The Yellow Glass

by Claire Ingrams

  The spy pulled himself together and closed his mouth.

  “It’s Kathy Smith, isn’t it? ‘Zombie Girls On Bikes’ was a corker, if I may say so . . I don’t suppose you’d give me your . .”

  “No I bloody well wouldn’t!” She exploded. “Excuse my French, Rosa, but this is the last straw.” She advanced upon the man as if she were about to pull his chair out from under him. “Go on you . . hop it!” Her accent, which was generally BBC newscaster to a fault, had lapsed into undiluted North London. “I mean it . . sling your hook!”

  The spy gathered up his brief-case and mackintosh, looking understandably put out.

  “I hear you’re married to Upshott,” he muttered. “Poor devil. No wonder he’s done a runner.”

  “What do you mean?” Aunt Kathleen asked.

  “I mean to say, being hitched to you . .”

  “Not that; what do you mean ‘done a runner’?”

  “They say he’s upped and gone without a murmur to anybody. His secretary disappeared around the same time, but that is a stretch of the imagination, whatever the girls say . .”

  He gulped down the rest of his water and bared his teeth at us, in a nasty sort of sneer and then he hurried out of our house, before my aunt had the chance to boot him out (which I’m sure she would have had no qualms about doing, had he remained any longer).

  She sat down at the table and put her blond head in her hands, her shoulders heaving with the force of her emotions, and it felt like aeons before I could think what to say.

  “Don’t blame him.”

  “Him?” Her voice was husky, as if she’d caught her throat when she’d shouted. “He’s just another spy; another empty spy.”

  “I meant Uncle Tristram.”

  “So did I.”

  “Uncle Tristram’s not empty,” I said. “He’s wonderful.”

  She raised her head and smiled at me, sadly. There were tears in her dark blue eyes.

  “Oh, Rosa,” she said.

  “He is, you know. Really wonderful. Brave and clever and handsome and . . everything he does is in the service of his country. You’re so, so lucky to be married to him and I don’t believe a word about the stupid secretary. If I were you, I couldn’t rest until I’d discovered where he’d gone and brought him back to us. In fact . . if you don’t do it, then I jolly well will!”

  And I got up and ran out of the dining room and then out of the front door and all the way along the beach, until my breath went and I had to bend over double, coughing and spluttering like billy-o, my eyes streaming. My aunt caught up with me and put her hand on my back while I coughed, rubbing between my shoulder blades as if she thought I’d choked on a fishbone.

  “Are you alright, darling?”

  I straightened up, wiping my eyes and smiled at her, ruefully.

  “Not really, no,” I managed. “I think I may’ve been poisoned again.”

  ——

  I wasn’t quite the bastard Magnus Arkonnen seemed to think I was. Nearly, but not quite; give me another twelve months in the service and he’d be spot on with his diagnosis. You’ll be glad to hear that I wasn’t about to leave technical whizz and ex-Gurkha, Jay Tamang completely vulnerable to the tender mercies of Dilys Arkonnen. I’d taken her for an accomplished fantasist, but the lady was more than that; she was in thrall to her husband to the point of lunacy. More to the point, she was dangerous. I’d no way of knowing whether she’d taken a life before, or simply thought about it, but the scene on board the Humber had convinced me that she was certainly unstable enough to kill. I had to find a way to put her out of action temporarily, and it had to be in as natural a way as possible to avoid alerting the barge skipper, Severs and, then, her husband, Reg Arkonnen. I instantly thought of the well-stocked first aid box.

  I stubbed my cigarette out with the toe of my shoe and bent down to flip the butt into the familiar, dusty corner beneath the bunk beds. Then I did the same with the one I’d been sticking in young Magnus’ mouth.

  “Hey,” he protested, “I’d not finished with that.”

  “Sorry, interval over. We’ve got to crack on, Magnus and the smell of tobacco isn’t going to help our cause.”

  I began flapping at the fumes with my arms and then I went to the sink and sloshed the bottle of bleach about; Dilys Arkonnen was the kind of woman who breathed bleach and she’d hardly notice a drop more. Then I took a good look in the first aid box.

