salisbury, the man whom you killed and whose body you left floating in the river. I have here photographs of all the jewellery you stole and the autopsy of George Salisbury. May I come in now as I am getting rather wet here?”
It was his smile of despair that finally made her change her mind – but she had probably not seen his smile as a smile of despair – but simply as a smile of wry humour – and that had tipped the scale. The threat was no longer so acute that she had to protect herself from him at all cost so now she could confront him directly to discover what it was he wanted and how much he knew.
“Come in then!”
The tone of her voice was almost neutral but not quite and she did not turn round to walk in front of him but walked backwards. Keeping a safe distance he followed her into the living room and sat down in the sofa to place the wet autopsy report and the wristlet on the table – but she was still so nervous that she kept standing – to have a distinct advantage in case that should be required – either to get away or to attack.
“Are you making an official investigation, and if you are, where is your identification?”
The flat stupidity of her question hit him like a club in the head and he felt unable to answer straight away. While recuperating he became angry at himself – rather than at her – for having believed that she could be intelligent – at least in any marked degree.
“How can you imagine that I am affiliated with any kind of official bureaucracy? It’s not even plain as plain can be, but glaringly self-evident that I epitomise the antithesis of all such mundane miseries; and besides, it’s an excruciatingly painful insult to me, especially as coming from you, but your question also displays a disregard of your own intelligence and intuition.”
He was aware that his voice carried notions of an exasperation – a disappointment and an anger the strength of which both astonished and reassured her. Maybe her question had been put in a deliberate attempt to challenge him – but that was hardly the case as she looked down now knowing that she had made a faux pas although she might not have used that expression.
“What is it you want then, money?”
“Your inane questions grow from bad to worse. Have you lost not only the faculty of thought but even the far more necessary faculty of intuition? Do you think I would have broken into your house, like you broke into mine, and offered you sixty-six red and pink roses, twice as many as your years spent on this planet, and a bottle of Dom Pérignon, plus an explanation of my presence, if I had been preoccupied with anything as despicable as money?”
She smiled in spite of her obvious anxiety. Maybe – fumbling her way slowly forward – she had envisaged that she had better ask him point blank the most stupid questions she could imagine in order to get as clear answers as possible?
“Why don’t you tell me what it’s all about instead?”
She might have had a shock but as her ability to respond naturally – to use her reason and to trust her intuition – gradually emerged her curiosity seemed at last to get the better of her panic.
“Nineteen days ago you broke into my house and looked through my writing desk, but found nothing of value, and when you approached my bedside table I tore off your mask and saw your face; you gave me a vicious kick on the arm and jumped out through the window.”
“But how did you find me and why did you want to do that as I did not take anything?”
The features of her face softened as she began to shed some of her anxiety.
“I did not decide to find you. I simply had to find you, because I, against all odds, against all common sense, against all my experience, against my intention to keep my hard-won equanimity, knew, the moment I looked up into your face and saw the expression of anger and rage in your eyes, and behind both of these natural emotions, considering the situation, a suggestion of infinity, and recognised your innate grace of movement, strength, audacity, courage and independence of mind, that I, willy-nilly, had fallen in love with you on the spot. So while you thought you had left the house empty handed you had nevertheless left it carrying my heart along with you, but I do not come here to-day because I want my heart back, but on the contrary, because I want yours in exchange.”
Her lips formed a bleb which widened as it rose up toward the surface in mute wonder and astonishment – but as he looked into her eyes he saw only bewilderment and uncertainty stumbling over one another.
“Then what about this wristlet and what about George Salisbury?”
The crucial implications of their direct interaction were too fraught with destiny to be touched upon right away.
“Since you attacked me so viciously when I tried to introduce myself although we knew each other, I had to find another way of letting you hear my reasons for wanting to meet you.”
Suddenly he sensed that she was beginning – however vaguely – to fathom the degree of her limited ability to respond adequately. So she had begun to react positively and that helped him to get enough courage to continue his wild attempts to woo her.
“But what do you intend to do with these suspicions?”
She sat down in the chair on the other side of the table. Maybe the situation had reached a stage where they could exchange points of view in a civilised and meaningful way.
“I do not intend to do anything with them at all but to forget them as quickly as I can.”
She was knitting her brows in concentration and curling her lips. It did not make sense and yet it did make sense. The conundrum made her uncertain of herself and dependent on him.
“Then you intend to blackmail me into making love to you?”
Her voice was defensive. He had left her marooned on a flat islet without water or shelter.
“The coarseness and imbecility of your conjecture is yet another insult both to me and, I believe, even to your better nature and, of course also, to the sentiment of true love. I must admit that I think you reveal an acute lack of discriminative ability if you can imagine that I, and you’re looking at me with the knowledge of what I have just told you, could vouchsafe to accept a positive affection, let alone love, if it did not arise spontaneously and was offered instinctively. When I have said what I have come here to say, and if you decide not to give me an opportunity of getting to know you, I shall never speak to you again though I will not be able to promise not to think of you as that will be beyond my capacity of self-control.”
“No, I don’t for a minute believe it, I know you did it and it’s plain when you read this autopsy here and correlate it with the fact that you were dumb enough to bother with the jewellery even after such an accident.”
“Accident, how do you know it was an accident?”
