Fine Lines - SA (22 page)

He was calmer now. "You better be right."

"I am." In fact, I had rationalised it so wel that for a moment I felt as confident as I sounded. Then I remembered Marty's notes, and the sudden wash of fear instantly undermined my new confidence. In that second I knew I was not going to tel Zeppo about them.

But whatever I felt, it could not have shown in my face. At any rate, Zeppo seemed completely reassured. "In that case I think I'l let you give me a drink now I'm here," he said. He began to walk toward the lounge. Suddenly I could not stand the thought of him being there a second longer.

"No. I'd like you to go now." He turned and looked at me in surprise. "What?"

"I said I'd like you to go." An astonished smile spread across his face. "Getting a little tetchy, aren't we, Donald? What the fuck's eating you?"

"Nothing's eating me. I just want you to leave, that's al ."

"What about your duties as a host? You insist I come here, and then five minutes later you want me to go again. That's not very hospitable, is it?"

"I'm not in a very hospitable mood."

"Then you shouldn't have asked me over, should you?" I could see he was beginning to enjoy himself. That only irritated me more.

"I asked you over because I had something to tel you. Now I have, there's no reason for you to stay."

"Donald, you mean you dragged me al this way just for that, and now you want me to leave without even having a drink? You could have told me on the telephone and saved me the journey." He held up his hand.

"Sorry I forgot. The phones are al bugged, aren't they? You don't like the CIA listening in."

"For someone who was having a panic attack a moment ago, you've suddenly become very blase. And no, I don't like using the telephone for something like this. I have no desire to end up in prison because a housewife in Tooting Bee happened to get a crossed line."

"You're getting very agitated al of a sudden."

"Perhaps that's because I've had enough of your attitude. I'm tired of having to put up with your tantrums. I didn't force you to get involved. You chose to of your own accord, for money, not as a favour to me, and I've had enough of you holding me responsible whenever anything doesn't go quite according to plan! We knew there would have to be some kind of investigation, and it's me who has to bear the brunt of that, not you. So I can wel do without having to contend with a

… a homicidal model threatening violence every time there's the slightest hiccup!" Zeppo had listened with his head slightly tilted to one side. "Does this mean you don't love me any more?"

"It means I would like you to leave!"

"Okay, Donald. If that's the way you feel about it." He went to the front door, an amused expression on his face. He opened it and turned to me.

"By the way," he said. "Your flies are undone." I simply stared at him. Smiling, he went out. I looked down.

They were.

There was no way I could stay at home for the rest of that evening. I

had to get out. More specifical y, I had to go to Anna's. The thought of what might be contained in Marty's notes, the possibility that he might have made some reference to Zeppo in them, made it impossible for me to idly sit in and wait. Only minutes after Zeppo had left, I was in my car and driving to her flat.

She was not expecting me. But she had been angry and upset after the policemen's visit, which gave me an excuse to see how she was. I had no idea if she would even be home, but I was wil ing to risk a wasted journey. Anything was better than sitting alone, running through permutations of discovery.

There was a light on in her window. I felt relieved, then anxious. I told myself it was too soon for her to know anything, but the possibility was enough to make my heart thud as I climbed the steps to her flat. I tried to prepare myself, rehearsing how best to react, and rang the doorbel . I waited as footsteps came towards the door. Then Anna opened it.

I saw at once that something was wrong. Her face was set, closed as stone. She did not even seem surprised to see me.

"Hel o," I said, blustering past my doubts. "I thought I'd cal and see how you were."

"I'm al right, thanks." Her voice was careful y guarded. She stood back. "Come in. Marty's father's here." She held my eyes with hers as she spoke, and I immediately understood the reason for her mood. A weight was lifted from me.

"Shal I go?" I asked, almost whispering.

"No, it's al right. I don't think he's staying much longer." She made no attempt to lower her voice. I raised my eyebrows, questioningly Her lips tightened and she gave a short, disgusted shake of her head as she turned away.