  “What’re you doing now . . ? Don’t worry about me, man - I don’t need any more dope - it’s Mr Tamang you should be helping! Christ, if I only had the use of my arms and legs!” Magnus positively seethed with frustration.

  “Tamang’s tougher than he looks,” I replied, delving through the usual sticking plasters and bottles of aspirin. “Aha! What do we have here? Morphine and a bloody great syringe. Capital.”

  “Hey!” Magnus cottoned on. “That’s more like it; happen you’re not as useless as you look. I’ll call her down here under some pretext or other and you can hide under the bed again and jab her in the leg before she knows what’s hit her.”

  Amateur night; the boy simply didn’t know how to think things through properly.

  “Hardly!”

  I carried the equipment over to the table and began to fill up the syringe, hesitating over the quantity required for such a slight woman (I was no anaesthetist and it’d be easy to get it disastrously wrong; I didn’t want to put her out for good, after all.) Then I took the lid off the cake.

  “Think straight, Magnus: torn stocking and puncture mark equals obvious assault. We need something a fraction more subtle; just enough to put her out of mischief for the journey but not arouse the bargeman’s suspicion. We want him to take us to Reg Arkonnen and we’ll work it out from there.”

  I gave up the guess-work with weights and measures and saturated the fruitcake with liquid morphine, having come to the conclusion that they’d only be having a slice each and not the entire cake.

  “But . . what about Mr Tamang? You’re not going to leave him trussed up on deck, are you? I mean, he could be fatally wounded!” Magnus was getting het up again.

  “Don’t shout at me, you fool! The game’s well and truly up if you shout.” I cocked my head to listen to a slight sound that had nearly been masked by his histrionics. “I told you; Tamang is as tough as they come. If he’s fatally wounded, then that’s that - damn shame and all, but so it goes - otherwise, I’m sure he can sweat it out.”

  “Man, you’re a cold-blooded bastard.”

  I glanced at him:

  “I’m afraid so. Now, listen carefully to what I say because we’re not at school and there’s no time to spell it out on the blackboard for you.”

  His face had reddened to the tips of his ears in his fury at me. His juvenile emotions disabled him far more than any broken limbs. I spoke as quickly as I could:

  “I’ve injected the cake with liquid morphine and you’ll both be having a slice. You can do some theatrical stuff with your piece if you really must; some stalling and nibbling from the edge and so forth, but you’re not my wife and I’m prepared to bet that when it comes to acting, you’re an excellent journalist. Your face gives you away, in other words. So just chomp it down and have some more kip, eh? You’re twice the size of your aunt, so you won’t be out for nearly as long, and you’re pretty damn useless at the moment anyway. Understand?”

  He stared, mutinously, at me. I just hoped I’d played it correctly with the boy.

  “Good. Now, prove me wrong and give it the full Donald Wolfit[40]. You want tea and cake and you’re going to grovel to get it. Go on, Magnus, grovel,” I stuffed the medicine and the syringe back into the box, deep beneath rolls of gauze and bandage and slipped back under the bed, “because I just heard Jay Tamang scream and I don’t ever want to hear that sound again.”

  ——

  I took a couple of deep breaths and then I yelled. The bed trembled with the force of it.

  “Aunt Dilys! Aunt Dilys!”
<
br />   Nothing happened, so I did it again.

  “Aunt Dilys!”

  Footsteps; her light tread on the steps.

  “What is it now, Magnus? I’m busy.”

  “I want to apologise, Auntie.”

  There was a pause before she answered.

  “I’m glad you’ve come to your senses, but I’m busy at the moment and I’m afraid you’re interrupting me.”

  Don’t let her get away. Grovel, Arkonnen, like you’ve never grovelled before.

  “Please, Auntie! Let me apologise. Talking to you like that; I don’t know what came over me. I’ve not been in my right mind with all the medicine and that. They stuff you full of pills and you don’t know whether you’re coming or going. And the kidnap was a bit of a shock, to be honest, ‘though I know you’ve only got my best interests at heart and a holiday by the sea will be just what the doc ordered and . .”

  I was sweating from every pore, spouting gibberish in torrents. I barely knew what I was saying, but I kept it coming because the minute I stopped an innocent man might be harmed by that monstrous woman.

