It was even more magnificent up close and she wanted to reach out and touch it and feel the softness of it and cuddle into the huge size of it. Inside the gondola she could see men working, steering and guiding the shining ship, turning pressure valves while keeping their eyes fixed on large dials and swinging a big ship’s wheel to adjust its trim. Each man worked at his own task, accommodating easily the rocking movements of their airborne deck as they altered their course directly into the centre of the sun’s disc.
A young officer was in command and he was the busiest of them all. Her child’s interest concentrated on him. He was slightly built and quite boyish, not nearly as tall as Granddad, and he looked very smart in his uniform. The shine on his buttons showed his commission to be new but the confidence in his gestures as he gave his orders implied an age of experience. He was not wearing his officer’s cap. That was sitting on a side table along with charts and pencils and rulers and a few other things, and she watched him as he directed the ship so surely in the direction he determined.
Suddenly, he looked up and saw her staring at him. He showed no surprise, although she gave a momentary start as if caught doing something mildly naughty. He smiled at her as if glad to see her and lifted his hand in a brief, friendly wave. She did not respond, pushing her hands firmly behind the folds of her pinafore and turning half away from him with a child’s wariness while still watching him. He turned more openly to her and she could see clearly his wide and generous smile, and his trim moustache and the deep, indelible scar that slashed its way across his forehead from a point where his left eyebrow almost met the bridge of his nose to disappear backwards into his hairline. She decided he could still be considered handsome.
He looked at her quizzically, still smiling but with a hesitancy that was inconsistent with the sureness of his command. She looked into his eyes. They were a soft grey blue and she could see right into them. Nothing was hidden from her and in them were many messages, of appeal, of encouragement, of a wish to say something to her. She watched him, trying to understand him.
His face brightened. Through the glass of the foredeck he indicated that she should stay exactly where she was, then he rushed over to the side table where his officer’s cap sat amongst the charts and pencils. He picked up a ragged fistful of notepapers and dashed back to the window and looked out at her again. He held up his notes and she could see that the sheets of paper were covered with drawings and calculations. He held them up in his left hand and waved them insistently at her. She still did not reply so he waved them again, this time with a measure of desperation in his eyes.
“I’ve got it,” he mouthed to her. “I’ve got it all worked out.”
And then she understood. He was on course, heading exactly where he wanted to go, and all was well.
The great airship rocked briefly and he looked quickly over his shoulder to the control dials. He looked back to her but his smile told her he had to go. She could not help herself but lift her hand from behind the folds of her frock and give him a tentative wave. His response was immediate. His grin broke across his face and reached every corner of it, stretching his moustache and burying his forehead scar in laughter lines that spoke of joy and hope and the certainty of a future. He waved his sheaf of notepaper all the more vigorously and his right hand wiped the air furiously in recognition and farewell. She waved back with equal joy.
He touched his forehead in a final salute and she was back standing on the hillside above Low Felderby, looking out over the sea and waving, waving, waving at the great silver airship that was being steered unerringly into the centre of the disc of the morning sun, and she continued waving until she could see it no more.
Rani lifted her head and heard the even breathing of her mistress. There was nothing to watch over and nothing to point. She turned around on her blanket and settled to sleep the rest of the night without a stir, and neither she nor her mistress felt in any hurry to rise next morning. The sun was allowed to travel well up before either truly stirred, and breakfast was easy and chatty. She listened politely as she was told about all manner of inconsequential things about which she had no idea except they were in her mistress’ voice. They went for a walk in the park mid-morning, and when they got back she held up her muddy paws for her mistress to wipe them. Her mistress gave her a biscuit for being such a good dog and talked to her on and on all over again. In the afternoon, they went into town on the bus and did some shopping, and the evening was spent in polishing the aspidistra and there was more buzzing of general chatter while her mistress perused catalogues and magazines.
Two more days passed in the same way and Rani was very happy that her mistress no longer seemed disturbed. Indeed, she seemed very relaxed and her equanimity and general breeziness was not even shaken when the telephone rang early on Saturday morning.
“Hello, Wych Green four five oh four?”
“Hello, Aunt Gwendoline? It’s Gerard. I’m sorry to bother you so early in the day but I was wondering if I could come and see you. I thought I ought to let you know that something terrible has happened.”
“What is it, my dear boy?”
“Mark Brinsley has committed suicide.”
Chapter 55
Gerard was still upset four weeks later as he strode hurriedly through the park.
“I’m sorry I’m late, Aunt Gwendoline,” he panted. “It dragged on for a lot longer than I expected. I suppose I should have learned by now that the law does not move at any sort of civilised pace.”
While the inquest proceedings had delivered him the sense of closure that was the main reason for his attending them, the discussion of the matters peripheral to Mark’s death had irritated him.
“It was the university that was the problem,” he explained. “Their huffing and puffing about how they had already reviewed their laboratory safety procedures in case any more of their chemistry department staff took it into their heads to raid the chemicals store and swallow a handful of cyanide, was quite nauseating. I was quite disgusted. Mark was not even mentioned in their presentation to the coroner. All they were concerned about was whether or not the university would get any blame for such an event either in Mark’s case or in the future. You would never have thought that they were there because of a tragedy that happened to one of their most respected senior lecturers.”