I closed the door and fol owed her into the lounge. Westerman was standing in the centre of the room with his coat on. His mouth was even more pinched than usual. The open end of their quarrel gaped obviously.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to barge in," I said to him. "I had no idea you were here."

"Mr. Westerman just cal ed around to let me know he's going back to America tomorrow," Anna said. Westerman's lips pinched a little more.

I looked at him enquiringly. "Real y? I thought you were going to stay another week?" Anna cut in before he could answer. "He was. But now he's spoken to the police, he's decided to leave early." He shot her a quick, furious look, before addressing himself to some indeterminate point between us. "I can't see any point in wasting any more time. As far as I'm concerned, I know al I need to. Or want to."

"Mr. Westerman wasn't happy to hear that Marty's been to gay nightclubs." Anna was speaking to me, but never took her eyes off him.

He turned and looked directly at her.

"I doubt any father would be pleased to learn his son is a homosexual."

"Oh, for God's sake!" Anna erupted, "How many more times? Marty's not homosexual! He went there as part of his research, that's al !" Westerman snorted. "Dress it up however you like, I can only see one reason for anyone going to those sort of places. You might be able to ignore that, but I certainly can't."

"Ignore what? There's nothing to ignore! And even if there was, would it real y matter? He's stil missing, isn't he? That's what's important!"

"It might be to you, but it certainly isn't to me. Not any more. If he's going to mix with people like that, he can count without my help to get out of any trouble he's got himself into."

Westerman's mouth twitched. "If I'd known about this I would never have come here in the first place. I've made an effort to accept the things he's done in the past, but this.. .!" He shook his head, mutely outraged.

"What are you talking about, "got himself into"?" Anna demanded. "You don't know what's happened to him! And what "things" has he done in the past? You mean like studying anthropology instead of sel ing toilet bowls? Like coming here instead of going to an American university? Is that what you cal having a wayward son?"

"I find your attitude offensive."

"Why? Because it's not as narrow-minded as yours? How can you be so bloody pompous about this?" She stopped herself. "Listen. For the last time, Marty's not homosexual. I don't know where he is, or what's happened to him, but I know it's nothing to do with that. He went to gay clubs as part of his research, that's al . If you don't believe me, ask the university." It was like a reprise of her conversation with the police. With as much success.

"I'm afraid I don't put much store in the opinion of English intel ectuals," Westerman said. "For al I know they probably encourage associating with moral degenerates themselves."

Anna shook her head, violently. "I can't believe I'm hearing this! Marty's missingl You can't just give up on him!"

"I can do whatever I see fit. I've spent time and money coming over here to try and find him, only to find out he's been enjoying the company of deviants! It's obvious to me now why he decided to disappear, and if he'd rather associate with ... with pederasts than with decent people, then he can stay with them until he rots as far as I'm concerned!"

"Make your mind up!" Anna was shouting now. "A few days ago it was my fault. Now he's run away because he's come out of the closet! Which is it?"

"I'm not prepared to discuss this any further." He made as if to leave. Anna moved in front of him.

"Wel , you bloody should! If you pack up and go home, the police are going to give up as wel , aren't they? He's your son for God's sake! Does it matter what he did or who he mixed with?" Westerman looked at her with an expression of triumph. "Obviously not to you, but I'm glad to say some people at least stil have some sense of moral values."

"Moral values?" Anna looked incredulous. "How can you talk about morals when you're prepared to abandon him like this? What's moral about that?"

"A damn sight more than mixing with perverts! But since you clearly don't mind that, I doubt very much that you'l be able to understand what I'm talking about."

"I understand, al right, but I just can't believe you mean it! He's your son!" She repeated the fact as though Westerman had overlooked it. He gave a brittle shake of his head.

"Not any more." Anna closed her eyes, then appealed to me in desperation. "Donald, did Marty ever strike you as either a homosexual or a "deviant"?"

"No, not I began but Westerman interrupted as though I was not there.

"I've no more to say on the subject. You might like to know I intend to contact the police and embassy and let them know my reasons for leaving."

