Closed Circle (6 page)

I shook my head. "Nobody can. Not even.. . Not even God." The profundity sounded strange and unfamiliar on my lips. I doubt I had spoken of the Almighty, other than profanely, in more than ten years. To find myself doing so now, in such a setting, was bizarre, as Charnwood seemed to acknowledge.

"A strange thought, eh? If you could change one thing, just one, that the past has placed beyond your reach, what would it be?"

Unaccountably, I heard myself reply honestly and instinctively. "I would give my brother Felix back his sanity. He lost it..." My words failed as I realized how revealing my answer was. It was the first time I had mentioned Felix's name to a stranger since leaving Letchworth. "He lost it in the war," I concluded.

"Ah, the war," said Charnwood reflectively. "Always there is the war."

"What would you change?"

"I would prevent my wife boarding the Lusitania in New York on the first of May 1915. The war again, you see?" We eyed each other warily, suspicious of the intimate direction our exchanges had taken. Both of us, I think, were happy to draw back. "The present is so much simpler, Mr. Horton. Take your money and leave my daughter alone. It's all you have to do. It's all either of us can reasonably ask. Don't you agree?"

"Yes. I do."

Then enjoy your meal. And drink your wine." He raised his glass and stretched across the table to touch it against mine. "May you spend your ill-gotten gains wisely."

CHAPTER

THREE

A wet bank holiday week-end in London would ordinarily have depressed me beyond measure, but the excellent news I had for Max served to keep my spirits up. On Tuesday, I introduced Atkinson-White to Trojan over lunch at Trojan's club. Our discussions went well and I returned to Hay Hill afterwards in a mood of brandy-mellowed self-satisfaction. On entering the flat, I found Max patrolling the hearth-rug, a cigar in one hand, a glass of champagne in the other. The smirk on his face suggested he had good cause for celebration, which puzzled me somewhat, since I had not yet told him what it was.

"Guy," he proclaimed, clapping me on the shoulder. "You're just in time. Help yourself to some bubbly."

The 'bubbly' turned out to be a rather splendid Pol Roget, propped idly in an ice-bucket on the table. "Has Charnwood spoken to you?" I asked as I poured myself a glass. "I didn't think he intended to."

"In the circumstances, it's for me to speak to him. Which I shall do, next week-end." He frowned at me. "I take it you've guessed my news?"

"Not exactly."

"Diana's agreed to marry me." A huge grin spread across his face. "You can drink to our future happiness." He drained his glass and started towards the ice-bucket, then realized that no champagne had passed my lips. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. It's just .. ." A pleasing thought came to my mind. "Actually, this makes it better still. An engagement means we may be able to negotiate a supplement."

"A supplement to what?"

"I had lunch with Charnwood on Friday. He's prepared to pay us two thousand pounds. I thought it was as high as he'd go, but if you're '

"Two thousand pounds?" Max stepped closer and stared at me. "What does he want for his money?"

"Our departure from his daughter's life. Your departure, I should say."

"You can't be serious."

"It's what we planned, isn't it? It's Le Touquet all over again. And it's more than we extracted from Toogood. Of course I'm serious."

"Did you agree?"

"Naturally. But not so explicitly that I can't ask for another few hundred. He may cut up rough, but it's worth '

"You agreed? Without consulting me?"

"What was the point? It's just the sort of deal we were hoping for. Better, I'd say. So, let me propose a toast. To our continuing prosperity."

Suddenly, Max snatched the glass from my hand and slammed it down beside the ice-bucket so violently that the stem snapped, spilling a fizzing pool across the table. But he paid it no heed. His face was darkening ominously, his mouth quivering angrily. "You shouldn't have done this, Guy. Damn it all, you had no right to do it."

"What the devil's the matter with you?" Looking into his eyes, I began to see what the answer might be, but I did not want to believe it. "I've done well by both of us. Two thousand pounds is one hell of a lot of big wins at Goodwood."

"She's agreed to marry me!" he shouted, lunging away across the room. He stopped by the mantelpiece and leaned against it, running his fingers through his hair and grimacing like a man distracted. "We're pledged to each other."

