And then, Pesker switched the television off and returned to his seat. Somehow, I knew he wouldn't say anything. He kept his thoughts very much to himself and yet, I was itching to talk about it.
‘Do you think Angel had anything to do with Jacob Barba's escape?’ I asked and waited.
‘No,’ he had considered my question without looking at me.
‘But Hattie was Angel's friend, and he was at the hospital when Jacob Barba was admitted.’
‘That's true,’ he raised his eyebrows, ‘But I don't believe Mrs. Boreman can be held responsible for what her friends get up to.’
‘It would suggest to me that she might have known him,’ I tried tentatively.
‘I've heard all of the rumors about Mrs. Boreman from both my wife and Mary. They say she's not a good mother, but who are these days?’ he nodded in deliberation. ‘I don't mind the woman though sometimes; I think the things she does are eccentric but that doesn't make her bad or guilty of anything except neglect of her own child.’
Parroting Pesker, I nodded also and yet, in my mind I was yearning to tell him that Angel did indeed know Jacob and that as far as he was concerned, they had a relationship that passed just being good friends. What would Pesker have made of that? And what would Pesker make of me if I told him who I really was? Is there a worst madness than trying to keep secrets?
I felt safe sitting by Pesker. To me, he represented stability. If all the world about him went mad, by blowing up countries, cars, and people, he would remain confident that this was just a hiccup. Everything would be all right in the end. Perhaps he was right. And yet, I couldn't help thinking he was being intentionally blind as to what was going on about him. Isn't it normal to react, to feel something at least? Yet, I had good reason to feel this way, unsettled and worried because of my involvement in Jacob Barba's escape.
As usual, I went to check in on J.J. Now that Mary was leaving, my responsibilities to his care would be increased. I had asked Pesker what would happen when Mary left. He said in a matter of fact voice that his wife, Jenny would take on more of the work. He also had an unmarried daughter, who he knew didn't mind living in. He would have a word about it with Mrs. Boreman. A big house like this would need more people to take care of it. But would his daughter mind the dogs? He said that she was very much like him, nothing really bothered her or got her down, she just got on with her work.
Looking at him and nodding to what he said, I wondered at the difference in personality between him and I. Throughout my life, I had always done things on impulse, I guess that's why the fashion world suited me. It was torturous for me to move slowly and methodically with consideration to everything I did. I used to be rash and not give a damn what happened. My life constantly moved in excitement, but now, except for the madness of helping Jacob Barba to escape, I ached with the injury of inaction.
Tomorrow, I knew what I was going to do. I intended to go out to have my rendezvous with fate, as they say. I would ask Angel for some money and tell her that I intended to buy myself a black outfit.
21
I was out of the house, and Pesker was driving me to town. It wasn't necessary to tell him everything. So, I told him what I thought he would like to hear just in case he questioned. I needed to stretch my legs, I told him, it was coming up to Christmas in three weeks, and I wanted to get Angel's son a Christmas gift.
As we traveled along, he was telling me about his daughter. She loved children; she always wanted to be a nursery teacher. It must be admitted that I listened to him half-heartedly because the thoughts in my mind were driven along with what I really intended to do. Before we left, I stole into John's room knowing that Angel was probably lying on her bed in her room. Going straight to his desk, I knew what I wanted. A couple of pieces of John’s headed writing paper; John liked to do his correspondence by hand. I could never get him to join the twenty-first century. Now, I was grateful for his obstinacy.
It was only when I was in the car that I thought about his room. How to explain it? Well, the room was still dusty, gathering more as time passed and yet, I knew someone had been in there. Someone else had been looking around trying to find an answer to their own mystery.
With my nerves sparking like exposed electric wires, I went back to my room and wrote out a quick letter in a script which was something similar to John's. Pretty accurate, but it would not stand up to close analysis. Leaving one space blank, I signed it in a credible signature of, John Boreman.
When Pesker dropped me off, we agreed that three hours should be enough time for me to get what I wanted. I waited until the car was out of sight. We had come in his personal car because he needed to give it a spin for the battery. I was pleased we used his rather than Angel's because it would cut down on her list of questions, should she feel the right to interrogate.
The confrontation which I imagined would happen with Angel with me demanding my rights and that if she did not allow me to go out, I was prepared, after Mary, to hand in my notice. This did not happen. She looked at me as though she was calculating how far she could go with me. Oh, I don't know, sometimes, she really spooks me with her looks of evaluation. I could have been a body on a slab ready to be dissected. But she gave me more cash than I asked for and suggested I open a bank account. Who is Angel? Does she even know who she is?
Once again, I made my way to the police station, this time with a request for the addresses of local lawyers. The only name I had to go by was Jeffrey. It was not a good start, but it was the only one I had. But what I did have on my side is the knowledge that he was, for his own reasons, withholding the publication of John's will. To me, this was going to be quite a journey. I believe that once I saw testament of John’s last wishes perhaps then, I will accept he really has gone.
