Nocturne (45 page)

I had the door open. The biggest of the builders was sawing a
length of timber in the hall. Brendan stepped around the pile of
sawdust, looking back at me.

‘
It
’
s my baby,
’
he said.
‘
I
’
ve got rights here.
’

My hand was behind the door, feeling for the deadlock.

‘
I
’
m not a programme idea,
’
I smiled
‘
You have no rights.
”

Tom phoned back that night. It was nearly ten o
’
clock. I settled on the
floor beside the receiver. Tom was talking about Gilbert.
He
’
d
called
his brother, as he
’
d promised, and he
’
d learned what he could about
what he termed
‘
the works in hand
’
.

‘
Meaning?
’

‘
Your roof,
’
he chuckled.
‘It turns out Gillie wants to put a big telescope up there.
Foolish boy,
he
’
s always had his head in the clouds.
’

‘
He wants what?
’

‘
He wants to build himself an observatory. Actually, it
’
s something
he
’
s always been after. May I ask you a question?
’

I was still thinking about the roof. Gi
lbert had used exactly the same
word,
‘
observatory
’
.

Tom was waiting for an answer.

‘
By all means,
’
I said.
‘
Ask away.
’

‘
How well do yo
u know Gillie
?
’

I pulled my dressing-gown a little more tightly around me. Tom was
a stranger. How candid was I supposed to be?

‘
I know him moderately well,
’
I said.
‘
As you would, sharing a house
with someone.
’

‘
You
’
re friends?
’

‘
Yes, I
’
d say so.
’

‘
Good friends?
’

‘
Er
…
yes.
’

My hesitation drew another chuckle. The next bit took me by
surprise.

‘
I
expect you
’
ve had your little upsets,
’
he said.
‘
Most people seem
to.
Gillie isn
’
t always the easiest person to live with.
’

I thought at once of Kevin Witcher. I told Tom what I knew, based
on what Frankie had told me. Had Gilbert really put him in hospital?

‘
I believe there was some kind of
altercation,
’
Tom said carefully.
‘
Some unpleasantness.
’

‘
Why?
’

‘
Do you really want to know?
’

‘
Yes .. . please.
’

‘
I understand this man
…
Witcher
…
made advances to Gillie.
Physical advances.
Gillie wouldn
’
t have lik
ed that. Not at all. In fact he
was very upset.
’

‘
So he hit him?
’

‘
My dear, I
’
ve honestly no notion of what happened. I don
’
t believe
Witcher went to the police, if that
’
s what you
’
re saying.
It’s inexcusable, of course, physical violence, but I suppose you have to draw the line somewhere.
Gillie
’
s lines have always been a little different to
ours, that
’
s all.
’

I frowned, wondering quite how far to push my curiosity. For
whatever reason, Tom seemed to trust me.

‘
Has Gilbert ever been under treatment?
’
I asked.

‘
For what?
’

‘
For any kind of upset. Mental upset.
Maybe a breakdown of some
kind?
’

‘
What makes you ask that?
’

‘
I
just wondered. Sometimes
…
’
I drew a deep breath, trying to
gauge how long my credit with this man would last,
‘
…
you
’
re right,
he can be difficult. I don
’
t think he means it, I don
’
t think he
’
s wicked,
or evil, or anything like that, but just sometimes he
’
s been a little
…
strange.
’

There. I
’
d said it. There was a long silence
at the other end. Then
Tom returned to the phone
. He
’
d had to see to the dog.
She was wrecking the tassels on
one of the chairs.

‘
Now, my dear, where were we?
’

‘
Your brother,
’
I repeat
ed.
‘
I
was just saying he can be o
dd
sometimes. Not altogether
normal.
’

‘
You mean looney? Go on, say it.
’
He roared with laughter.
‘
Veritas
vincit
omnia
.
Truth conquers all. A spade
’
s a spade, my dear, and we
do Gillie no favours by pretending he
’
s normal.
He isn
’
t.
’

For a moment I didn
’
t know quite how to respond. Tom
’
s language,
to say the least, was picturesque. It s
omehow conjured images of a big
country house, with huge sash win
dows and vast views. There
’
d be
stables, and horses, and a long curl of g
ravel drive, and over the front
door, in fading gilt, would be the family crest.
Veritas
whatever. Truth
conquers all.

I smiled, visualising this chocolate box vision of an England
that had
passed most of us by. Was this where Gilbert belonged?
And if so, what
on earth was he doing in
N17?

‘
Going back to your roofing, my dear,
’
Tom was saying.
‘
I get the
impression it
’
s not quite as dramatic as you think. Gillie says he
’
s
taken advice. That could mean anything, of course, but let
’
s hope he
’
s
seen someone useful. Like an architect. Damn.
’
The dog again. The
cur
tains this time. Tom was back on
the phone.
‘
I really must go, my
dear.
I do hope I
’
ve been of some use. Was there anything else?
’

Quickly, I mentioned the freeholder again. This time, the name
made an impact.

‘
Peter Clewson? You talked to Peter?
’

I blinked.

‘
Yes,
’
I said.
‘
Do you know him?
’

‘
Good Lord, yes. Peter
’
s an old chum. He
’
s been representing the
family forever. He and the bloody dog go back years, generations
probably.
’

I pictured him reaching for the dog. Probably a spaniel, I thought.
Probably liver and white.

‘
But he
’
s our landlord
.
”
I
said.
‘
Or that
’
s what I thought.
’

‘
You
’
re probably right. He very probably is. The old man wouldn
’
t
leave the bloody house to Gillie, not in a million years. Oh no, get the
lawyers involved, keep poo
r Gillie in line. I can hear the old man
saying it.
Typical.
’

‘
He
’
s dead? Your father?
’

‘
Heavens, yes. Years back.
’

I wondered whether I ought to be taking notes. Each fresh answer
triggered a new question in my head, taking me an inch or two closer
to the man upstairs. I thought I could hear the dog in the background
now, though it might have been my imagination.

‘
If I phoned again,
’
I said quickly,
‘
might that be OK ?
’

‘
Good Lord, yes, whenever you like. What was the name again?
’

‘
Julie. Julie Emerson.
’

‘
Phone any time, Julie,
’
he chuckled.
‘
It
’
ll be a pleasure, an absolute
pleasure.
’

The roof was fixed by the end of the week. To the naked eye it was
simplicity itself, a long glass
panel
set in a rather nice wooden frame,
much like any rooflight. The following week a United Parcels van
delivered something long and bulky which I took - correctly - to be
the telescope. Within an hour, Gilbert had it up in the loft and, when I
next checked from the road, the glass p
anel had slipped back to reveal
a big glass eye on the end of a long, black barrel.

It was dusk, still light, but Gilbert must have been up there getting
himself ready for the first twinkle in the
night sky because the telescope
moved from time to time, traversing
left and right on some kind of
tripod. Watching him, before returnin
g inside, I thought again about
the contents of the audio cassette
he
’
d left under my pillow, the
weekend he
’
d slept in my bed. The gis
t of the message was simple: we
were all facing oblivion, either economic,
or spiritual, or - most likely
of all - as a result of some enormo
us onrushing asteroid. I remem
bered, too, Gilbert
’
s strange obsession with wh
at he called The Dark.
Was this why he
’
d installed the telescope? To get on closer terms?

Later that evening I shared the thoug
ht in another conversation with
his brother, Tom. I
’
d phoned out of
courtesy to say that my earlier
fears had been entirely misplaced. It w
as, I thought, the very least I
owed him.