by Sam Lock
This knowledge came to him in one swift movement; telling him – urging him – to do what he must do. And it was as he thought that thought, that he stepped out of the house and onto the pavement; and then, as the Captain’s car sped around the corner, and as the roar of its engine throbbed in Jason’s ears, making him think that he was about to encounter some wild animal that had been stalking him for years, Jason threw himself recklessly into the roadway; was struck by the car; was thrown headlong against the pavement’s edge; which cracked open his skull, killing him instantly.
PART FIVE
XXII
The coroner’s inquest that would look into the cause of Jason’s death took place on a bitter January morning at a magistrate’s court in Westminster; and since she was the only person to have seen how the death occurred, the sole witness to be called was Lady Cynthia Barron. For she had watched the event in horror; seeing Jason literally throw himself in front of her lover’s car; seeing him collide with it; and then be thrown against the pavement’s edge and be killed.
That is what she would tell the coroner and the jury: and she would say to them as well that she had no doubt in her mind that Jason had acted deliberately: that he had appeared consciously to wait for the Captain’s car to turn the corner and had used it to take his own life.
What she would also say she had witnessed was how her lover had quickly slammed on the car’s brakes, creating an enormous screech – and how, in an attempt to avoid a collision, Captain Smythe himself had been injured, in that he had been thrown through the car’s windscreen: and that this had resulted in his having a badly bruised and battered head and a number of his ribs being broken – from which, alas, he had not yet fully recovered.
The courtroom was a slightly dismal place, not very warm and not very well lit, so the jurors were wrapped in their winter overcoats, their pale, nervous hands (for none of them had served on a jury before) showing that the experience was making them nervous.
At the front and to one side of the courtroom sat Lady Cynthia; and next to her sat Jason’s brother, Jeremy, and his wife, Helen (Jason’s parents being too shocked and upset to attend). Then, towards the back of the court, sat Jason’s friend, Joseph, looking disturbed and deeply unsettled, and wearing a shirt and tie for once, which changed his appearance considerably, and made him seem to join company with John and Billy, who were seated immediately behind him, and who, as usual, were also wearing shirts and ties beneath their neatly buttoned-up overcoats.
Jill – Jason’s wife – sat alone, to the left, on the opposite side of the court. She had spoken to Jeremy and his wife (neither of whom she had seen for quite some time) and had explained that she would prefer to be sitting alone because she had such complex emotions to cope with.
The three of them had met earlier for a brief talk, and had shared ideas concerning Jason’s mental condition: all of them saying that, aware though they had been that Jason had been acting strangely in recent months, none of them had realised how serious it was (any more than had Betty or John and Billy, or Joseph or Jason’s parents).
Unfortunately, it wasn’t until a few weeks later that Jason’s notebook was discovered, and that would have provided the court with a more clearly defined picture of Jason’s state of mind; which meant that it was only through information provided by Jason’s parents that the coroner had an indication of how unwell Jason had been. As a result of this, the coroner had pointed out, it would be the evidence of Lady Cynthia that the jury would need to lean upon in order to arrive at their decision – and, being the only witness to be called, and having sat on so many charity commissions and the like, Lady Cynthia was conscious of her position as far as the court hearing was concerned. For which reason, she had dressed herself in an imposing manner, wearing a long mink coat over a fine, pale blue jersey suit; with long, champagne-coloured gloves, ruffled beneath her coat sleeves; and with two enormous strings of pearls falling over her breast and mingling with the silky hairs of her coat; and wearing one of her large, floppy blue hats – one with a particularly large brim – that set off the golds of her hair and the heavy pinks of her complexion.
The coroner had taken his place at a desk close to the jury; who were at his left; with the witness stand in front of them; and he had already gone through all the various details that had been provided to him by the police and by Jason’s parents, as well as by Captain Smythe, who had been visited in hospital. Also, he had already suggested to the jurors that rather than a straightforward road accident, this appeared to be a case of a rather unusual form of suicide.
However, he had pointed out to them that the evidence they would need to consider most carefully would be that given by Lady Barron. For although there was enough suggestive evidence to support the idea that the deceased, Mr Callow, had been suffering a depression of some kind, it was insufficient to prove that the depression had been so severe as to speak of Jason as having been seriously unbalanced. And Lady Barron, he pointed out, was the only person to have actually witnessed the moment of death. Other neighbours, he had added, had quickly rushed to the scene: had comforted Lady Barron, and had called the police and an ambulance; but they had all arrived only after the event, and therefore had no evidence to offer.
The coroner was a tall, big-boned man in his early forties – quite good-looking, if in a somewhat boyish way, with his short, blond hair brushed neatly to one side; and he had all the markings of having attended a public school, in the sense that he obviously had a very disciplined and orderly mind, but less control over his body – a difference of which he was only partially aware.
As soon as he had completed his talk, the coroner called upon Lady Cynthia to give evidence; and after making something of a fuss with her coat and her pearls (making sure that the coat was pushed more widely open and that the pearls were more properly displayed) she made her way to the witness-box in a surprisingly quick series of steps, as if she was launching herself towards it. But then, once there, she drew herself up to her full height, placed her gloved hands upon the front of the stand, and showed that she was now prepared to answer any questions that might be put to her.
