Jackson's Dilemma (18 page)

Benet, aware of his tallness, said, ‘Do sit down.’

Edward ignored this. He said, ‘No news of course.’

‘No - and you?’

‘Of course not! Oh
Christ,
I wish all this was over!’

Benet, already distressed by the intensely cold almost savage vibrations, sat down upon the sofa. He said, ‘Edward, dear, do please sit down.’ He pointed to a chair.

Edward bared his teeth with an audible
‘ach
!’ and sat down.

Benet said, ‘Oh how much, how
much,
I wish I could make you happy again. I feel I’ve let you down — yes, I am to blame -’

Edward, his face now twisted again with exasperation, looking away, said, ‘Oh — nothing is
your
fault.’

‘Well, nothing, I feel sure, is Marian’s fault, surely that message was written by the person who kidnapped her -’

‘Oh well, we would have heard from the kidnapper by now,’ said Edward listlessly, still looking away, out of the window. He went on, ‘No, it’s not that-it’s someone else, she’s gone off with someone else, she just had to
get away from me
— it was all arranged - she never really wanted me - at all. Just as well, I’m not really - I just wish she’d let me know - a little earlier - but just doing it now — ’

‘Yes, I know, I
know -
and I’m - so very - sorry - But there were so many things - if she comes back now and wants you and wants you to forgive her - and - and make things right again? Isn’t that possible.’

‘No, of course not.’ He paused. ‘You
know
it isn’t possible-it’s all
hatred, pure hatred.’

‘What do you mean, what is - ?’

‘Her hatred, my hatred, most of all my hatred.’

‘Please
see Marian when we find her, we don’t know her story, she is innocent - you didn’t hate her, you don’t hate her -’

‘I do now, I hate myself - ’

‘She may be dead, and -’

‘I do not believe that she is dead,’ said Edward. He paused, then went on, ‘Often I think that I am dead-yes, I am or shall be dead. You do not know how much grief I have in me and what terrible things I have suffered, and done.’

‘Edward, please,
please,
don’t say such
mad
things, there are so very very many things in you and for you - and if you find her you can -’

‘Oh, that - I don’t know what I think about her or what has happened to her or what she’s done - do not talk about her, she is over.’

‘And you don’t care - ?’

‘And I am over too, I mean I am
done for.
I am going to sell Hatting.’

‘Edward, no, never, you are
not
to sell Hatting, I
forbid
you - !’

Edward, who had been looking round the room with his face once more twisted into a grimace, suddenly looked at Benet and smiled. ‘Dear Benet, always playing at my father!’ He rose, the smile vanishing. He was thinner, his hair was shorter, jagged as if savagely cut, his face was wrinkled, his eyes narrowed, his lips trembling. For a moment he looked distraught, as if he were going to weep.

‘Don’t
go,’ said Benet, frightened, rising. ‘Dear Edward, I love you, stay with me, don’t go away - Have a drink, stay for lunch and — ’

‘I’ve given up eating and drinking — I’m just waiting -’

‘What for?’

‘Just waiting - for the awful thing to go away -’

‘But Marian — ’

‘Not Marian. The dreams — if you only knew how much I am given over to the devil. I bring ill luck and doom. It’s all over.’ He added, ‘I am going to travel abroad. Hatting will be up for sale. Please spread the news, will you.’

It did not take Jackson very long, using a curving piece of plastic cut from a mineral water bottle, to undo the fragile front door of the house, and then the ancient lock of Marian’s flat. He cautiously quietly moved the door, slid inside, and closed it silently. Then he stood still, breathing deeply, in the small hallway, then moved into the sitting room. He had not been there before. Of course, after Marian had disappeared, Benet and Rosalind, with Rosalind’s key, had entered the flat, anxious not to find Marian dead upon the floor. They had come to the flat more than once. Edward did not accompany them. They had of course ‘made a search’. Jackson looked round. Everything was tidy. That would be the result of their search. The police had also been in, and were said to have watched the place. Apparently, as Jackson heard Benet saying, they had found no clues at all. He himself, he was sure, had entered rapidly and unnoticed. That lot, he thought scornfully, would have no idea of how
really
to search. Of course someone ought to have been staying there all the time. He moved about slowly, noticing Marian’s ‘things’, her clothes hung up in a cupboard, by her, more likely by Rosalind. Her rows of shoes neatly stowed under the bed. She might have left in a hurry, or been kidnapped, or-the china animals upon the mantelpiece, the cushions easily moved, the little desk easily rifled. Jackson pictured Benet and Rosalind finding everything untidy and putting it all back into order, having discovered nothing. Jackson, following the obvious tracks, looked through the desk, the sofa, the clothes, the bed, under the carpet, inside books, inside china animals, the kitchen, the shelves, the airing cupboard, drawers of all kinds containing clothes or papers or jewellery, all sorts of odd places which might have missed attention. He even found reverently laid to rest by the seekers, Marian’s wedding dress. If there had been entities or indication, they might well have been effaced by his clumsy predecessors. He thought, something deliberately hidden, something so obvious as to be invisible. Benet and Rosalind had of course carried off Marian’s address book and checked the addresses. And now, alas, Jackson had apparently tried everything including of course the secret drawer in the desk.

