For Kicks Part 24

It rather amused me to be called 'sir' again, especially by smooth civil servants barely younger than myself. Grinning, I sat down in the leather chair facing Beckett's desk, crossed my elegantly trousered legs, and lazily settled to wait for him.

I was in no hurry. It was eleven o'clock on Tuesday morning, and I had all day and nothing to do but buy a clockwork train for Jerry and book an air ticket back to Australia.

No noise filtered into Beckett's office. The room was square and high, and was painted a restful pale greenish grey colour, walls, door and ceiling alike. I supposed that here the furnis.h.i.+ngs went with rank; but if one were an outsider one would not know how much to be impressed by a large but threadbare carpet, an obviously personal lamp-shade, or leather, bra.s.s-studded chairs. One had to belong, for these things to matter.

I wondered about Colonel Beckett's job. He had given me the impression that he was retired, probably on a full disability pension since he looked so frail in health, yet here he was with a well established niche at the Ministry of Defence.

October had told me that in the war Beckett had been the sort of supply officer who never sent all left boots or the wrong ammunition. Supply Officer. He had supplied me with Sparking Plug and the raw material containing the pointers to Adams and Humber. He'd had enough pull with the Army to despatch in a hurry eleven young officer cadets to dig up the past history of obscure steeplechasers. What, I wondered, did he supply nowadays, in the normal course of events?

I suddenly remembered October saying, 'We thought of planting a stable lad...' not 'I thought', but 'We'. And for some reason I was now sure that it had been Beckett, not October, who had originally suggested the plan; and that explained why October had been relieved when Beckett approved me at our first meeting.

Unexcitedly turning these random thoughts over in my mind I watched two pigeons fluttering round the window sill and tranquilly waited to say goodbye to the man whose staff work had ensured the success of the idea.

A pretty young woman knocked and came in with a tray on which stood a coffee pot, cream jug, and pale green cup and saucer. She smiled, asked if I needed anything else, and when I said not, gracefully went away.

I was getting quite good at left-handedness. I poured the coffee and drank it black, and enjoyed the taste.

s.n.a.t.c.hes of the past few days drifted idly in and out of my thoughts...

Four nights and three days in a police cell trying to come to terms with the fact that I had killed Adams. It was odd, but although I had often considered the possibility of being killed, I had never once thought that I myself might kill. For that, as for so much else, I had been utterly unprepared; and to have caused another man's death, however much he might have asked for it, needed a bit of getting over.

Four nights and three days of gradually finding that even the various ignominies of being locked up were bearable if one took them quietly, and feeling almost like thanking Red-head for his advice.

On the first morning, after a magistrate had agreed that I should stay where I was for seven days, a police doctor came and told me to strip. I couldn't, and he had to help. He looked impa.s.sively at Adams' and Humber's widespread handiwork, asked a few questions, and examined my right arm, which was black from the wrist to well above the elbow. In spite of the protection of two jerseys and a leather jacket, the skin was broken where the chair leg had landed. The doctor helped me dress again and impersonally departed. I didn't ask him for his opinion, and he didn't give it.

For most of the four nights and three days I just waited, hour after silent hour. Thinking about Adams: Adams alive and Adams dead. Worrying about Humber. Thinking of how I could have done things differently. Facing the thought that I might not get out without a trial... or not get out at all. Waiting for the soreness to fade from the bruises and failing to find a comfortable way of sleeping on concrete. Counting the number of bricks from the floor to the ceiling and multiplying by the length of the walls (subtract the door and window). Thinking about my stud farm and my sisters and brother, and about the rest of my life.

On Monday morning there was the by then familiar sc.r.a.pe of the door being unlocked, but when it opened it was not as usual a policeman in uniform, but October.

I was standing up, leaning against the wall. I had not seen him for three months. He stared at me for a long minute, taking in with obvious shock my extremely dishevelled appearance.

'Daniel,' he said. His voice was low and thick.

I didn't think I needed any sympathy. I hooked my left thumb into my pocket, struck a faint att.i.tude, and raised a grin.

