He decided that he couldn’t rush downstairs in a contest that existed only in his own mind. He would hold his nerve and go down to check on Miss Simpson at four o’clock.
With the self-imposed time-limit he was surprised to find that he did manage to get his work done. He even completed some administrative paperwork that he hadn’t intended to tackle for another week. While he sat at his desk he had never once heard a sound from above, or on the stairs, and it was with some satisfaction that he left his flat exactly at four.
‘Oh, do come in Mr Shaffer,’ said Miss Simpson, opening the door wide for him. ‘I’ve only just got back from the hospital.’
‘I thought I’d give you time to get settled before seeing if there was anything I could do for you.’
‘That’s very thoughtful,’ she said. ‘Please, sit down.’
Miss Simpson returned to her usual armchair and the cat came in cautiously from the kitchen. She leapt up onto her mistress’s lap, all the time staring at Shaffer.
‘And thank you for the bottle of milk,’ the woman said.
‘If you need anything else?’
‘I think I should be up to a little shopping tomorrow. But tell me, Mr Shaffer, while I was in hospital you went into my bedroom to get my dressing gown for me?’
‘Yes, I did.’
‘And did you see the photographs in there?’
‘Yes, I did. They’re all of you, I assume?’
‘I usually keep them out of sight of visitors. It’s hard to believe they’re of me when you look at what I’ve become.’
‘I don’t know…’ Shaffer said, not wanting to insult her but unable to say anything complimentary.
‘I was one of the faces of the ‘sixties,’ she said with a sad smile. ‘I had perfectly proportioned features; symmetrical and unblemished. I still have good skin, you know.’
She was right about that, he had to admit. She was now in her mid-sixties but she didn’t have any wrinkles. He wondered if they would necessarily show up on somebody that plump.
‘Photographers and designers loved me because I was pretty without being distinctive. They said I was “malleable”. The sixties were good to me; I had a wonderful agent and made enough money to buy this house.’
‘Did you get to meet anyone famous?’
‘Oh yes. Perhaps I’ll tell you all about some of them one day…’
He didn’t really want to encourage the reminiscences but couldn’t help suggesting: ‘Don’t they say that if you remember the sixties then you weren’t really there?’ Then he remembered who had recently said that to him.
‘Well, there is something in that…’
Shaffer laughed, dutifully, but then saw that she was in earnest:
‘At the height of my career I met a man and I fell in love. He was rich, I was successful, and we did a lot of stupid things. We drank a lot, and took too many drugs. And then something happened in about ‘67 or ‘68. I can only think that we were taking too much LSD. I lost a whole year of my life. I have no memories of what happened. I simply woke up one morning and I was an addict. I was a mess; my looks and my figure were gone, and they were all I’d really had to offer. My boyfriend and all my other friends had disappeared. I had no career, and no money, but I did have this house, thanks to my agent. I woke up feeling as though I’m only half in this world; my life has been one great big hangover.’
‘I’m sorry. But at least you’ve some great memories.’
‘Not many, but those I have are so desperately important to me…and this was what I was getting around to say; one of my photographs appears to be missing.’
‘Really?’
‘And nobody else has been in my rooms?’
‘Well…’
Shaffer didn’t immediately know how to reply. To mention that Terrance Cope had been in the room would require some explanation, but not to mention it would throw suspicion on himself.
‘I don’t know what to say,’ he stuttered. ‘Is there anything else missing?’
‘Not that I can see. That photo faced me as I walked into my room. It was a reminder of happy times, though it always reproached me for what I’ve become.’
‘It may be that in the confusion, after I discovered you’d fallen…’
‘Yes?’
‘Well, I did go out with you to the ambulance and probably left the door open,’ he offered, wondering why he was making excuses. Why was he not sharing his suspicions?
‘Perhaps,’ he said, leaping to a possibility. ‘I never checked to see if the back door was locked!’
‘It certainly was when I returned earlier, and I don’t think I’d opened it that morning. Mind you, I don’t remember much about it.’
‘The morning you collapsed?’
‘All I remember is what I told you about in hospital.’
‘The doppelgänger?’
‘Yes, but I’m not sure what happened, or where I was.’
‘You can’t remember any other visitors that morning?’
‘Not that I can think of.’
Shaffer could see his way forward.
‘You’d have talked to the new tenant.’
‘What new tenant?’
‘Terrance Cope. He’s taken the top flat.’
She frowned: ‘I don’t remember letting it to anyone. As far as I know it’s still empty.’
‘Apparently not.’
‘Is he up there now?’
‘I’m not sure.’
She shook her head and he seized the opportunity.
‘When I came into your flat to collect your dressing gown he followed me inside, without me knowing. I didn’t realise until he was actually in your bedroom.’
For a full half minute she said nothing. Then she decided: ‘I think I need to have a talk with this man. Will you go and see if he’s up there, and bring him down?’
‘I’ll go up now.’
‘Thank you so much, but please make sure you come too. I’m a little worried. I don’t know who he is.’