He lay down on Marian’s bed. Could anything now
come
to him? He was fond of Marian, he grieved for her, he tried to be near her, now, to see her. He was horrified by the ‘order’ which surrounded him, and by his own utter incompetence. He was a watcher. He had perceived Edward’s grief long before it came to view. He had shared Benet’s grief. But that was another matter - how had he let himself be cast aside - at last. Because he deserved it? He, the jack-of-all-trades, who now exhibited so few. Owen Silbery had perceived it. Then he had called Jackson ‘a ringed bird’. An apt name. Where were the other names now? Yes, he carried a weight, a burden placed upon him by
them.
He had dreamed of something precious, a message carried to an emperor - or to a great scientist. No, not that, but holiness. So now he was suddenly rehearsing for himself woes which he could not understand. Time was passing and no signal came. Not yet. Yes, let him sigh - perhaps he must again move on. Death had removed what he had thought of as a precious jewel. Not for the first time. Oh how he pitied himself. Remorse, remorse.

At that moment in his strange and woeful ramblings, he heard the sudden noise of a bell ringing in the room. He shot up; of course someone downstairs in the street! He fumbled the door and stumbled down the stairs. He opened the door.

A man dressed in some sort of livery or uniform was standing outside. He began at once. ‘Oh, here’s the letter, I was just going to shove it through, nobody’s answered the bell, we’ve been trying, it’s about the lady’s watch — ’

‘Oh I know - ’ said Jackson, taking hold of the envelope quickly and tearing it open.

‘Is the lady here?’

‘She’s away for a bit, but back soon -’

‘Well, it’s not lost, we’ve got it safe and sound at our place, I’ve been told to give it only to her, it’s a very valuable lady’s watch, well, you understand, perhaps she’ll come along in person, any time, we’ve kept in touch with the other gentleman, perhaps you know -’

‘Indeed I do,’ said Jackson, desperately trying to keep calm and think, ‘I got here just after she left, she left a message for me and all about it, you see I’ve been abroad for some time and he’s just moved and I can’t find his telephone number, actually he’s my cousin - ’

‘Yes, I can see you’re a bit like him! What a handsome pair they made, if I may say so, such lovely riders, Sammy and Jinny had a super time. Yes, of course I’ll give you his number, I’ll put it on the back of the envelope -’

Jackson closed the door with a suitably grateful murmur and raced back upstairs with the booty. He returned to the bedroom and sat down. A telephone number. What was to be done with it? Not surrender it to
them
of course! Try it out—how, when? Now? Who were Sammy and Jinny? In his excitement in glancing at the letter he had not taken in where it came from. Of course he should have kept the man much longer in conversation! The letter was brief.

He saw that the heading was of a livery stable with an address near Hyde Park. So,
Marian
had been there, with a
man;
with the man. Should he go round at once to the stables and somehow
find out
who the man was and where he lived? What would anyone tell him? They might be suspicious, Marian’s address and her telephone number, and
another
telephone number. My mind is moving very slowly! thought Jackson. How can I find anything out? The only true things were Marian’s address and her number. All I can do is -call the other number.

He sat for a while holding onto his heart, which he noticed was now gradually slowing down. Should he not, like a faithful dog, carry the whole discovery to Benet? What use exactly was the telephone number? If Jackson were simply to call the number now and hear a voice, what could he say which would not give him away at once as some sort of enemy? If the man just slammed down the telephone, that would suggest something. Anyway, Jackson checked himself, all this is on the assumption that ‘the man’ is some sort of dangerous or at least unpleasant character! He might be someone whom Marian had just picked up, or knew from long ago, some sort of innocent party, or - was it not wiser to tell Benet who would ask the police who would check on the number? Jackson’s burning curiosity overcame his common sense. He lifted up the receiver and dialled the number.

 

Silence. Then a woman’s voice. Marian’s? No, certainly not Marian’s. ‘Hello.’

Jackson, who had not carefully thought out what he was to say, said, ‘Is he there? I’ve got a message for him, or for her.’

‘Oh he’s gone,’ the rather pleasant woman’s voice replied. ‘He left us rather suddenly.’

‘Oh, and about her?’

‘I don’t know, they went away together, he came back alone and stayed a bit, then he took up all his things and left -’

‘Please excuse me, but could you tell me to whom I am speaking - ’

‘I’m so sorry, I’m Mrs Bell, I am from the flat downstairs, I’ve got the key of the upstairs flat and - ’

‘Could you tell me where he is now, do you know?’

‘Oh yes, he left me an address and telephone number, but—well, he asked me not to tell it to people - may I ask who you are?’

‘I am his brother.’

‘Yes, yes, of course, he mentioned you, so I may tell you -’

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tuan, although a pet of Uncle Tim (who gave him his nickname) and also a favourite of Benet, remained, as everyone agreed, something of a mystery, not a sinister one of course. He was also called ‘the Theology Student’. He gained a First at Edinburgh University, and later taught for a while at a college in London. Now he worked in a bookshop and appeared to be perpetually studying. He was said to have been a student of a student of Scholem. This might or might not be true. He was Jewish on his father’s side. His Jewish father had, when a small child, escaped with his family from the holocaust and settled in Edinburgh. When his father married a Scottish Presbyterian girl, there was some stir in the Jewish community. The grandfather was particularly annoyed, but became more forgiving when the little boy appeared. Tuan could recall sitting on his knee, also walking in his funeral. Earlier still, Tuan could remember his father calling him Jacob and his mother calling him Thomas, and Thomas sometimes gaining the upper hand! Tuan’s father spoke Hebrew and Yiddish to the infant boy, an only child, sent him to a Judaic Liberal school, took him to a Synagogue, made him wear black clothes and skull caps, and insisted on a
Bar-Mitzvab.
So, at school, he was formally called Jacob but somehow or other sometimes Thomas, or rather Tommy. His parents, as far as Tuan could remember, never seriously quarrelled, his mother never attempted to advocate the austere Scottish religion which she constantly practised, and they continued successfully to love each other passionately. It was Uncle Tim who later changed Tommy to Tuan, taken from Joseph Conrad’s novel.