‘But he has just gone to see Mr Utamaro. Think of it.’
‘I hope he will be told what is good behaviour. As I went to the village he blew that whistle with the paper at me.’
‘He has never done that to me,’ said the blonde.
Downcast.
‘I wish he would never do it to me.’
‘But – Do you think we could climb the big tree on the lawn and see into Mr Utamaro’s room? I think it would be possible.’
‘Ach, nein? said the dark one.
‘But then we could see -’
‘And we could be seen. We would be sent home. What would my parents say?’ ,
Perhaps you are right,’ the blonde said. ‘It must be sad always to be so good. And afterwards Mr Gerry will tell me lies, I know he will. So we shall never hear what happened. Oh, Mr Gerry.’
*
When Mr Utamaro held out his hand Gerry shook it enthusiastically.
‘How do you most frightfully do?’ he said.
Mr Utamaro sat down on his old kitchen chair and gestured towards the one placed opposite it.
‘What no cushion?’ said Gerry.
He sat down gingerly.
After a short silence Mr Utamaro said:
‘What is the sound of one hand clapping?’
‘No,’ said Gerry, ‘not me, chum. Not bright enough, you know.’
‘That is all the better,’ said Mr Utamaro. ‘Intelligence is a great trap. It makes us look for what we think ought to be there, not what we would see if only we looked without thinking.’
‘Look, old boy,’ Gerry said. ‘Get it straight. I didn’t come here for any of this Zen stuff. I came here because my charming, intelligent and delightful wife threatened to cut off the cash if I didn’t. No curiosity about the mysterious east, no passionate desire to change my life. Just a row with the missus. She’s crazy about me, but she doesn’t trust me. She found out about one of my little goings-on. You know what she did?’
‘I will believe it whatever it is,’ said Mr Utamaro.
‘She hired a private eye, a ruddy detective. To find out what I did all day. I told you she was crazy, didn’t I? Well, that’s what she is: plumb crazy. Anyhow this snooper saw what she thought he would see, more or less. Little Gerry shut up in his office after hours having a bit of slap and tickle with one of the girls. So there was a big row. Quite unnecessary really. It was more because I was sort of sorry for the kid. She was lonely: she’d left home, she hadn’t a real friend in the world. I just took an interest.’
He looked at Mr Utamaro.
Mr Utamaro sat silently.
‘All right,’ Gerry said. ‘That’s the only way I know how to take an interest. I wouldn’t be very good at being a big brother, or a nice old second dad. But it’s true, she’s all on her ownio, and if I got something out of it I gave her something too. Anyhow afterwards little Gerry wasn’t to be trusted all by his little self at home for a week. Might have brought the creature back and sullied the old nuptial couch. Though as a matter of fact she’s left the office.’
‘So you have the advantage of coming here not expecting to find something mysterious, something important.’
‘You’re beginning to go way above my head again.’
‘Am I?’
‘Yes, you ruddy well are. And now you’re trying to needle me. Well, it won’t wash. Other people have tried to needle Gerry Manvers and he’s learnt all about letting it ride. So you might as well give up. You won’t get me to spill any beans about your old sword that way, because as it so happens there aren’t any beans to spill.’
‘To needle you. I think I see what you mean. A graphic expression. It means you think I believe you stole the sword and that I am trying to irritate you into telling me. But why should you get that idea into your head?’
‘I didn’t get it into my head. You put it there. And how it got into your head I wouldn’t like to say. Why the hell should I pinch your sword? Did you think of that?’
‘Because the sword is not a sword but a tweeter, perhaps. Or a flower that squirts?’
‘One of Gerry’s little tricks, eh? You’re wrong, you know. If the sword isn’t a sword it’s just a lump of old metal as far as I’m concerned. And if you want to find it, take a piece of absolutely disinterested advice. Ask the padre. He’s a snaky old boy, make no mistake. Nice, big, dirty secret all stowed away there. Of course, he’s scatty a bit too. I don’t like to think what he will do with the sword now he’s got it. Look at the way he climbed that –’
Gerry stopped. Fixedly looking over Mr Utamaro’s shoulder out of the window.