"Why?" Anna cried. "Can't you at least let them make up their own minds?"

"I'm sure they wil . But if Marty's going to disgrace himself, I want to make it quite clear to them I don't condone it."

"Disgrace himself?" Anna began, but Westerman was already moving to the door. I felt I had to say something.

"I must say I think you're being completely unreasonable!" He did not even look at me. "I don't. This sort of decadence might be acceptable in your country, but it's not in mine, thank God. And I'd thank you to stay out of this. I've no interest in discussing my actions with an ageing dilettante." I was stil spluttering as he walked past me into the kitchen. Anna went after him.

"I'd like to say it's been a pleasure meeting you," she said. "But I'd be lying, and one hypocrite in a room's enough." She opened the front door and stared at him, cool y. "Goodbye, Mr. Westerman." Westerman hesitated, and seemed on the point of saying something else.

Then he turned and left without another word.

Anna shut the door, not quite slamming it. She came back into the lounge. Neither of us spoke. She stood beside the table, staring into space. I realised I was shaking.

"Of al the ... the insufferable ... swineV It was a woeful y inadequate response, but anger and humiliation had robbed me of a more potent vocabulary. I avoided looking at her.

Anna said nothing. Her silence began to make me feel uncomfortable. I risked a glance. Her eyes were shiny with tears, but she held herself perfectly stil . I searched for something to say, but once again found nothing.

"The bastard!" The words came without warning. Her face was twitching with the effort of holding back from crying, out of anger as much as anything else. "The cold-hearted fucking bastardV I was shocked at her language. She realised I was staring at her, and quickly shook her head. "I'm sorry, Donald, but ... Christ, how can he? His own son! Doesn't he care?"

"Apparently not."

"How can he be so … so sanctimonious about it? He's so bloody self-righteous! Doesn't he realise what he sounds like? And the way he insulted you. There was no excuse for that.

Yet he stil acted as though we'd done something wrong!"

"Another example of the American disease of believing anything they do is right, because they're American," I said, belatedly finding my tongue now the man had left.

"Marty's American, and he's not like that." It was not a reprimand, but I hurriedly qualified my statement al the same. "No, I know. I daresay a lot of Americans aren't. It's just bigots like his father that give the country a bad name." I stil felt I had to say something more to re-establish myself. "I'm not sure who he hates the most, the English or homosexuals. The man's clearly unbalanced." Anna showed no sign of hearing me. "Why has he got to make such a big issue out of going? If it upsets him that much, why doesn't he just go? Why has he got to make a point of tel ing the police his reasons? It was hard enough convincing them to take it seriously in the first place. If they think Marty's own father's convinced he's run off because he's gay, they won't even try any more."

"I wouldn't worry about him influencing them. I'm sure they're capable of seeing Marty's father for what he is." I was sure of no such thing.

Which made it al the easier to say.

Anna made no comment. Then she smiled tiredly across at me. "I bet you love coming here, don't you? Never a dul moment."

"I do seem to pick my moments to cal , don't I?" I said, and with sudden vertigo remembered the reason for my visit. Anger at Westerman had driven it out of my mind. My tension returned.

"I don't know about you, but I feel like a drink," Anna said. "What would you like?"

I clutched at the offer. "A brandy, if you have one. If not whisky wil be fine." I waited while she poured the drinks and handed me a glass. I cleared my throat. "Have the police cal ed for Marty's notes yet?"

"No, not yet." She sat down and rubbed her eyes. "I don't know what they expect to find, anyway. Love letters between him and another man, or something. If they do, they'l be disappointed. There's nothing like that in them." It sounded more like an assertion than an opinion. I forced myself to wait until I had taken a drink before I asked, "Have you had a look yourself?"

"Only at the file he left here, not the ones at the university."

"And there was nothing in it?"

"No, but I never expected there to be. Just notes, like you'd expect." I cleared my throat again. "Is the one here recent?" She nodded. "It's got the notes he was working on when he disappeared.