"Then break your pledge. It wouldn't be the first time. But I can't recall another occasion as profitable as this."

"ProfitableT He glared back at me. "What profit is there for me in abandoning the girl I..." His voice faltered as he realized what he was about to admit. Then he seemed to cast aside all pretence,

standing upright and turning to confront me. "I love her, Guy. And she loves me."

"What?"

"You heard. And you're going to have to accept it. Just as Charnwood is. Diana and I will be married. There will be no accommodations, no hole-in-the-corner deals. I will not be bought off."

"I don't believe it."

"You must. For once in my life, I'm not for sale."

"But.. . you promised. We signed a contract."

"And I'll honour it. You'll have your share of the marriage settlement."

There'll be no settlement. For God's sake, Max, there'll be no marriage. Charnwood won't allow it. And if you persist in this madness, we won't even have two thousand pounds to remember him by."

"I don't want his money. I want his daughter."

"Then have her. Before you cut and run. But cut and run you must."

A look came into his eyes such as I had seen many times, but never before directed at me. It was one of utter contempt. "You don't understand the meaning of the word love, do you, Guy? I don't blame you. Neither did I, till I met Diana. I ought to ram what you've just said about her back down your throat. And I will, if you dare to repeat it. I'll let it pass this once, for old time's sake. But, if you set any store by our friendship, don't ever take her name in vain again. If you do, it'll be the end between us. For good and all."

He was deadly serious. There was no longer any room for doubt. He was in love with Diana Charnwood. Or, as I saw it, he was sufficiently obsessed with her to glorify his emotions with such a description. But the definition was less important than the effect. And the effect, in my judgement, could only be disastrous for both of us. "Let's take this calmly," I said, as much for my own benefit as Max's. There's no reason for us to fall out."

"I agree. As long as you don't interfere in my plans."

"I won't. But Charnwood will. He knows a lot about us. And he has the resources to find out more. He won't hesitate to tell Diana what sort of lives we've led."

"Let him. She knows I'm no angel. And she knows her father won't approve of her choice of husband. Not initially, anyway.

That's why we've agreed she'll spend the next few days winning him over. She can twist him round her little finger. I've seen her do it. By the time I go down there next week-end, he'll already be as good as convinced. Once I explain the misapprehension you and he were labouring under .. ."

"He'll shake you by the hand and give his consent. Is that how you see it?"

"Yes. It is. And why not? Beneath the bluster, he only wants Diana to be happy. Well, so do I."

"Max, it's not as simple as '

"It's as simple as this!" He pointed his finger at me imperiously. "We love each other and we mean to be married. Do you understand?"

"Yes. I rather think I do."

"Good. In a few days, Charnwood will as well. Until then, I don't want to hear another word on the subject."

An uneasy truce prevailed between Max and me for the rest of that week. There was clearly nothing I could do to make him see reason. I could only hope Charnwood would succeed where I had failed and adhere to the terms we had agreed. But unpleasant doubts about the whole enterprise had been sown in my mind. The money was there for the taking. My every instinct told me not to delay in accepting it. Yet delay was the only policy Max would permit. And any protest by me seemed likely to provoke a permanent rupture between us.

The atmosphere in the flat became, not surprisingly, intolerable. Eager to escape it, I embarked on a journey which it had been in my mind to undertake since my meeting with Charnwood. For he had prompted me to speak of my brother Felix. And I knew I could confide in Felix with absolute confidence for the simple reason that he would not remember a single thing I said. He would probably not even remember my visit. And, if he did, nobody would believe him. Not my father or my sister, anyway. However low their opinion of me might be, I was certain it would not have sunk to the point where they could be persuaded I had returned to England after seven years without troubling to tell them.