Before doing this, however, she had made sure that she had caught the coroner’s eye. Only briefly (she knew that it must be no more than that) but enough, at least, to have established some kind of personal contact. It wasn’t a flirt, exactly, but the coroner had quickly shifted his eyes away from her look as a slight blush passed over his face; which Lady Cynthia duly noted, and about which she immediately felt pleased.
‘Lady Barron,’ said the coroner, now almost staring her in the eye, and speaking in a very formal and impersonal way, ‘May I say how very much your being here is appreciated. You must have suffered an enormous shock, witnessing such an event – what happened both to Mr Callow, as well as to your friend, Captain Smythe.’
‘Well – it was rather unsettling – yes,’ Lady Cynthia replied; ‘and it still is, you know. These things take time to get over.’
‘Of course they do,’ replied the coroner, ‘and I therefore regret the fact that I am obliged to ask you to recall what happened in some detail, if you can.’
‘I shall do my best,’ said Lady Cynthia, with just the hint of a smile, and looking at the jury, and thinking to herself how terribly pale and nervous they all looked, and assuming that they, unlike herself, were obviously unused to public functions of this kind.
‘Then perhaps you can relate to us what you saw,’ said the coroner. ‘We have heard Captain Smythe’s statement of what he has been able to remember – which unfortunately isn’t a great deal, since he himself was injured.’
‘That is correct,’ said Lady Cynthia, pushing out her bosom, and seeming to take charge of things. ‘He is still in hospital, as you know – now on the way to recovering I am glad to say; but it is true that he can remember little of what happened.’
‘But you can,’ the coroner almost interjected.
‘Yes. I can. I saw it all, alas.’
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br /> ‘From your bedroom window, I understand.’
‘Yes. I happened to be there, you see, waiting to say goodbye to Captain Smythe, who had spent the night at my house. And it was early and I hadn’t yet dressed, and so was unable to go down to say my goodbyes to him at the door.’
‘I understand,’ said the coroner, tactfully, admiring Lady Cynthia’s openness and honesty, since she had made it obvious by what she had said, and also by the way in which she had said it, what type of relationship it was that she and the Captain enjoyed.
‘And you saw Mr Callow open the door of the house, then step out onto its doorstep?’
‘Yes. I did. It was a beautiful morning. Lots of lovely sunshine, you know; and I was glad to be standing there at my window. But –’
‘Yes, Lady Barron?’
‘Well – when Mr?’
‘Mr Callow.’
‘Yes – when Mr Callow opened the door, I took him in at once: and I rather think that he took me in as well. Not that we really knew each other, you see, in that we had never even spoken to each other: but he had become something of a sight, if you like, in the neighbourhood: due to his dress, you know – to what he would wear.’
‘Can you explain that to us, perhaps?’
‘Well. He had taken to wearing such a lot of clothes – two topcoats at one moment, for example – and had allowed his beard and hair to become unruly – wild-looking, I would say – which made him noticeable. At one time, he had taken to wearing a pair of winter mittens, as well, although the weather was still quite mild.’
‘And that is as you saw him that morning?’
‘Oh, no! No. He had improved. There had been a distinct improvement. In fact he was looking more neat and orderly than I had seen him for some time.’
‘But he was acting strangely, would you say?’
‘Well, not strangely exactly. I wouldn’t say that. On the contrary, he appeared remarkably calm, as if he was waiting for something that he knew was about to happen. I don’t know how else I might describe it.’
‘And then?’
‘Well, he just stepped out of the door onto the pavement and stood still. Then, as Captain Smythe’s car appeared, he literally threw himself in front of it. For that is what he did – literally threw himself at the car – and, as we know, was dashed to death against the pavement’s edge.’
‘The death, as you are aware, Lady Barron, was due to Mr Callow’s skull being cracked open. Did you witness that?’
‘Yes – alas – I did; and almost fainted. It was such a very ugly sight – so horrific, you know – and of a kind one doesn’t see very often, of course; but I did realise what had happened – yes – and guessed that it must be fatal.’
‘So you would say then that the death was a purposeful one. That Mr Callow killed himself?’
‘Yes. I would. I have no doubt that his movements were intentional ones. He didn’t slip, I mean, or anything like that. No, he stepped purposefully in front of the car, knowing, it seemed, what would happen – or what might happen, at least: that he could be killed, I mean.’
‘Thank you, Lady Barron. You have been most clear in all you have said, and I apologise again for having asked you to go over the scene in your mind. Would you say that Captain Smythe did all that he could to avoid the collision?’
‘Oh, definitely. Yes. I have no doubt about that. He braked immediately. The sound of it was quite horrendous; and drowned the sound of the collision itself – of Mr – em – Callow being struck.’
‘So you would say that Captain Smythe could in no way be said to be responsible for what happened?’
‘No. Definitely not. He is an exceptionally skilled driver – an expert one, I would say; but this was a case in which whatever skills he had were of no use. He had braked at once, as I have said, and there was no way that he could have avoided the collision.’