Shaffer didn’t have any expectation that the door would be answered when he knocked upon it. However, he immediately heard footsteps and it opened.
‘Mr Cope,’ Shaffer began, quite forcefully, and then found that under the man’s gaze he was less sure of himself. ‘A delicate matter, I’m afraid, but I was talking to Miss Simpson earlier…’
‘Is the old girl back?’
‘Yes, and she’d like to have a word with you.’
‘Oh, okay. When? Now?’
‘Ideally. And I said I’d go down with you.’
‘What is it? A meeting about house rules?’
‘No. You see, she doesn’t remember letting the flat to you.’
He frowned, considering Shaffer’s words. ‘Is she going a bit senile?’
‘It might be something to do with the fall. She doesn’t remember much about that morning when you arrived.’
‘Okay, well, I suppose we ought to go down now and get this sorted.’ He seemed entirely relaxed. ‘I hope she’s not lost the money I gave her,’ he laughed as he started down the stairs. ‘I paid her two months rent in advance.’
They exchanged no further words, and once outside Miss Simpson’s door Terrance Cope rapped on it ineffectually. She called to them to come in.
‘Miss Simpson,’ Shaffer said from behind the new tenant, ‘This is Mr Cope. Do you remember him?’
The woman started to slowly get out of her chair, but then sat back down as her mouth opened in apparent shock. She was unable to speak.
‘Hello Miss Simpson,’ said Cope. ‘You remember me, don’t you?’
‘I remember you,’ she replied.
‘The money I paid you should be in that little pot on your mantelpiece.’
She looked past him to Shaffer.
‘You see,’ she said, pointing. ‘My doppelgänger!’
Shaffer laughed. He couldn’t help himself. There was the big, fat woman claiming that this skinny, wrinkled man was her double.
‘You…’ said Cope, troubled. He turned around to Shaffer, frowning: ‘Look, I think you’d better leave us, teacher. I think that me and Miss Simpson have things to discuss.’
‘Only Miss Simpson can ask me to leave,’ Shaffer declared pompously.
‘Mr Shaffer,’ she said carefully. ‘Would you mind leaving us alone?’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Quite sure.’
He was reluctant to leave. He was angry. He wondered what she had really meant to say when she had called Cope her doppelgänger? He should have realised that she was uneducated. The phrase that the children used, and which he had applied to the new tenant, came back to him; ‘not all there’.
When he reached his own door Shaffer opened it but did not go inside. He remained on the landing looking up the next flight of stairs. He had only caught a glimpse of the inside of Cope’s rooms and hadn’t thought anything about what he had seen at the time. Something had been wrong, though, and he wondered if he would be able to work out what it was if he just put his head inside the door.
Listening out for Cope he could hear something down below, voices perhaps, but they weren’t raised. Could he hear crying? He considered listening out and running back down if he was required, but the sounds were not of a quarrel. He was certain that whatever was happening down below, the way was clear for him to go upstairs. On the landing up there the door was slightly ajar. Beyond it he could see that the front room was empty except for a bare bulb that would illuminate only a bare expanse of old, marked carpet.
Shaffer cautiously entered the flat. Through the open door to the kitchen he could see that there was nothing in there either, apart from the basic fittings. There was no more furniture and absolutely nothing that looked personal.
The bedroom door, though, was closed. He stood still and listened. There were no footsteps on the stairs and he reasoned that he could go over to the bedroom door and open it, take a glance inside and be out of the flat before Cope could return. He was unwilling to do so, though. He told himself that good manners and respect for the privacy of another were the reason for not investigating, but he knew that he was afraid of what he would find. His fear was growing, but it was unaccountable. He sensed that there was something inside that room.
The house was not quite silent. There was something going on down below and he wondered if it was, perhaps, of a sexual nature. Whatever it was it was distant and nothing to do with him. He wondered, though, whether the answer might be found beyond the closed door in Cope’s flat. Without any hesitation he walked over and opened the bedroom door.
It was empty except for an old sleeping bag on the floor and the framed photograph of Miss Simpson beside it. And then he realised that the sound from down in the depths of the house was rising and could not be ignored. He ran out of the flat and took the stairs three at a time. He got to the very bottom of the building in moments and without knocking he tore open the door. There was Miss Simpson, alone, lying back in her chair, looking weak and somehow smaller. Everything was suddenly silent. She was wrapping her dressing gown around her and she looked like she had been beaten up. Her face was swollen and red and there was blood from her nose and mouth.
‘Where is the bastard?’ Shaffer demanded, but she would only shake her head.
He strode to the bedroom and pushed open the door but he was not there. Neither was he in the kitchen or bathroom. Miss Simpson was inarticulately trying to ask him to stop.
Shaffer ignored her and went to the phone and immediately started to dial. He heard Miss Simpson say ‘No’ with greater strength and she waved her hand dismissively. Her voice was rough and tired.
‘I have to call the police. And for an ambulance. Look what he’s done to you!’
