by Gareth Rubin
‘I’m going nowhere,’ I said. He scoffed at me. ‘No? All right.’ I reached into my purse and pulled out a bundle of notes – some of my winnings from the previous night. His eyes widened at the amount of money I was holding in front of him and he wiped his mouth, as if thinking something over. ‘How much for an exit visa? Will he do it for a hundred? I’ve got more if needs be.’
He was struggling with the decision. His hands seemed to itch for the notes, edging towards mine and flitting back. That told me all I needed to know.
‘Jane!’ It was Stephanie. I looked outside to see three men walking rapidly up the street towards us. ‘Police!’ she shouted.
I froze. I couldn’t afford to have them asking questions and reporting on my movements.
‘Christ, get in the back!’ barked the man. He didn’t want the police speaking to me any more than I did. He lifted the counter and I pressed through into a murky room. It had a paper-strewn desk along one wall, with big windows above; a white-painted stage in one corner was surrounded by photographic lights, and a camera on a tripod pointed at a stool in the centre. In the opposite corner, paint was peeling off what appeared to be an exit to the street.
I heard the shop door open, the bell above it clanking wildly. ‘All right, Toby?’ a gruff voice asked. I pressed myself to the wall beside the doorway. ‘How’s business?’
‘Not been good this month.’
‘I wasn’t actually asking. I don’t care. Come on.’ The cash register opened. I bent my neck around to catch a glimpse. All I could see was the shopkeeper’s back.
I tried moving across the doorway to see from a different angle, but didn’t check where my feet were going and my left shoe connected with something hard. There was a metallic ring. I looked down to see I had kicked a pail a few centimetres. It wasn’t a loud sound and I prayed no one had heard it, but everything had gone quiet out in the shop. ‘I can get you more next month,’ Toby said.
‘Do you think I’m a fucking idiot?’ the gruff voice demanded. ‘What was that?’
‘Just some tart. The usual.’
‘Is it, now? I haven’t actually seen that before. Could be nice. You stay here.’ I ran to the other side of the room, behind the desk. A bear-like man with a heavy brown beard entered, followed by one of the other policemen. ‘All right, love?’ he said in a thick voice. I didn’t reply. He appraised me and smirked to his mate. ‘Don’t know why you’re here. You could do better. Magazines. Proper stuff.’ The one behind him chuckled. ‘Or for your old man, is it?’ I didn’t reply. ‘Come on, speak up. I said speak up.’
My mouth was dry. ‘My old man.’
‘Bit of a game for him?’ He walked slowly behind me. His breath had the tang of beer. ‘He likes that sort of thing.’
I had to say something. ‘Yes. A game.’
‘Lucky him.’ He moved out in front of me again. ‘Well, don’t let us stop you.’ I stood there unmoving; the air seemed to smell of them. ‘Come on. Been a crap day for us, so cheer us up.’
‘How?’
‘ “How?” she says. Over there. In the light.’ He pointed and waited. Terrified, I walked slowly over to the squalid stage and stood, blinking in the weak sun. ‘Now show us something.’
‘No, it’s –’
‘Don’t annoy me, love. Show us something.’
There was silence as they stood stock still. I would have done anything to get out of there. I lifted the hem of my skirt. ‘Come on, you’re not a fucking nun.’ His voice was sharper now. ‘Show us something or maybe we’ll make this more official.’ I lifted the hem higher so that it reached my underwear. ‘Not enough, love. We’ll have to take you in, won’t we?’ The officer behind him nodded.
‘What … do you want?’ I stammered. He pointed to my blouse.
I was terrified of what they could do to me there, without anyone around to care, let alone stop them. I lifted my fingers to the top button but couldn’t make them work – they felt stiff and numb.
‘Go on!’ His voice was rasping and brutal.
I tried to control my fingers. Slowly, I pressed the button through, letting the material of my blouse spread apart. Then the next fastening. The chill air made the skin on my chest prickle. ‘More like it,’ he said. I stood with it open. ‘Not bad. Like I said, magazines.’ I stood there, ashamed. ‘Keep going.’