‘Thank you again, Lady Barron; and I would ask you to please thank Captain Smythe for being so co-operative, in providing the court with a statement. He says exactly what you have said; and it would therefore appear to be the case that this was not an accidental death. The jury must decide, of course,’ he added, looking towards the set of jurors, and exuding an air of steady authority.
‘Well, I do understand that,’ said Lady Cynthia, robbing him of that authority with a few words, and once again catching his eye and making him blush a second time; and feeling that she had achieved a kind of conquest. For she had been looking at him occasionally and weighing him up; wondering whether he might be someone nice to have beside her in bed; and whether he was of a type, perhaps, that she would enjoy more than her present lover. That is, until she recalled the dashing character of her Captain’s military charms, and pictured him stepping into his trousers and slipping his braces over his shoulders.
‘Thank you, Lady Barron,’ the coroner said graciously, ‘I think that is all we need to hear: and may I repeat once again that your giving evidence here has been appreciated. Perhaps you would care to step down and return to your seat; and I shall ask the jury to adjourn, and then await their decision.’
Lady Cynthia was wise enough not to reply to this, and to leave the control of the proceedings in the coroner’s hands; for she was very much on the side of public authority, and saw herself as a pillar of the community: a role that she enjoyed, and one that she always fulfilled with pride.
The verdict was the expected one: that Jason had purposefully thrown himself in front of Captain Smythe’s car; that his death was therefore not accidental; and that the Captain was free of blame. All of which pleased Lady Cynthia; and which – although they were deeply concerned about the fact that they had not foreseen that Jason would take his life, was accepted by Jason’s family and his friends.
The person to be the most affected was Jason’s wife. For her, the dark shadow of Jason’s story had a deeply disturbing effect upon her mind, and seemed to haunt her; realising, as she did, that she had never really known her husband: that there must have been some entire part of his being of which she was unaware, and that it had gradually come between them.
The vagueness of it troubled her; and she was given no help with this by her mother – who, whenever she found her daughter feeling anxious or depressed, could only say to her that she should never have married such a man. Behind which lay the inference, of course, that no man is reliable; and that all women would be better off without them.
But then in time, Jason’s notebook was discovered, hidden in the chest at the foot of his bed. His brother, Jeremy (who was arranging for the furniture to be removed) came across it by chance, tucked between a blanket and a few sheets; and he had immediately rung Jill to tell her of it.
‘I think you should have it, Jill,’ he had said. ‘It will explain so much.’ Which it did to her; and which it also did to Jason’s parents; as well as to Joseph, who was told about it by Jeremy, and from whom, as we know, Jason had kept his illness a secret.
As for Betty, she was in certain ways the one who was the least able to accept the harsh fact of Jason’s death. No story, in her mind, should end like this – no story that she might ever write, that is. Hers, she imagined, would all have happy endings – and this in spite of the fact that so many of the ‘classics’ she had read had endings of a quite different kind. And what disturbed her so much was that she had at times ignored her instinct concerning Jason and his behaviour, and so had not acted quickly upon it, as she now believed that she ought to have done.
‘Betty, dear; you shouldn’t worry about it so,’ Lilian had said to her one day. ‘There’s nothing we could have done. Jason didn’t want to share it with us – and we have to accept that.’
‘Yes, I know, Mrs C,’ Betty had replied, ‘but sometimes you know things and don’t quite know how you know them – don’t you? And perhaps one of us should have made him talk.’
Lilian hadn’t answered this. She saw how determined Betty was to bear guilt: that it was something she felt a need of, though
she felt no need of it herself. For to her – to Lilian – if she examined herself closely, she had known for several years that her son’s life had been only partly lived: that, good though he had been to her in so many ways, in meeting her desires for him as a son – and, to an extent, in fulfilling all the hopes that she had formed for him – her innate honesty told her that the structure of Jason’s life had been a faulty one: the first signs of it showing in the indifference he had begun to show towards his children and his wife: the inexplicable coldness he developed. And then, later, the changes in his appearance: the shadow cast by his physical presence: the troubled look in his eyes. And she was intelligent enough to be sure that Jason trusted her, and that, had he wished to do so, he would have shared his troubles with her: that there was no barrier between them of that kind, and that his affection for both herself and his father was a real one; as, indeed, the entries in his notebook would reveal.
What no one knew about, of course, was Darren Fawcett’s night-time visit; and that, none of them would ever know: not even John and Billy. For in obedience to his friend’s demands, Billy stopped seeing Darren after the brief quarrel they had over him; and in any case, Darren himself, who had read of Jason’s death in the newspapers – where, in one of them, an obituary spoke of ‘this distinguished writer of cool, orderly prose, who had less to say perhaps than had been imagined’ – though shaken by the news, never divulged his visit to anyone.
Six months after Jason’s death, Arnold’s house was sold, and builders and decorators moved in to prepare it for its new owners, who were combining Arnold’s first floor apartment with the suite of rooms above. And it was on one particularly bright summer’s day that one of the builders who were at work on the house, and who was lifting a ladder from a lorry that was parked outside in the street, noticed a dull, red stain on the pavement’s edge.