‘Just a moment,’ he said, ‘I think I saw my wife.’
He got up and went quickly across to the window.
‘There must be something in the air,’ he said, ‘if I’m right. It sends everybody completely round the bend, I supp – Yes, come and look at this.’
Mr Utamaro joined him at the window and looked out.
Slightly above them Honor Brentt was climbing the cedar of Lebanon.
They could just see her face. Eyes staring, mouth taut, shiny with sweat. She was climbing in a series of short rushes, fixing on a target above her and getting to it almost without looking for a route. The branches of the huge tree swayed and creaked as she lunged at them and an irregular shower of pieces of loose bark and leaves fell as she scraped and pushed her way up. When she had reached each target she stood or crouched for a moment gripping tight. Once she wrapped both arms round a thick branch and closed her eyes. But after an instant she looked up again, fixed her next objective, and started a wild scrambling assault on it.
They watched in silence as she climbed to the level of the floor above them.
‘What’s got into her?’ said Gerry. ‘She isn’t safe doing that. She won’t generally stand up on a wall even. She’s got no sense of balance. She must be mad.’
‘She has reached a state where something like this is the only course she can see,’ Mr Utamaro said.
Gerry turned on him.
‘Zen,’ he said, ‘I thought it was a ruddy game. If she kills herself doing that...’
‘She has done it herself,’ said Mr Utamaro.
He stayed watching the swaying, scrambling figure above them.
Sweat on Gerry’s upper lip, running down into the thin line of moustache.
‘I’m going to shout to her,’ he said.
Seeking support.
‘Shout then,’ said Mr Utamaro.
Gerry started to push the window. His fingers slipped on the brass hooks. He stopped, stood back and looked at Mr Utamaro. Piteously.
Mr Utamaro opened the window. Gerry leant out, twisting upwards to see his wife.
‘Honor, Honor,’ he shouted.
She stopped her wild assault on the tree abruptly. Her hand clutched at a branch above her and missed it. She swayed forward.
At the window Gerry went suddenly white.
Honor fell heavily against a bigger limb and lodged where she was.
Gerry drew a deep breath.
‘Honor, what the hell are you doing?’
A snarl of anger.
She crouched clinging to the limb in front of her and said nothing.
‘Look,’ said Gerry.
He spoke loudly and there was no doubt Honor could hear him.
‘Look, have you got some idea into your head, or what? I know you don’t like doing that. Tell us what’s happening.’
Through her clenched teeth Honor gave a quiet moan.
The sun came out from behind a cloud and the fitful April breeze quietened. The scene was suddenly still.
A painting. The mellow walls of the house, the deep green of the cedar, the blue sky with a large whitish cloud drifting almost imperceptibly across it, the level turf of the lawn a lighter green than the tree, a few splashes of purple where the irises were in bloom along the wall of the house. An undistinguished but pleasantly colourful water-colour.
And in the tree, Honor. Her lon
g legs in fawn trousers askew, the vivid orange of her blouse.
‘Now then, pet, get a grip on yourself,’ Gerry called. ‘You’ll make us all wet ourselves in a moment, really you will. You just don’t look safe. Give us a break, tell us what you’re playing at.’
Honor began climbing again.
Gerry pulled his head in from the window and stood looking away from it.
‘She’ll be safe,’ he said. ‘She must be. If she’s got that far without coming to any harm, she’ll go the whole way. There’s nothing to worry about. She’s okay, absolutely okay.’
Mr Utamaro, looking out of the window, started convulsively.
Gerry wheeled round.
‘No,’ he said. ‘No, no, no.’
Then he stopped and glared at Mr Utamaro.
‘Why did you do that?’ he said. ‘It’s nothing to joke about. She’s all right still.’
‘But she is in danger, and you know it,’ said Mr Utamaro. ‘It may be possible to catch her with some help. The branches will check her fall a little.’
He hurried from the room.
Gerry leant quickly out of the window again and called up at Honor.
‘Just wait till you get down.’
He ran after Mr Utamaro.
They found the rest of the party sitting in the common room unaware of what was going on.