There was a crash from out in the shop and I could hear Toby saying, ‘Told you not to do that.’ The officer looked at his mate and jerked his head. They went out to investigate, and as soon as their backs were turned I rushed over to the rear door. It was locked, with no key in sight. I ran to the desk to look for it. I hunted through, shoving aside a toothbrush in a smeared mug, a box of tooth powder, envelopes full of negatives and a magnifying glass, but found no key. The panic was rising as I tried to think where this man might keep it – somewhere close in case he needed to leave quickly, just as I did. I dashed back to the door and felt along the top of the frame. It was there, cold in my hand, and I shoved it into the lock. The hinges were thankfully well-oiled and I slipped out, closing the door and locking it from the outside. I threw the key aside and hurried away, holding my blouse closed.
34
The house was quiet when I got home. Without taking off my heavy coat, I entered the parlour and was taken aback to see a woman a few years older than me sitting serenely in one of the pair of Queen Anne chairs that Nick had picked up somewhere. She was dressed in black with a pill-box hat that had a veil hanging across her forehead. But the veil didn’t – couldn’t – disguise the fact that she had a very pretty face. It was round, the type you saw in eighteenth-century paintings of nymphs and satyrs, expertly powdered. Beside her, Nick was in the other chair, his legs crossed. They were both silent, as if they had been waiting for me.
‘Darling, this is Bella Singent,’ said Nick.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I said. ‘I didn’t expect you until seven.’ In fact, it had entirely slipped my mind that people were coming to dinner. Bella smiled sweetly and rose. She had long dark hair that shone in the sunlight. ‘I’m so pleased to meet you.’ I had been somewhat on edge about meeting these old friends of Nick and Lorelei. Bella and Lorelei had trained as actresses together decades earlier; but Bella had soon married someone steadfast and comfortably off and never set foot on a stage again.
‘And you too,’ she said, kissing my cheeks.
Nick went to the drinks cabinet. ‘Would you like something?’ he asked. I noticed that there were three glasses on the side table with a little white wine in each.
‘Thank you,’ I said. He poured out another half-glass from a bottle. They sat and watched as I drank.
‘The soot really is terrible right now, isn’t it?’ said Bella.
I looked at my reflection in the wine glass. ‘Oh, no,’ I said, seeing a film of grime on my face. ‘I had no idea.’ I scrabbled about in my handbag for a handkerchief.
‘Take mine,’ she said, holding out a square of linen.
‘Oh, I couldn’t. I wouldn’t want to make it filthy.’ She shrugged and smiled again. I took it and dabbed at my face, making little difference.
‘So you’re going to be a new mother to dear little Hazel,’ said Bella.
‘Well, I don’t know … I mean to say –’
‘She’s a real poppet. I do want to see her,’ she told Nick.
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Nick tells me you’re a teacher.’
‘Yes, I am. Well, not at the moment.’
‘Oh, I’m sure it’s hard in London. A different sort of place from Herne Bay.’
‘Yes. Yes, it is,’ I replied, a little surprised that she knew quite so much about me.
The door opened and a big man with a jet-black heavy moustache and an unmistakable military bearing entered.
‘This is Bella’s husband, Major Kenneth Singent,’ Nick said.
‘How do you do?’ I said, holding out my hand.
He shook it solidly. ‘How do you do?’
he repeated, taking up the unclaimed glass of wine and saying nothing more.
‘So how are things guarding us all, Major?’ asked Nick.
‘We’re doing our job,’ he replied.
‘I’m sure you are. The Major’s regiment is currently standing on top of the Wall, ensuring none of us are tempted to leap over.’
‘We’re making sure the Americans don’t invade.’
‘Yes, indeed,’ Nick said. ‘Cheers.’
‘I went to Herne Bay years ago,’ said Bella. ‘So charming. However did you and Nick meet?’
‘On the platform at Waterloo Station.’
‘Oh, yes, that’s right.’ She looked at Nick. ‘How romantic.’
