Binscombe Tales - The Complete Series (21 page)

‘Not at that time in the early hours,’ said Esther, decisively.

‘An illegal, pirate channel?’

‘They wouldn’t get much of an audience with that standard of show, and anyway, I rang up the IBA monitoring service. There was no such unofficial broadcasts that night.’

‘A fault on the tape? A snippet of a previous recording?’

‘We’ve used it before without anything showing up.’

‘Um... how about a freak effect whereby cockpit transmissions from planes passing overhead are picked up by your aerial?’

Esther was scornful now.

‘Oh, come on, Mr Oakley; we might as well say it’s a ghost and be done with it as accept that.’

‘Sorry, I was clutching at straws there.’

‘I should think you were.’

Disvan’s face was occupied by a smug smile.

‘It’s a bit of a puzzle, isn’t it?’ he said.

‘And so it will remain if you don’t assist,’ said Esther Constantine sharply. ‘We expected more of you. Don’t forget you were a fellow traveller once, far more prominent that we ever were, so don’t act all so superior.’

His smirk vanished instantly.

‘You’re quite right, ladies,’ he replied, almost apologetic. ‘I’ve no right to mock when you’ve asked our advice and we’ve freely agreed to give it. What would you like me to do?’

‘Explain it away in some logical manner, for preference,’ said Esther, ‘but, failing that, suggest what we can do next.’

Mr Disvan licked his lips, more uncomfortable than I’d seen him for some while.

‘Well,’ he started, ‘an explanation’s not possible on present evidence, but presumably it would help if you could tell what the face on the screen is saying.’

‘It certainly would,’ agreed Esther, ‘but the voice isn’t clear, not even with the sound right up. We’ve tried that.’

‘I don’t doubt you have, but I’ve also got some facility with lip-reading. I didn’t study him that closely first time round, but the face’s mouth is fairly clear to see. So, if you’ll kindly play the tape over again, I’ll try and distinguish some words.’

‘Where did you pick up that skill?’ I asked.

‘Oh, a long time ago,’ Disvan ‘replied’, as always avoiding any direct question about his past.

There was no opportunity to pursue my query, as Esther Constantine had started the video machine once more and Mr Disvan was studying the ‘half-finished face’ with great concentration. I also observed it, and found the experience no more pleasing second time around. In itself, what we were seeing was of no great moment—merely an indistinct head and shoulders mouthing words we could neither hear or understand.  However, the overall effect was chilling because the figure clearly bore no good will to those to whom it spoke. It seemed to resent the moments when its image on the screen receded or drifted out of focus, and increased its vehemence of speech upon returning into relatively clear view.

A cold and unpleasant thought came into my mind to the effect (despite an entire lack of supporting evidence) that the face was watching us just as we were watching it. I was therefore exceedingly pleased when the second screening came, soon after, to its sudden end.

‘Right then, Mr Disvan,’ said Esther, ‘what was it saying?’

Disvan ignored this direct question and looked at the sisters in what I can only describe as a suspicious manner.

‘And you say that you know nothing about this thing at all?’ he asked.

‘No, not a thing,’ Dorothy answered for them both.

‘That’s why we called you in,’ Esther added.

‘Well, I’m afraid I can’t help you.’ Disvan’s tone was very final.

‘But couldn’t you tell what it was saying?’ asked Esther, now very alarmed indeed.

‘No, I couldn’t. Not in any way that makes sense, at least.’

‘So what shall we do, then?’ Esther persisted.

‘I suggest you simply ignore it. Wipe the tape and forget this ever happened.’

‘That’s hardly a solution,’ commented Dorothy tartly.

Disvan was curt, almost angry.

‘In the absence of a ideologically acceptable answer from the volumes behind us, it’s the very best advice I can offer—and all you’re going to get. Take it or leave it. Come along, Mr Oakley, we must be going.’

With that we departed from the house, leaving a fractious and uneasy atmosphere behind us. Out once again in the mist and cold, I challenged Disvan with what had just occurred, for I was—almost—as curious about the apparition as the Constantines.

‘So what was the problem back there?’ I asked. ‘I don’t think you’re telling all you know.’

‘A very common fault of mine, according to you,’ he replied.

‘It is, and you’re doing it again.’

‘Well, if you insist on an explanation, I’ll merely say that I suspect that the Constantine’s sins have found them out, to paraphrase the Good Book. If they were to be honest with themselves, they’d admit it and would thereby have the answer they want. And that, Mr Oakley, is my final and definitive comment on the matter.’

‘Which in practical terms isn’t the least bit enlightening.’

‘Maybe so, but there again clarity isn’t always a good thing. Far better to have your peace of mind.’

This statement also begged a number of questions, but I decided to let it pass. Bitter experience had taught me that attempts to wheedle information out of Disvan, once he had made up his mind to remain obscure, were a waste of time and effort. Resolving to take more care over the timing of recordings on my own video machine, I put the Constantines’ problem out of my mind and rejoined the throng in the Argyll.