'Hullo, Edward.'

His face lightened, and he laughed.

'You're so b.l.o.o.d.y tough,' he said. Well... let him think so.

I said, 'Could you possibly use your influence to get me a bath?'

'You can have whatever you like as soon as you are out.'

'Out? For good?'

'For good,' he nodded. 'They are dropping the charge.'

I couldn't disguise my relief.

He smiled sardonically. 'They don't think it would be worth wasting public funds on trying you. You'd be certain of getting an absolute discharge. Justifiable homicide, quite legitimate.'

'I didn't think they believed me.'

'They've done a lot of checking up. Everything you told them on Thursday is now the official version.'

'Is Humber... all right?'

'He regained consciousness yesterday, I believe. But I understand he isn't lucid enough yet to answer questions. Didn't the police tell you that he was out of danger?'

I shook my head. 'They aren't a very chatty lot, here. How is Elinor?'

'She's well. A bit weak, that's all.'

'I'm sorry she got caught up in things. It was my fault.'

'My dear chap, it was her own,' he protested. 'And Daniel... about Patty... and the things I said...'

'Oh, nuts to that,' I interrupted. 'It was a long time ago. When you said "Out" did you mean "out" now, this minute?'

He nodded. 'That's right.'

'Then let's not hang around in here any more, shall we? If you don't mind?'

He looked about him and involuntarily s.h.i.+vered. Meeting my eyes he said apologetically, 'I didn't foresee anything like this.'

I grinned faintly. 'Nor did I.'

We went to London, by car up to Newcastle and then by train. Owing to some delay at the police station discussing the details of my return to attend Adams' inquest, any cleaning up processes would have meant our missing the seats October had reserved on the non-stop Flying Scotsman, so I caught it as I was.

October led the way into the dining car, but as I was about to sit down opposite him a waiter caught hold of my elbow.

'Here you,' he said roughly, 'clear out. This is first-cla.s.s only.'

'I've got a first-cla.s.s ticket,' I said mildly.

'Oh yes? Let's see it, then.'

I produced from my pocket the piece of white cardboard.

He sniffed and gestured with his head towards the seat opposite October. 'All right then.' To October he said, 'If he makes a nuisance of himself, just tell me, sir, and I'll have him chucked out, ticket or no ticket.' He went off, swaying to the motion of the accelerating train.

Needless to say, everyone in the dining car had turned round to have a good view of the rumpus.

Grinning, I sat down opposite October. He looked exceedingly embarra.s.sed.

'Don't worry on my account,' I said, 'I'm used to it.' And I realized that I was indeed used to it at last and that no amount of such treatment would ever trouble me again. 'But if you would rather pretend you don't know me, go ahead.' I picked up the menu.

'You are insulting.'

I smiled at him over the menu. 'Good.'

'For deviousness, Daniel, you are unsurpa.s.sed. Except possibly by Roddy Beckett.'

'My dear Edward... have some bread.'

He laughed, and we travelled amicably to London together, as ill-a.s.sorted looking a pair as ever rested heads on British Railways' starched white antimaca.s.sars.

I poured some more coffee and looked at my watch. Colonel Beckett was twenty minutes late. The pigeons sat peacefully on the window sill and I s.h.i.+fted gently in my chair, but with patience, not boredom, and thought about my visit to October's barber, and the pleasure with which I had had my hair cut short and sideburns shaved off. The barber himself (who had asked me to pay in advance) was surprised, he said, at the results.

'We look a lot more like a gentleman, don't we? But might I suggest... a shampoo?'

Grinning, I agreed to a shampoo, which left a high water mark of cleanliness about midway down my neck. Then, at October's house, there was the fantastic luxury of stepping out of my filthy disguise into a deep hot bath, and the strangeness with which I afterwards put on my own clothes. When I had finished dressing I took another look in the same long mirror. There was the man who had come from Australia four months ago, a man in a good dark grey suit, a white s.h.i.+rt and a navy blue silk tie: there was his sh.e.l.l anyway. Inside I wasn't the same man, nor ever would be again.