  “ . . can we not bury the hatchet and have that cake together; your beautiful cake you so kindly baked for me. All you’ve done for me, Auntie, and I go and sound off like that. I’ll never forgive myself. Please come down and cut us some cake. Please, please, please . .” I was practically sobbing. Practically? I was sobbing my heart out.

  Another light tread and then another and another and there she was, watching me cry like a baby. She reached into her cardigan pocket, got out a handkerchief and handed it to me.

  “Have a mop up,” she said, as if I was six years old and I’d had a rough time in the playground. “There, there, you’re a good boy, really, I know you are. Was I a bit too strict? I know I can be; I can go it a bit strong with our Terry, I know, although it’s only for his own good. It’s just . .” she sat down on the chair and began to wring her pale hands again, “ . . your generation, you’re so very . . different. Even the words you speak. We don’t know what we should be doing with you because it’s all moving so terribly fast and it’s leaving us behind. I don’t want to be left behind, Magnus.”

  I stared at her, amazed by the transformation. Because this was another woman from the maniac of half an hour back. This woman was thoughtful and intelligent enough to understand what was happening to her.

  “What’s this all about, Aunt Dilys?” I asked, before I could stop myself.

  “Reginald is such an able man,” she said. “So skilled at what he does. You should’ve seen the glass he used to make; it was like something out of a museum. Better than that, even! But he had to give that up, so what did he do? He built up a whole new business importing it and he’s made another success out of all that, too. It’s his whole life, glass. The only thing he’s ever really cared about. Oh . . I know I’ve got brains, but where’s that got me? Reg can get things done because he’s a man, you see, and he’s allowed to achieve things I can only dream about. He tells me very little, but I know he has big dreams for us and I’m so very grateful. If there’s any way I can help him, I will. He’s a wonderful man to be married to, Magnus. He really is.”

  “I’m pleased for you both,” I said. “That’s great news, Auntie. Now, how about a cuppa and a slice of your delicious cake?”

  ——

  It didn’t take particularly long. The clink of cutlery on china and then I heard her comment on the taste:

  “It’s nice and damp, but it could do with a tad more sugar; that’s not like me.”

  I was concerned that she might leave the rest of her slice uneaten on her plate, but . .

  “Eat up your cake, Magnus. Think of the children in Africa.”

  They, obviously, both polished it off.

  “My, I’m bushed,” she said. “I can’t think what’s come over me.”

  “Me, too,” he replied, yawning. “It’s been a long day, Auntie. We could take a nap. You can have the top bunk if you like.”

  She giggled, flirtatiously and caught his yawn.

  “Pardon me.”

  Then there was a prolonged silence.

  “You can come out now,” Magnus’ voice was weighed down with sleep.

  I scrambled out in time to watch his eyelids descend.

  “Just . . do . . what’s . . right,” he managed, before he tumbled into the arms of Morpheus.

  Dilys Arkonnen was sitting on the chair, her head flung back and her mouth wide open, catching flies, as if she’d been about to protest when sleep had captured her. I tipped her forward, so that she sprawled over the table and wedged the chair securely to prevent her rolling off. Then I tucked her arms under her head, aiming to make her position look as natural as possible in case the bargeman came looking for her. I thought of Tamang’s remark about knocking her out with the frying-pan and couldn’t help wondering whether that mightn’t have been the best idea, in the long run. Still, what was done was done. Who knew what state I’d find the man in, though. I removed my shoes and began to creep up the ladder, before a noise made me freeze.

  Magnus Arkonnen’s marmalade cat had jumped on top of the table and was sniffing at the cake.

  “Shoo, “I whispered, climbing back down as I did so.

  I’m rather fond of animals and I wasn’t willing to have the cat on my conscience; there being enough morphine in that Dundee cake to kill the animal outright, despite his size. “Shoo!”

  He shot me a look and jumped off the table, padding over to wind his great bulk around my legs and nudge my socks with his astonishingly ugly mug. He was a friendly enough beast and I bent to stroke him, before replacing the glass lid over the fruitcake.