‘No,’ she repeated, with surprising sternness. ‘It’s over. And it’s for the very best, for both of us.’
‘What is?’ he demanded, realising that she was not just beaten and swollen, but she looked quite different. It seemed impossible to believe, but her looking smaller was not an illusion; she seemed to be half the size she had once been. And despite the redness and swelling, her skin was different; it was more lined than before.
A voice was distantly demanding from the telephone but he held it away and listened to Miss Simpson as she said: ‘He was my doppelgänger.’
‘You don’t mean “doppelganger”,’ Shaffer was exasperated. ‘A doppelgänger is meant to be your double.’
‘No, I do mean doppelgänger. He was my exact double. Couldn’t you see it? At some time in those confused years of drink and drugs I lost a half of myself. He was that other half.’
‘That’s preposterous!’
‘Is it? Take a look at me Mr Shaffer. Sit down and just look.’
He replaced the receiver of the phone and did as he was asked. She then weakly stood up and with some trouble pulled her dressing gown tight around herself. As she did so he suddenly saw Terrance Cope in her features. For a few moments he saw the man, and then the woman, like the illusion of the drawing of a vase between the candlesticks, or the faces of the old and young woman in the same picture. He could see either her, or him, but not both at once. And then it was impossible to see either of them. The woman before him looked as though she had suffered a severe beating, but her features finally had definition; he could see that she was actually quite a handsome woman.
‘I am a whole person once more,’ she said, smiling. He nodded and she sat carefully back down again.
‘What happened to Terrance Cope?’
‘I thought you understood? He’s here, and so am I. We are one and the same. When I have my strength back I can resume a life that stopped so many years ago.’
The Beautiful Room
Maria said to him, ‘I’d be tempted to rent the house for just this one room.’
‘It is lovely, yes.’
‘The way the light comes in from that window, through the curtains on to the plain walls…’
‘What is that material?’
‘Muslin,’ she replied. ‘It’s not very practical. It would be too bright in here in the mornings but who cares? Look at that view down over the town. I wouldn’t mind being woken up early just to stare at that.’
‘I suppose it is magnificent.’
‘You can trace the pattern of the old streets in the shapes made by the rooftops. I could sit here at this windowsill for hours on end, just looking out, contemplating this view, losing myself in it… And if I had to return to the real world, I wouldn’t mind because I’d be coming back to this beautiful room.’
He frowned, and looked around him, suspicious: ‘This house may be a couple of hundred years old, but they’ve done exactly what they do in brand-new show-homes; it appears big and airy because there’s only this bed in the middle. There’re no cupboards, no chest of drawers…Once you’ve hung a few pictures, maybe put up some shelves or added a bookcase…’
‘But we couldn’t do that. It would ruin the room. The other bedroom would have to become a dressing room.’
‘And what about guests?’
‘They’d have to sleep downstairs.’
‘We have to be practical, Maria. When we get a new place sorted out I’d be expected to do quite a lot of entertaining. We’d need at least one decent-sized guest bedroom.’
‘But the walls are so good in here, so bare and white. The light coming in through those crooked window panes, through the curtains moving in the breeze…It’s so cool in here although it’s baking outside.’
‘But what about the winter? Then it’ll be bloody cold.’
‘Why can’t you be positive for once?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, we’ve looked at a dozen apartments and houses in the last few days and they’ve all had their good and bad points. And there’ve been things about each that we’ve disagreed on, but for once we’ve both decided that this is a beautiful room.’
‘But we’ve got to be realistic. It would be cold up here in the w
inter.’
‘There’s a fireplace.’
‘That small grate wouldn’t give out enough heat! And even if we stoked it up in the winter it would mean carrying fuel up two flights of stairs. And every morning it would have to be cleaned out and the ashes taken back down. I can see you starting to complain about that pretty quick.’
‘It’d be a small price to pay…’
‘So you say right now. But when the January winds are blowing and the few hours of daylight only give us a view of driving rain over wet rooftops…’
‘So which one of the properties that we’ve looked at so far do you actually like?’
‘The ones in the city. They were all far more practical.’
‘But I don’t want to live in the city.’
‘There’d be so much more for you to do there, while I’m out at work.’
‘Look, John, I don’t know this country and I don’t know its language. I’m willing to follow you here, and learn. It’s a lot less daunting in a small town like this, and it’s so picturesque. It’s no further from the vineyards than if we were in the middle of the city. In fact, I think you’d get to work quicker from here.’
‘But you agreed to come abroad to support me in my job. I need to get us somewhere to live and I won’t have much time to go looking once I’ve started work on Monday. I’ve indulged you. I’ve shown you these ramshackle old places out in the middle of nowhere and you still won’t understand how impractical they are. Let’s just go back to the city, rent that apartment with the three bedrooms that I liked with the view towards the airport.’
‘You’ve indulged me?’
‘Yes. I’ve shown you the pretty little properties in the countryside that you wanted to see.’
‘Just to keep me quiet?’
‘I’m the one earning the money and paying for our new life, so I think I should have the casting vote.’
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