I went down to the crimson drawing-room where October walked solemnly all round me, gave me a gla.s.s of bone dry sherry and said, 'It is utterly unbelievable that you are the young tyke who just came down with me on the train.'

'I am,' I said dryly, and he laughed.

He gave me a chair with its back to the door, where I drank some sherry and listened to him making social chit-chat about his horses. He was hovering round the fireplace not entirely at ease, and I wondered what he was up to.

I soon found out. The door opened and he looked over my shoulder and smiled.

'I want you both to meet someone,' he said.

I stood up and turned round.

Patty and Elinor were there, side by side.

They didn't know me at first. Patty held out her hand politely and said, 'How do you do?' clearly waiting for her father to introduce us.

I took her hand in my left one and guided her to a chair.

'Sit down,' I suggested. 'You're in for a shock.'

She hadn't seen me for three months, but it was only four days since Elinor had made her disastrous visit to Humber's. She said hesitantly, 'You don't look the same... but you're Daniel.' I nodded, and she blushed painfully.

Patty's bright eyes looked straight into mine, and her pink mouth parted.

'You... are you really? Danny boy?'

'Yes.'

'Oh,' A blush as deep as her sister's spread up from her neck, and for Patty that was shame indeed.

October watched their discomfiture. 'It serves them right,' he said, 'for all the trouble they have caused.'

'Oh no,' I exclaimed, 'it's too hard on them... and you still haven't told them anything about me, have you?'

'No,' he agreed uncertainly, beginning to suspect there was more for his daughters to blush over than he knew, and that his surprise meeting was not an unqualified success.

'Then tell them now, while I go and talk to Terence... and Patty... Elinor...' They looked surprised at my use of their first names and I smiled briefly, 'I have a very short and defective memory.'

They both looked subdued when I went back, and October was watching them uneasily. Fathers, I reflected, could be very unkind to their daughters without intending it.

'Cheer up,' I said. 'I'd have had a dull time in England without you two.'

'You were a beast,' said Patty emphatically, sticking to her guns.

'Yes... I'm sorry.'

'You might have told us,' said Elinor in a low voice.

'Nonsense,' said October. 'He couldn't trust Patty's tongue.'

'I see,' said Elinor, slowly. She looked at me tentatively. 'I haven't thanked you, for... for saving me. The doctor told me... all about it.' She blushed again.

'Sleeping beauty,' I smiled. 'You looked like my sister.'

'You have a sister?'

'Two,' I said. 'Sixteen and seventeen.'

'Oh,' she said, and looked comforted.

October flicked me a glance. 'You are far too kind to them Daniel. One of them made me loathe you and the other nearly killed you, and you don't seem to care.'

I smiled at him. 'No. I don't. I really don't. Let's just forget it.'

So in spite of a most unpromising start it developed into a good evening, the girls gradually losing their embarra.s.sment and even, by the end, being able to meet my eyes without blus.h.i.+ng.

When they had gone to bed October put two fingers into an inner pocket, drew out a slip of paper, and handed it to me without a word. I unfolded it. It was a cheque for ten thousand pounds. A lot of noughts. I looked at them in silence. Then, slowly, I tore the fortune in half and put the pieces in an ash-tray.

'Thank you very much,' I said. 'But I can't take it.'

'You did the job. Why not accept the pay?'

'Because...' I stopped. Because what? I was not sure I could put it into words. It had something to do with having learned more than I had bargained for. With diving too deep. With having killed. All I was sure of was that I could no longer bear the thought of receiving money for it.

'You must have a reason,' said October, with a touch of irritation.

'Well, I didn't really do it for the money, to start with, and I can't take that sort of sum from you. In fact, when I get back I am going to repay you all that is left of the first ten thousand.'

'No,' he protested. 'You've earned it. Keep it. You need it for your family.'

'What I need for my family, I'll earn by selling horses.'

He stubbed out his cigar. 'You're so infuriatingly independent that I don't know now how you could face being a stable lad. If it wasn't for the money, why did you do it?'