  “Stick to chicken livers, old boy.”

  I consulted my watch and found it was approaching half past six in the evening. I could’ve wished it had been later and darker, but there was nothing for it; I had to risk going above board if I was to find out what she’d done with Jay Tamang. I prodded the cat with one toe to break his ardent attachment to my socks, pulled up the dark grey lapels of my suit jacket in order to conceal the white shirt that I wore underneath, and set off up the ladder once more.

  The minute I slid the hatch and poked my head above the hold, I felt a welcome sense of release from captivity. Fresh air - less brackish-smelling, with a definite tang of the marine, now - hit me. Then, the realisation that we weren’t alone, that the river was a crowded highway lined with docks and thronging with lighters and tugs, motorships, coasters and colliers: all the momentum of a busy river widening into her estuary, pulling towards the sea. I was struck by the thrum of the engine, not having noticed it in the metal-lined berth below. I crawled out and onto the deck, staying low to the ground, aware that Severs would be up in the small wheelhouse to the stern. I just had to trust that his eyes were on the great river ahead and not the expanse of deck, which lay bare, darkening under long, evening shadows. But, where was Tamang? I crawled towards the bows and then I saw him.

  She’d lashed him to the mainmast (of course she had), wrapped him up with the rope and secured it around a cleat. I could see the silhouette of his head against the evening sky, his chin resting upon his chest. There was a rusty smudge of blood at the collar of his coat, but I couldn’t make out any more damage than that. Perhaps that had been enough.

  I kept low and ran over. Just before I reached him, however, I stumbled upon something lying on the deck. Three slim, short lengths of rope had been tied together and knotted at their ends; a makeshift cat-o’nine tails - cat-o’three tails, if you must - with which to whip the brave Tamang. My gorge rose at the sight of the foul thing and I was sorely tempted to toss it into the river in disgust . . but sentiment only leads to stupidity. I picked up the little horror and stuck it under my jacket, looping the loose ends around the belt of my trousers. No point in looking any gift horses in their muzzles.

  “Tamang!” I whispered. “Tamang! Are you still with us, Jay?”

  He stirred and lifted his head, bli
nking in the dusk.

  “Mr Upshott? Is it you?”

  I breathed a deep sigh of relief and got on with the job.

  ——

  “Straight to hospital!” Aunt Kathleen exclaimed, frogmarching me across the beach and back to the house. “I’ll drive you, but you’ll have to tell me where to go.”

  We drove to Buckland Hospital in Dover, but, when we got there, they turned me away the instant I mentioned the word ‘uranium’.

  “Straight to the isolation hospital,” the woman at reception ordered. “Noah’s Ark Road.”

  “The isolation hospital?” Aunt Kathleen queried, once we were back in the car. “Isn’t that for the unlucky kids who’ve caught polio[41]? I can’t possibly take you there, Rosa. Millicent would never forgive me. No, there’s only one thing for it,” she checked her petrol gauge. “I’ll have to drive you back to London.”

  “To London? Whatever for?” I was beginning to feel tired and rather disorientated.

  “They know you in Charing Cross; they’ll be up to speed on how to deal with another poisoning.”

  “Fine.”

  “Just lie back and take a nap, darling,” she said, whipping the car onto the London road. “I’ll have you there in two shakes.”

  I closed my eyes and sank into the welcoming arms of Morpheus.

  19. The Octopus

  Rosa was all done in and little wonder. She rattled about in the passenger seat, sliding to the right and left as we bumped over the many potholes the appalling winter had gouged into the old London Road, but nothing could wake her. I hoped that her dreams were sweet ones but, glancing at her as she slept - her face thinner, now, than I’d ever seen it and sallow, too, against the brown sack of a dress that she’d chosen to wear - I doubted whether they were. My niece looked like adulthood had caught up with her and ripped her from her childhood overnight. It had to happen, I supposed. After all, it happens to every one of us. (Although, in my own case, I wasn’t so sure there’d ever been anything soft and childish in me; whether that hadn’t been one more luxury that we hadn’t been able to afford in my family.) Yet the magic dust of childhood had certainly lingered over Rosa and I hated to think that it had gone.