So it was that on Friday morning I walked to St. Pancras and caught a train out into the Hertfordshire countryside south of St. Albans. My destination was Napsbury Hospital, where

Felix had been admitted in 1917, supposedly suffering from neurasthenia, a diagnosis later amended to embrace whichever neurosis his doctors had last chanced upon in the writings of Sigmund Freud. I had always thought bad luck was what Felix really suffered from, the bad luck to have enlisted in the Hertfordshire Regiment and to have served on the Western Front, where, by losing his sanity, he was only responding logically to the madness of his situation. Conversely, I had had the good luck to enlist in the King's Royal Rifle Corps, which happened to be based in Winchester and to have close links with the College OTC. I had served in the safe if disagreeable backwater of Macedonia, where one was more likely to die of malaria than enemy action and where, as if to prove the point, Max had been shot by one of our own men. I had returned cynical, selfish and intact, whereas Felix had returned like a parcel crushed in the post the fastening unravelled, the contents either missing or mangled, the blame shrugged off with official disdain.

I walked the quarter of a mile from Napsbury station to the hospital wondering whether I had been wise to come. I had not seen Felix for four years. Judging by his deterioration during previous such intervals, it was impossible to feel optimistic about what I would find. None the less, I pressed on, bracing myself for the gloom which always seemed to pervade the sprawl of red-brick ward-blocks and out-buildings. Recent storms had added a sodden and wind-lashed despondency to the scene, but the day was dry and along the paths that wound between the fir trees one or two patients were to be seen, fitfully a-tremble and aimlessly wandering.

I entered Felix's ward full of foreboding and noticed the nurse's surprised expression when I said who I wanted to see. He was fetched from a crowded sitting-room where a wireless was playing loudly and emerged looking faintly resentful. He was as thin as ever, but more stooped and tremulous than I recalled, a strange mixture of the dashing young soldier and the querulous old invalid. But he recognized me at once. He had always done so, even when hopelessly vague about the identity of others. He recognized me and threaded his arm through mine.

"Come to.. . Come to take me for a walk, Gewgaw?" He had dubbed me "Gewgaw' when I won my scholarship to Winchester, infuriating me with his explanation that Dr. Johnson's definition of a gewgaw 'splendidly trifling, showy without value' fitted me exactly. I resented it no more, merely marvelled that he still remembered.

"A walk sounds like a good idea," I replied, catching the nurse's nod of approval. We headed slowly towards the exit. "How have you been, Felix?"

"I caught a cold."

"Rather like the government."

He frowned at me, then said: "Is Mr. Asquith ill?"

Not having the heart to tell him Asquith" was long since dead and gone, I mumbled, "Not exactly," and led him out into the grounds. "What shall we talk about?" I ventured, as we inched our way along a tree-shaded path.

"Any .. . Anything."

"I'm sorry not to have seen much of you lately."

"I expect.. . you've been busy."

"Yes. I have." I smiled. "Buying and selling parts of the Florida Everglades as building land. Striking deals between Canadian brewers and New England speak-easys. Sitting on the board of half a dozen high-sounding investment trusts. Riding the boom -and the bust. Oh yes, I've been very busy. Lately, I've even tried my hand at match-making. And match-breaking."

He stared at me uncomprehendingly. "They won't give me any matches."

"I expect they're worried about fires."

"They want to keep me ... in the dark."

"The staff, you mean?"

"No. The enemy."

Thinking he meant the Germans, I said, "The war's over, Felix."

"That's what they want you ... to believe. But it isn't. The squirrels know. They see them." A squirrel was at that moment scurrying across the path ahead of us. "They see them in the trees."

"Who do they see?"

"The enemy .. . following me ... waiting for ... their chance."

I looked around. "Nobody's following us."

He smiled at me, indulgently as it seemed, scarcely expecting me to understand. "You can't see them. They won't let you. Only ... a glimpse. Now and then ... when the light fades ... and they grow careless. That's when I see them .. . from the corner of my eye. But I can never .. . never catch a clear sight." We came to a dead stop. "Can you?"

I shrugged, not knowing what to say.

"You have my eyes, Gewgaw. Maybe .. . one day .. . you'll catch a clear sight of them. Then we'll know .. . who they really are. Won't we?"

Still I said nothing, struck as I had been before by the oddly disturbing nature of Felix's delusions. In a world that thought itself so wise yet behaved so stupidly, it was possible sometimes to believe that only the mad saw matters as they truly were, that only people like my brother were prepared to admit what they saw from the corner of their eye.

"You'll tell me ... if you do, won't you?" he persisted. "You'll come .. . and tell me?"