There was a new note – with a green fragrance – in the tone of her voice. Her affective state had begun to acquire another colour – more in harmony with the present interchange.
“I cannot say I know it was an accident, but an accident is the only plausible conjecture. I imagine he surprised you, you fought with him and managed to catch him in the same grip as you used the day before yesterday; but as he was drunk he did not react to the pain in his arm as he should have done and in your efforts to pacify him you dislocated his shoulder, but he was still furious so you did not dare to relinquish the hold you had, which was a very decisive one, and gradually, but perhaps remarkably quickly, he was suffocated. You did not know what to do and left his body in the river. That was the most sensible thing you did that evening.”
She pressed the knuckles of her left hand up against her teeth – sparkling Spring Jasmine sweet in the soft light from the windows. Her face had a haggard look that did not suit her at all and he began to regret the harshness of his words but hoped that she realised that it was his concern for her safety that had made him blame her for selling the jewellery right away.
“It’s, it’s almost as if you had seen how it happened?”
Though reliving sporadic parts of past events at a safe distance she was still frightened – not of what she had done but rather of the knowledge of what she had done.
“Oh no, it’s just a little bit of empathy combined with ordinary statistics, that’s all.”
“I didn’t mean to kill him, but he was furious.”
Still stuck in an old frame of mind she defended herself as though he was accusing her.
“If I thought that you deliberately had wanted to kill him I would not be sitting here now. I know that that was the last thing in the world you wanted to do. It would simply not be in accordance with what else you did and it would neither be congruent with your character, and besides, it was extremely unfortunate regarding the jewels.”
Emboldened by his unqualified accept of her actions and especially of her just as she was – she began to emerge from the shell of defiance into which she had sought refuge from his words – which had not accused her of being a thief or a murderess – but of being a fool.
“But what do you really know about me and how did you find me?”
Perceiving that her initial scepticism had given way to a more genuine interest he felt it was his chance to be emboldened – at least enough to make an attempt to come closer.
“Well, well! Once upon a time there was a fair princess, but it’s a very long story, and I shall tell you every bit of it after lunch, for I have not been able to eat anything since I saw you last time as I feared that I had frightened you so much that you would vanish in the air, and neither have I slept much except in short spells of utter fatigue.”
“But I’m not really ready.”
He felt certain that it was a mere formality – a crumbling defence – to gain a little time – to allow herself to become better acquainted with him or with the new situation.
“Did you find the transmitter I had placed on your car?”
“Yes, when you ran away my head was throbbing with pain so I took a cab to the hospital in Yarmouth and stayed there all afternoon. But it was not a concussion though I had a splitting headache and when I woke in the morning I knew that I had to look everywhere for listening devices and then I found your transmitter. I was very puzzled by your approach and felt so worried that I wanted to get away immediately.”
“Yes, I can see you have begun to pack, and I was, as I said, very afraid of that, so last night I crawled up the driveway and discovered that the transmitter had gone, but to make you believe me I had to go to London first to get the wristlet.”
“Have you told anybody else. I mean, you seem to know everything.”
Her question came partly as a challenge – partly as a tentative teasing – but the tone of her voice was touched by a note of resentment.
“No, no one, but because of the violence of your attack I wrote the whole story down and placed the letter in the hands of an old friend of mine and told him to read it if he had not heard from me before twelve o’ clock to-night.”
She accepted his fearful premonitions with a gentle introspective smile.
“As a kind of insurance?”
“Yes!”
“So if you phone him he will not read the letter?”
“No, but he knows that I’m in love with the most lovely thief of hearts in the visible universe.”
His playful touch intensified the gravity of his affliction – and she was not beyond feeling pleased by his words but perhaps even more by the tone of his voice – and even not beyond showing it.
“You seem to have thought of everything.”
“While that may appear to be the case I am acutely conscious of all the things I have failed to see and even to think about though I am on the other hand also conscious of the fact that I did my best, as far as I could, but the only thing and the only thing that really mattered I could not do anything about regardless of how hard or how long I might try.”
“And what was that?”
“I suppose you must know that much better than I do.”
“No, come on! Tell me!”
Her impatience had become stronger than her deductive ability.
“Of course you know what I’m thinking about. The only parameter that was completely beyond my potential influence was your attitude, your initial reaction to me, your state of mind, your emotions, your goodwill.”
“Now it’s your turn to be a little dumb. Do you think that what you have just told me you have done, and what you know, and how you feel could fail to have any influence on how I feel as well as on my attitude towards you, at least if your evaluation of my character should turn out to be true?”
He did not attempt to wipe off the tears that welled up in his eyes but looked at her through a film of water to fathom the depth of her sincerity and make his sincerity more plain to her than the light they both used for this mutual soundings of affective states. To what extent could the fact that he was in love with her influence her feelings for him? To what extent did mirror neurones in such a situation become activated? Compassion – sorrow – laughter – curiosity – were all transferable like a virus from one organism to another – so did he have any chance of evoking the same or comparable feelings in her as he had himself? Life and history – more single than double bonds – Fanny Brawne – Odette de Crécy – Laura – Geltrude Lazzari – for history was the history of tragedies. A happy man did not have much of an history – and happy couples only had the history that preceded their happiness.