‘Come out quickly,’ Mr Utamaro said. ‘Mrs Manvers is climbing the cedar and she is going to fall.’
‘But she’ll be hurt,’ Miss Rohan said.
She got up, decisively, and led the others out.
‘What is she doing it for?’ Alasdair said. ‘Tree climbing can be very dangerous.’
They hurried through the hall. The clock’s angry tick.
‘Don’t ask me what she’s doing it for,’ said Gerry. ‘This damned Zen nonsense has turned her barmy if you ask me.’
On the lawn they stood looking up into the tree. At its base the spreading branches were still. Stone carved. But higher up the smaller limbs jerked and swayed as Honor moved them. She was nearing the top and no longer finding substantial footholds.
‘Honor,’ Gerry called again. ‘Honor.’
Once more she stopped.
‘She’s safer like that for a moment anyhow,’ Alasdair said. ‘But I don’t like it.’
He removed the spectacles from the wide bridge of his nose.
‘She’d be a bloody sight safer if she’d never come here at all,’ Gerry said.
‘Someone ought to go up after her,’ said Miss Rohan.
She stood looking into the dark green branches, her feet slightly apart, firm set. Stocky and assured.
‘She won’t want to come down,’ she said. ‘If she’s to be safe at all someone who can tell her what to do must go up. She’ll never look beneath her to pick her way now. She’s panicked.’
Nobody spoke. Above them Honor clung to her precarious hold.
‘Come, Mr Manvers,’ Miss Rohan said, ‘you’re a tree climber, didn’t you say? Something about a Tree Climbers Club. She’d listen to you. Shin up and get her down. If she’s left too long she’ll do something foolish.’
‘Me, go up there? She may be crazy, but I’m not.’
‘I thought you were used to climbing. It doesn’t look particularly formidable.’
‘Don’t be stupid,’ Gerry said. ‘There isn’t any Tree Climbers Club, and I’m not going to go up.’
Tongue flicking at the lips under the pencil line of moustache.
‘Well, will someone else go?’ said Miss Rohan.
‘All right,’ said Alasdair.
He walked slowly towards the tree, peering up at the wide branches.
‘You should know about this, Mr Applecheek,’ he said.
Jocular. Anxious.
‘My dear chap, just be quick,’ Mr Applecheek said.
He looked up at the tree and round about him, clasping and unclasping his long fingers.
‘Just climb,’ he said. ‘Looking neither to left nor right.’
‘Here goes then,’ said Alasdair.
He went up to the tree trunk, paused, and then swung himself without difficulty on to the lowest limb. He straightened up, stood balanced for a moment, and then reached for the next branch.
His progress was rapid and soon the tree was shaking towards its top as he neared Honor.
Below him the others craned up watching. Nobody moved and nobody spoke. Above him Honor too was silent and still. She clung tight to her holds. Rigid, metallic.
A big fleecy cloud slowly covered the sun and a slight chilly breeze made the spiny leaves of the tree stir.
Alasdair stopped climbing.
‘Mrs Manvers,’ he said.
His voice was quiet but it came clearly to the watchers below.
Honor made no reply.
‘Mrs Manvers, this is Stuart. You looked to be in difficulties, so I thought I’d come up and guide you down.’
No answer.
‘Mrs Manvers, can you hear me?’
Alasdair waited for a moment and then cautiously climbed a little higher. The thin branches at the tree top shook.
‘Mrs Manvers. Mrs Manvers.’
Alasdair edged a little further up.
‘Mrs Manvers,’ he said, ‘open your eyes. This is Stuart. Just below you.’
‘I can’t. I can’t.’
On the ground it was difficult to hear her.
‘Take it easy, Mrs Manvers,’ Alasdair said. ‘I’m just coming up alongside you.’
He began to climb again. The tree shook.
‘Don’t, don’t,’ screamed Honor. ‘Don’t. I shall fall. I shall fall.’
Tense silence. Then Alasdair said:
‘Just hang on.’
A ripple of urgency in the soothing words.
Near the top of the tree Alasdair’s blue blazer was visible thrusting upwards through the dark green leaves towards Honor’s bright orange blouse.