The officer on duty at the station was very efficient and kind. He wished me luck when he gave me the printout.
There are some things in life you really don't want to do, but you know you have no choice. You must do this in order to move on. I felt that if I found out that John had a will and it was in the motions of being carried out, it would have been me who had hammered in that final nail. Oh, I wish my life had been different. I wished I hadn't been born with this volatile temper, this disposition which drove my teachers and parents to despair but never my sister. And no, I knew she wasn't dim although I often thought this about her. In some ways, I knew and secretly admitting to myself that, she had been more successful at life because she was happy. Happy with her lot. She hadn’t asked for much, a loving husband a house with several children, and that was all. But not for me. I wanted more, much more, more than just being happy. I wanted to be satisfied. So, this is why I'm sneaking around and spying into other people's lives.
My first question when I entered the first of the law offices was what were the practitioners’ names? And of course, with puzzled expressions, the two receptionists gave me the lawyer's surnames which were hung above the door anyhow. I do detest it when people look at me as if I'm nuts. I thought my explanation was quite straight forward; I was looking for a lawyer with the first name of Jeffrey. When they with baffled looks throttling a gob full of giggles and saying there was no one here with that name, I felt they had been wasting my time. I do hate it when people feel themselves to be superior.
It was the same with the second lawyer, and the third and I was beginning to wonder if this person Jeffrey even existed. My legs were frozen because, yet again, I decided I would wear stockings.
Going into the fourth lawyer – who would have thought there were so many in this town? Time was going on and I was thinking of quitting this exercise. I wasn't enjoying being scrutinized by these file clerk faces when, a door opened and out came a man in a dark suit, followed by another.
‘I'll see to that myself,’ said the first one as if he was about to glide out of the office and onto the stage like a ballet dancer.
‘If you could,’ replied the second man. ‘I would really appreciate that Jeffrey,’ and
then he too left the office to pass me by with a quick nod, followed by the other man.
‘I won't be long, Jean,’ said the man who had been addressed as Jeffrey. Stopping at the door as if in second thoughts. ‘I'm just going to get myself something to eat.’
‘I could run that errand for you, Mr. Stanton,’ replied the receptionist.
‘I need to stretch my legs Jean but thanks. When is my next appointment?’
‘It's been canceled.’
He looked surprised. ‘I see, very well. I'll be back in five,’ and then he too was out of the door.
Now Jean turned her attention to me with the question of how she could help me. She sounded more annoyed probably because I was writing something down.
‘I want to talk to Mr. Stanton about something very important and personal,’ I said having replaced my letter back into my handbag. I had been rehearsing this answer from the first moment I wrote the letter.
‘Would you like to explain what it is that you need to talk about with him?’ she asked.
‘No, definitely not, it's private. I will only discuss it with him.’ A tight compact negative, I was not going to give anything away.
She was not impressed with my answer because again she looked annoyed. ‘Very well, you will have to make an appointment to speak to him.’ From her desk, she took up a diary.
‘But I know that he's free now.’
‘He's not exactly free, Mr. Stanton has a great deal of work on,’ she was firm, she had that look on her face which said she didn't like me.
‘I just need to see him for five minutes.’ I could be as firm as she was. This was my only chance. Also, I didn't like her either.
‘As I said, you will have to make an appointment with him, those are the rules.’
Pained, I thought why was she proving to be so corruptly awkward towards me. With a feeling that the entire world had decided to turn against me, the door opened again and Jeffrey Stanton appeared. He had a sandwich in his hand. He smiled at me when he saw me, and this was when I saw my chance.
‘Do you think I could have a quick word with you?’ I asked ignoring the receptionist.
‘I told the lady, Mr. Stanton, that she needed to make an appointment,’ the receptionist lifted her head, trying to speak over me with an expression of, look at me, don't look at her.
‘Please,’ I pleaded, ‘I'll only be five minutes.’
He looked at Jean, and then he looked at me, he needed to appease the frontwoman.
‘Very well, I can see you, but only for five minutes,’ and then he looked across to Jean. ‘It’s okay, Jean, thank you.’
22
It was an office like every other office. Against the walls were panels of shelving holding huge volumes of books, there was also a large and intimidating wooden desk and a comfortable, worn leather chair behind it which said generations of influence and privilege.
‘Take a seat,’ he alluded to a smaller, not so imposing chair which had a leather seat and upholstery nails studded around the top of it. ‘And what can I do for you?’ he opened a drawer to his desk and put his sandwich in it.
This was not a time to take stock of his physical composition, except to say that he was young, roughly in his early thirties, and he looked well-toned. His muscles still held good formation. I could see the attraction. On a lawyer's income, he was an even more attractive proposition.
Crossing my legs not only to show them off to their best advantage, but I was also trying to tell him by my body language that I was not budging until I had what I had come for.
‘I understand,’ I began holding my briefcase like a bag on my knees ready with the clasp undone, I was now taking my time.