‘It has suited us,’ I said. ‘Hasn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ Nick replied. ‘Handsomely.’
‘I’d better get started in the kitchen,’ I said.
We were soon joined by Charles and by Nick’s colleague Sanderson Morton, a neurologist at Guy’s. Over vegetable soup, Morton told us how he had found a Parasite in his department and dismissed him. ‘I’m glad to say that one of my more socially aware workers reported him. I should have informed the Department of Labour, but he had a family so I just gave him his cards and told him to go,’ he said, spooning the soup to his mouth. I held myself back from taking him to task about this man and his family.
Nick followed with a funny story about a woman who had come into his surgery having mistaken it for a dressmaker’s, and we all laughed. After that, we talked about the five-year building plan. Even Charles seemed to open up – perhaps it was the three glasses of wine that he had in him. Morton was expounding on the future frontiers of medicine. I chose my moment.
‘What’s norethisterone?’ I said.
Morton jolted at the word. I thought back to that voice on the other end of the telephone when I had overheard Nick.
‘Sorry, darling, what did you say?’ Nick asked.
Unlike Morton, Nick’s face betrayed nothing of what he was thinking. I wanted him to be off-balance, to tell me the truth, not what he had crafted as the truth. ‘Norethisterone – is that right? Someone called for you today,’ I told him.
‘Who was it?’
‘Just someone on the telephone. Didn’t give their name, said they wanted norethisterone. Is it a medical thing?’
‘I don’t think I’ve heard of it,’ he replied. He turned to Morton. ‘Have you?’
‘No,’ Morton said.
‘All sorts of things being discovered all the time; can’t keep up with them,’ Nick continued.
That might have fooled me once. Not any more, I thought.
‘It must all be so exciting,’ breathed Bella. Her soldier husband continued with his food, showing no interest in the conversation. He was used to straightforward men saying what they thought, direct and unvarnished. He didn’t look for unspoken words. I was looking for them all the time now.
I broke a piece of bread and went back to eating. ‘I thought it sounded chemical. Well, maybe I misheard him,’ I said.
‘It was a him, then?’
‘Hmmm? Oh, yes, a him.’
Charles spoke, glancing between Nick and me. ‘Dr Cawson, have you told Mrs Cawson your good news?’
‘No, not yet.’
‘Don’t keep me in suspense,’ I said.
‘No. Well, I’ve made a bit of a strategic alliance. Do you remember Ian Fellowman, Burgess’s Assistant Secretary?’
‘Yes.’ Where was this going? What had Fellowman done?
‘His usual GP has finally decided to retire, so I’ve put myself forward for the job. The Comrade is considering it.’
‘That would be quite an honour.’ So it sounded like the Assistant Secretary was keeping all his options open. Only Nick didn’t know that.
‘Now you will have to join the Party,’ Charles said.
‘Probably,’ Major Singent said with a subtle but unmistakable note of disgust.
‘Indeed,’ Morton added, decisively tapping his index finger on the table. ‘Health is a public resource, not private. You have to join. The connections you will make will see you through to the top of the profession. You should take a research trip to Moscow. They are making such strides there in certain fields. I cannot tell you how much I learned during my own visit.’ He was becoming animated, clearly getting on to a favourite topic of his. ‘They have found entirely new ways to explain diseases of the mind. They understand now that it’s all down to socialization or the lack of it. You know how I had some experience in psychiatry during the War – it’s related to neurology, of course – but, next to them, British medicine is in the Dark Ages.’
‘I’m sure Comrade Fellowman could arrange for a research visit,’ Charles commented. ‘I could accompany you.’
‘I heard their asylums are full of dissenters,’ I said.
Morton froze and slowly turned to me. He rested his elbows on the table, knitted his fingers together and looked at me over them. ‘American propaganda. A few unstable agitators, no more. And where better for them? It keeps them safe, and it keeps society safe.’
The image of Rachel being dragged out of the room flashed before me. I wanted to tell him that I had seen inside one of these asylums. ‘Couldn’t they be left in society?’ I said. ‘We’re social creatures, aren’t we?’