Later in the evening, I noticed Mr Disvan deep in conversation with Doctor Bani-Sadr, no unusual thing in itself but curious because of the privacy they sought and the deep seriousness of their manner. Both had grim expressions on their faces and the latter from time to time shook his head, vehemently denying something that Disvan was asserting.

Since the night was well advanced by that time, my thoughts lacked the necessary agility to connect this Binscombe summit meeting with the earlier part of the evening and I therefore paid it little heed. However, if I had known then of the horrible events which were to fill the weeks to come, I would not have thought their concern misplaced.

*  *  *

Prior to the video tape incident it was a rare thing for the Constantine sisters to visit the Duke of Argyll. They had, apparently, an old fashioned attitude towards being seen in a public house, and a strong disapproval of the landlord calling his dog Lenin. Following that particular evening, however, it seemed like hardly a day would pass without one or both favouring us with their company. On each occasion they would sidle up to Mr Disvan and attempt to engage him in a private conversation. He would listen to them for a brief moment and then, in an uncharacteristic gesture, dismiss both them and their tale or petition (for we were not privy to what was being said) with an impatient wave of his hand. Taking our lead from him, the other leading figures of the village similarly pretended that nothing was amiss and, aside from a friendly ‘good evening’, offered no assistance to the clearly troubled Constantines.

This went on for the best part of a fortnight, until one evening when the sisters entered the bar in such a state of distress that neither Disvan nor the rest of us could harden our hearts against them any longer.

Previously, the sisters had always maintained a facade, at least, of stern self control and forbearance, in keeping with their public image as educated and respectable pillars of local society. Now, though, it was transparently clear to all that some experience had rendered them careless of the impression they made.

Both came up to Mr Disvan and myself where we were standing at the bar. Esther Constantine grasped Disvan by the lapel and, controlling her feelings with difficulty, she said in a level voice, ‘We’ll beg, if that is what you require, we’ll drag you there if necessary, but come you must. Things cannot go on as they are. We’re in grave danger. We’re comrades of old and it’s your duty to help us.’

The fear and unhappiness on the old ladies’ faces would have melted even a solicitor’s hardness of heart, but Mr Disvan said nothing. He looked pointedly at the hand on his lapel and then at the supplicant Constantines—people whom I’d thought to be his friends. Something in his gaze caused Esther to release her grip.

‘Please... for old times’ sake?’ hazarded Dorothy.

Disvan seemed set to remain implacable against the sisters until he happened to glance up and saw that all eyes in the Argyll were upon him and that he was surrounded by reproachful faces.

‘All right, then,’ he said. ‘For old times’ sake. Let’s go and get it sorted out.’

*  *  *

‘It’s off now,’ said Esther Constantine, pointing to her television set, ‘but there’s no telling what it’ll do next.’

Mr Disvan and I (myself by special invitation) were once again in the ladies’ living room and they were recounting the events that had brought them to their present state of fear. Mr Disvan was trying to piece together their scattered and disjointed testimony.

‘You’re saying, then, that the television switched itself on and the “half finished face” was on the screen.’

‘That’s right,’ said Dorothy. ‘On every channel.’

‘How do you know that?’ I asked.

‘Because I used the remote control channel selector to try and get rid of it, Mr Oakley. How else?’

There was a sort of Binscombe logic to this that furrowed my brow even as I accepted it. Mr Disvan pressed on.

‘What did the face say?’

‘Gibberish for the most part,’ Esther answered. ‘Random words, inaudible phrases, hysterical laughter—that sort of thing.’

‘And some profanity too,’ added Dorothy.

‘That also, and all in a voice that was neither a man’s nor a boy’s but some sort of mixture of the two. It wasn’t even particularly human for that matter because it went up too high and down too low for a person’s voice.’

‘And how often has this happened?’ I asked.

‘To begin with, once an evening, but in the last week it’s been getting far more frequent. Yesterday the face was appearing every hour or so whether the set was on or not.’

‘Why not just take the plug out?’ I asked, making what I thought to be a reasonable suggestion. ‘There’ll be no question of the set coming on then.’

The sisters looked at me with barely concealed contempt.

‘That’s hardly what we’d call a resolution, Mr Oakley; merely abject surrender,’ said Esther.

‘We’re very fond of our television,’ added Dorothy in an aggrieved tone. ‘Why should we be made to give it up by that thing?’

I reflected that the Constantines’ fighting spirit had soon been restored to them by their faith in Mr Disvan’s assistance, and I henceforth kept my counsel to myself.

‘Well, I still think that this problem is of your own making,’ said Mr Disvan mysteriously, ‘although a “resolution” of it may be more elusive and perhaps beyond you or anyone else. However, I’ve undertaken to help you, against my better judgement may I say, and that’s what I’ll try to do. Switch the set on and we’ll wait for the face’s return.’

‘What good will that do?’ said Esther.