Below Mr Utamaro moved swiftly round the immense trunk, looking up steadily, slightly crouched. Gerry, his moustache wet with sweat, stood rigid, looking down at his feet. Miss Rohan looked up, without wavering.
‘She must be out of her mind,’ said Flaveen.
‘Don’t worry yourself,’ Jim said. ‘We’ll likely catch her.’
He kept his eyes on the tree top, shading them with his hand against the light of the sky.
They could hear Honor whimpering and the threshing of the branches.
Mr Applecheek went and stood beside Flaveen.
‘The tree is not one that presents great difficulty to the climber,’ he said.
‘No,’ Flaveen said, ‘I know. But she’s crazy. She won’t think . Oh. Oh, no.’
The topmost branch of the tree, pointing to the sky, suddenly dipped sharply from the vertical.
Flaveen covered her face with her hands.
Chapter 8
A Moment of complete silence. A long moment.
Then Alasdair’s voice.
‘All right, Mrs Manvers, I’ve got you.’
Triumphant and soothing.
Flaveen looked up. Mr Utamaro looked down.
Above them Alasdair began helping Honor down the tree. Soon she was not far from the ground. Alasdair cradling her in a stream of instructions.
‘Mind that big hole in the trunk. The wood looks completely rotten round it. Swing out a bit at that branch. That’s right. Carefully does it. Now, lower the right foot. Yes, this cavity goes down almost eighteen inches. Full of loose tinder. That’s it, left foot to that crook. And down ... And down ... Now jump.’
Honor was standing in front of them.
Gerry went up to her.
‘What the hell did you want to do that for?’ he said.
Honor looked at Gerry. She blinked and shook her head wearily.
Her pallor showing through the make-up.
‘Can’t we forget it?’ she said.
Miss Rohan stepped forward.
‘You look exhausted,’ she said. ‘You
had better come and lie down for a while.’
‘I shall be all right,’ said Honor.
Some returning vivacity. A faint snub.
‘You’re not going till you’ve answered my question,’ said Gerry.
‘What right have you to question me? Did you go up that tree? Did you? Did you?’
‘What’s so clever about going up a tree?’ said Gerry. ‘Monkeys climb trees.’
Unabashed.
‘So that’s your attitude,’ said Honor. ‘You watch someone else rescue your wife and all you can do afterwards is jeer. You may think it puts you one up again, but don’t kid yourself. We know now. We all know. Everybody knows. Gerry Manvers didn’t dare climb the tree.’
‘Come off it,’ said Gerry.
He slipped his cigarette case out of his inside jacket pocket and took out a cigarette. He waved the open case round in invitation.
Nobody accepted.
Gerry snapped the case closed, tapped the cigarette on it, put the cigarette in his mouth, lit it.
A cool puff.
‘Come off it,’ he said again. ‘I didn’t climb the tree, and good luck to me. But you did. And that’s where the trouble started.’
Honor turned to Alasdair.
‘I want to thank you for what you did,’ she said. ‘And I want to tell you why I made such a fool of myself.’
‘My dear Mrs Manvers,’ said Alasdair, ‘it really – ‘
‘I was testing,’ said Honor. ‘I’m scared of heights, you know. I always have been. And I happened to be looking at that tree just now, and I thought if I could climb it it would break me of the fear habit before this balloon stunt.’
She looked up at the tree. The dark green tip straight now against the puffy white of the clouds.
‘Fear is seeing what isn’t there,’ said Mr Utamaro. ‘Zen is seeing what is there. Whether it is solid ground’ – he paused – ‘or a sword.’
He looked quickly round at them. Eyes beneath the bristling black eyebrows, keen, darting, searching. Seeking prey.
Glances at the ground. Hands moving uneasily.
Back again.
‘So who will be the next to come and see me?’ Mr Utamaro said.
‘Not me,’ said Flaveen.
Quickly.
‘You take her,’ Gerry said. ‘She’s beginning to crack up already. Five minutes of the treatment and you’ll have her yelling for mercy. She’ll confess to anything.’
Zen there was Murder Page 8