He smiled politely and raised his eyebrows at Nick in humour. ‘It’s very interesting to have the opinions of women such as you, but I really think this is best left to the professionals,’ he said.
‘Then perhaps you can help me with something.’
‘And what would that be?’
‘Tell me this. What’s it all for? I mean this new psychology.’
‘For?’ His mouth twitched in something that might just have been the start of anger and he rolled the word on his tongue as if it were distasteful. ‘For. Mrs Cawson, I was in Vienna in 1938 to see Sigmund Freud only just escape the country with his life. His sisters lost theirs. What do you think the Nazis had planned for Britain? Can you think for one second where it would have ended? Fascism is built on psychosis – on megalomania. It is the only communicable disease of the mind. And it is a doctor’s duty to fight disease. That is what it is for.’
‘Yes, I see,’ I said. There was strength behind the point and I felt guilty.
Charles changed the conversation. ‘When will you speak to Comrade Fellowman?’ he asked Nick.
‘Not yet.’
‘At the dinner?’
Nick glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, as if he had been keeping something from me. ‘Perhaps.’
‘What dinner?’ I asked.
‘Fellowman invited us to a big bash in honour of some Russians next week.’
‘That sounds good,’ I said.
‘Yes.’
‘When?’
He hesitated. ‘I didn’t think you would want to come.’
‘Why wouldn’t I?’ He looked uncomfortable. It was strange – he was definitely hiding something. ‘Go on, tell me.’
He cleared his throat. ‘It’s going to be at the Brookfield Hotel.’ I closed my eyes and felt the pounding that I had felt the last time – the only other time – I had been in the ballroom of that hotel with Nick and Charles and Ian Fellowman. ‘I –’
‘No, it’s fine. More bread, anyone?’ I forced it away.
There was a pause, which Charles broke, nervously. ‘I’ll have some, thank you,’ he said, reaching for the plate. ‘It’s very good. Fresh.’
‘Deliciously so,’ added Bella.
She began talking about a new bakery near her and people joined in, the topic of food always one to raise interest. And after a while, the atmosphere lightened again. Even Charles made people laugh with a story about being caught scrumping a crateful of pears when he was at school and being made to eat them all as punishment. He was apparently ill for days.
When I began to clear the table, he offered to help. ‘Thank you,’ I said.
‘It was very nice, Mrs Ca
wson,’ he said, as we entered the kitchen. ‘It can’t be easy making something like that from whatever’s available today.’
‘Oh, you find ways to get the ingredients.’ I passed him a stack of plates and his hands wobbled a little. ‘Can you take these through?’ He was a lot more pleasant when he was squiffy, I decided. I would have to try to keep him like that. Dilute his morning tea with scotch? Make his coffees Irish to match his name? Some way to keep him mildly inebriated.
‘My pleasure.’ He went back into the dining room and I followed him carrying a china mug of water. Through the bannister I caught sight of Hazel watching us with a look of curiosity on her face.
We talked about the prospects for change at the top of the Party, should Blunt ever decide to retire – there were few other Secretaries with his stature and bearing, which meant it was hard to predict what would happen. ‘But who could replace Comrade Blunt?’ Nick said. ‘I can’t see …’
I lifted my drink but as I did so something struck me like a shard of light. Lorelei’s last words, Who’s there? I can’t see. They echoed in my mind.
And then the mug fell from my hand, splitting in two and spilling the water everywhere. Nick pushed back from the table as it spread towards him, and Charles jumped up to grab what was left of the mug, setting the base upright again and mopping it up with his napkin. For his part, Morton just watched me as if he were studying a lab rat in a cage. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ I said. But I said it with only half my mind on my own words. The rest was a jumble of thoughts and guesses. I kept turning the words over and over.
‘It’s all right, darling, it’s quite all right,’ Nick said in a soothing tone.
‘I know it is,’ I said angrily. ‘I dropped a cup, that’s all.’