“Still, you are here now,” Aunt Gwendoline soothed him. “And Rani is thoroughly enjoying an extra bounce in the fresh air. Off you go, Rani, and enjoy yourself but don’t go too far, there’s a good dog.”
She had surprised him with her request that they should meet after the coroner’s hearing so he could tell her about it, but he was pleased to see her.
“You were telling me on the electric telephone that Dr Brinsley’s funeral went off well?” she prompted.
“Yes,” he confirmed, settling into his stride beside her. “It was a sombre affair as you might expect. Mark’s parents flew over from Canada and Janet’s parents were there as well. It was all very tearful. The coroner released Mark’s body early for them seeing that there was no real doubt about the cause of his death. ‘Took his own life while the balance of his mind was disturbed’ was the predictable verdict, and everyone accepted it. He went to his laboratory very late Saturday evening four weeks ago, took a bottle of potassium cyanide from the poisons cupboard and swallowed about a desert spoon full. Death was predictably quick. His body was found slumped across his desk in his office next morning by the security staff.”
“Could anybody be sure of his state of mind at the time?” she asked.
“There was a note,” he replied. “But it only expressed his wish to have his ashes scattered on a particular hillside. Apparently, he and Janet used to go there to watch the sunrise together, and he had scattered her ashes there earlier. There’s a small rehabilitation hospital amongst the trees about halfway down the valley and the whole slope looks out eastwards over the sea. It is a beautiful spot. I went there at sunrise one morning last week wit
h his and Janet’s parents and we had a small ceremony for both of them.”
“So, there is no doubt he intended to take his own life,” summarised Aunt Gwendoline.
“No doubt whatsoever. Cyanide doesn’t give you a second chance. Once it is in the mouth, there are a few painful seconds but the end is certain. It’s too quick for an antidote. Mark knew exactly what he was doing. Aunt Gwendoline, do you mind if we sit down for a moment? There is something that is bothering me. It may take me a while to explain it but I think it might be important.”
“Of course, dear boy. Rani seems to have found some leaves to snuffle around in and she won’t go far. Is this seat here acceptable?”
They sat on the park bench and Aunt Gwendoline called Rani so the dog knew her whereabouts.
“So, what is it you want to tell me?” she asked.
Chapter 56
“Apparently, I was the last person to see Mark alive,” he began. “I only found that out when Sergeant Chak came to see me as part of his enquiries. He guessed that on the day Mark killed himself he might have called round to see me, and he did, quite unexpectedly, and spent about an hour with me. I told Sergeant Chak that Mark had seemed all right, certainly not depressed. If anything, he was the reverse. He was quite jolly and gave no inkling that he was going to take his own life. After a few more questions Sergeant Chak was satisfied. I don’t think he was looking for any complicated explanation, just an understandable scenario to present to the coroner and to Mark’s family.”
“I take it that you didn’t mention Mark’s conversation with you the night of your dinner party,” asked Aunt Gwendoline.
“No, I did not,” he replied after a pause. “There seemed little point in it. As we agreed when I told you about it, I was not sure that the story Mark spun me about spiking a bottle of whisky for the Craters was anything more than a fantastic fiction. The thought that anyone, particularly Mark, could do such a thing, even if the balance of his mind was disturbed, was so outrageous as to be unbelievable. So, no, I didn’t mention it. Mark was a decent, gentle man who loved his wife and his work and who had everything to look forward to. He was well respected by all who knew him, nobody ever said anything against him, and it would not be right to smear his name with such an unimaginable allegation after his death, particularly as there was no evidence to support it.”
Aunt Gwendoline listened to how definite he sounded on the matter.
“There were your chocolates,” she reminded him. “The one’s he gave you after your dinner party and the ones about which you had so many doubts. They would be evidence.”
“No, they wouldn’t,” he answered instantly.
He paused and looked away over the park, struggling to find the words to express what he had to say.
“No, they couldn’t be evidence Aunt Gwendoline,” he repeated more calmly. “Because they were gone by the time Sergeant Chak came to see me.”
She looked at him quizzically while he continued gazing out over the playing fields.
“May I ask what you did with them?” she asked.
“I didn’t do anything with them,” he replied. "When Mark called to see me on that Saturday he died, it was totally unexpected and to the time he left there didn’t seem to be any point or purpose in his visit. He arrived very cheerily, greeted me warmly, apologised and said he hoped he wasn’t interrupting anything, and then proceeded to bat on about everything and nothing and wasn’t it warm for the time of year. He was exceptionally good company, as he always used to be, and we were soon enjoying relaxed banter about how the university was going to the dogs and what needed to be done to save it. It was all very easy and relaxed.
"After a short while, I asked him if he would like a cup of coffee. He accepted so I went off to the kitchen put on the kettle. No sooner had I gone than he then called out to me.