He wasn't particularly inquisitive, but his eyes were on me watching with the idle fancy of boredom as to what I was doing.
‘That you represent a Mr. John Boreman.’
His head jerked back. An instant reaction just as if someone had swiped something in front of his face to narrowly miss his nose. This was very gratifying to me because I realized that at last, I had found the right lawyer's office.
‘I am afraid the question you have asked is confidential,’ he paused to consider me. ‘Can I first ask who you are?’
‘Yes, my name is Vivian Boreman, and I am John Boreman's sister.’
Did he flinch with surprise? It wasn't difficult to read his face, for the alternating thoughts were revealed in his expression. As if he thought this was not possible. John did not have a sister which was true and why hadn't anyone informed him before?
‘But that's…’
It was to my advantage I interrupt him. ‘Yes, the same name as his wife. We always used to joke about it. Vivian or Ginny as he often called her, had a great sense of humor, she often said to John our names were the main reason he married her.’
‘But…’
‘Yes, I know, confusing isn't it? I was in Australia at the time when I heard about their divorce. It knocked the socks off me. Of course, I know every marriage has their problems, but for those two to get a divorce, I thought the end of the world would come sooner.’
‘But you know…’
‘Yes, unfortunately, I found out too late about his passing. I still can't believe it now. Just a month ago before I lost him, he wrote me a letter telling me that he was thinking of remarrying. Which was I thought, rather sudden as if he was marrying again on the rebound? And I was planning to come back home, you know and make contact with my roots and to visit John and my ex-sister-in-law, but then my own life took over.’
Because he was staring at me. I supposed he had seen the ridges on my face. He hadn't said anything yet, so it was my opportunity to detract him.
‘Cosmetic surgery, vanity gone wrong,’ I ran my hand in the air near my face. ‘My advice to anyone considering it would be, don’t. But that's only because of my own personal experience.’
I don't think he realized how rude he was because now he was looking closely at my face. I could see he was tracing the ridges of my scars, the contours to the dark side of my moon.
‘I wrote many times to John, but he never replied. It worried me a great deal at the time and then, just over a year ago, I received this,’ I stopped to open my bag to take out the letter I had written. Smiling, I passed it across to him.
Frowning he took the letter. I watched him quickly read it, followed by another worried and puzzled look before rereading the letter this time, slowly.
‘As you can see, he mentions me in his will. He also says that he hasn't been well. As a child, John had the usual things like coughs and colds but nothing too bad except that, when he was twenty, he had mumps. And you know what mumps can do to a man?’
‘Makes them infertile,’ answered Jeffrey Stanton, unconsciously putting his hand to his jewels.
‘He never mentioned the name of the woman he intended to marry except to call her Angel, which I doubt was her real name. Anyhow that was John's choice, he was gullible in that way. Did you read that part when he said she was going to have a baby and that she said it was his child? Poor John. Well, I don't think so, although I know he would have loved to have had children. And I believe that even though it was not his child, he was still prepared to take the baby on as his own. But then, he passed away with heart problems. Never had John had anything like heart troubles when he was younger? He was a fit boy even if inclined to be lazy. But to go at forty-two is very young for a person to have heart problems.’
Explaining to Stanton about John, I became embarrassed because I felt I was holding a conversation with myself. But hearing my thoughts as they appeared from the alchemy of my mind's imagination came the wonder. Did I really believe the things I was saying? The question which kept coming back to me, was, did I really think John was helped on his way to his eternal stationary home? This thought inspired me with more questions. This had an effect on my mind, working its way through a tangle of ideas that linked up sometimes with impossible threads. Hattie had heart problems and ther
e was a fake heart attack for Jacob Barba. I was becoming giddy with my own thoughts. Looking up and now back at him, I could see he was not taking the advent of my letter at all well.
‘Did my brother John, leave a will?’ I ask, gaining further into my advantage. ‘As you can see in the letter, he wanted me to have some money.’
‘Yes, I read that part. Look, if you leave this letter with me, I will get back to you. Do you have a contact number I can reach you on?’
‘No, I'm staying with a friend. This friend doesn't have a telephone.’ I said watching him hanging on to the letter. ‘She suffers from paranoia; it inflicts to some. I'm lucky she's putting me up. I can contact you, though. It's the best I can do,’ I nodded.
‘What about cellphones? You must possess a cellphone contact number at least?’ he was frowning as if the entire world and its problems were now sitting on his back.
‘As I said before, I'm broke. I wish it wasn't that way, but it is. And I feel low enough all ready to come to my brother's lawyer. Did you read that he mentioned your name in the letter?’
A quick nod of the head and then his eyes referred back to the letter.
‘Well, that's my position, I am forced to stoop to ask if he left me anything.’
By now, he wasn't really looking at me.
‘I always thought I would make my own money and then I would have been the one to help him out.’ I stopped myself from continuing because I was verging towards the real truth which I was married to him instead of being his sister. ‘Ironical isn't it, that it was him who made his fortune, and not me?’
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