"‘Any chance of a biscuit, Gerry? A chocolate one preferably, of which I am sure you of all people would have a good supply.’
"I heard him laugh as he said this, and then before I could answer him he added ‘Oh don’t bother, there are some chocolates here. Aren’t they the ones I gave you the other day? They’ll do. Do you mind if I open them?’
"I was thrown by the question. I know that when I came round to tell you about Mark’s gift you told me to go straight home and put them away in a cupboard, not even to unwrap them and under no circumstances to eat them. Well, I did go straight home but when I got there I was in such a knot about them that I just left them on the coffee table in the lounge and closed the door. I couldn’t face them. They were still unopened and still in their wrapper as you said. And there they sat until Mark spotted them. I didn’t know what to say when he asked me if he could have one, so I called back, ‘Go ahead, help yourself.’
"I have to admit a great load lifted from my mind. Mark obviously knew what he was doing and clearly the chocolates were harmless. I was overjoyed, and I suppose I might have taken a couple of minutes longer making the coffee. Nonetheless, I was quite surprised when I took it into the lounge to see that he had already polished off two thirds of the whole box full. It was only a small box I know, but as we drank our coffee Mark kept it very close to his elbow and continued chatting and stuffing himself with the remaining chocolates until there were none left.
"‘Goodness me,’ he said. ‘Have I finished them all off? That’s terrible. You must think me an awful friend, buying you a box of chocolates and then scoffing the whole lot like that. Isn’t that miserable? Terribly sorry, Gerry, I’ll have to get you some more, knowing how much you like them’.
“I didn’t think anything more about them and treated the whole episode with great amusement.”
“So, there were no chocolates left by the time your detective sergeant friend came round to interview you,” nodded Aunt Gwendoline. “That is interesting.”
“It’s more than that, Aunt Gwendoline,” Gerard replied.
He fought to find his words.
“It took me a while to put all the information together, but if you remember when Mark described to me how that awful chemical PNA did its ghastly work, he said that it disappeared from the bloodstream in twenty minutes and after eight hours it was undetectable in the body because by that time it had combined with whatever tissues it was going to work on and was on its irreversible path to doing the damage it was designed for.”
“Yes, I remember that,” she agreed cautiously.
“Well, it was exactly eight hours after Mark ate my chocolates that he went to his laboratory and committed suicide.”
“Gerard,” answered Aunt Gwendoline sharply. “I know what you are thinking. Now stop it. You have been thinking far too much of late.”
But in her own mind she saw the flaming Zeppelin and the last two stars that fell from it, the one she had caught and the one she had not. She looked with deep affection into her grand-nephew’s eyes.
“I wouldn’t be too distracted by coincidences,” she continued more quietly. “As you say, you have no evidence except the memory of a late night conversation which was by your own account fuelled by the best part of a bottle of brandy.”
“Perhaps,” he persisted. “But I am also sure that you would have seen, as I did, a short report, two column inches on page three of the local newspaper. It went under the by-line of a journalist named Amanda something-or-other, and it reported that Billy Crater of the Crater gangland family had been rushed to hospital after suffering an acute bout of illness while out at dinner. The article went on to tell how he is undergoing further tests at the Julia Hope Centre.”
“I did see the item,” she confirmed.
“And you would also know, as I do, that the Julia Hope Centre is the major cancer diagnosis and treatment centre for this region.”
“Gerard, my dear boy, you can go mad looking for patterns in random events,” she insisted in return. “Most likely on the evening of your dinner, your friend Mark was just letting loose some thoughts that had come to him in the darkest moments
of his grief. It doesn’t mean he would ever act upon them and it says a lot for how much he valued your friendship that he felt he could let loose such thoughts in your company without fear of condemnation. It takes a very close friend to hear such thoughts and recognise them for what they are, and not to judge the person for them. You were a very good friend to him.”
“And I believe he was a very good friend to me in return,” he replied. “The best. He did suffer a most horrendous event in his life and he was let down by the instruments of our society whose job it is to bring accountability on behalf of its citizens. He did go over the edge, and no wonder, and his mind did become unhinged. And while he was in that state he did a terrible thing. He committed murder. But as you said, ‘a leopard doesn’t change his spots’. He did not change his spots, Aunt Gwendoline. He remained the caring man he always was, and when his sanity returned he recognised what he had done. And he saw what damage he had set in train for me, his friend, and he took the only path open to him to prevent it. That’s what I believe, Aunt Gwendoline. That is what I truly believe.”
The image of the young pilot with the scar on his forehead pressed itself into her mind, a young man with dead eyes coming in the colours of a friend. But almost instantly it was replaced by the picture of the same young man with clear eyes, so confidently steering his airship eastwards across a valley in which there was a hospital and out across the sea into the morning sun, knowing exactly where he was going.
“You mean that you do not believe he committed suicide while the balance of his mind was disturbed?” she asked.
“Precisely,” Gerard insisted. “When he took his own life, he knew exactly what he was doing.”
Aunt Gwendoline looked hard at her grand-nephew, and his eyes did not flicker.
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