Such Men Are Dangerous (16 page)

Josh nodded. “And actually, while we’re on the subject, I’ve got to ask that neither of you will mention it before my wife. It’s still a bit of a sore point.”

“Then you did it off your own bat?”

“Well, I’m not the type who—once he has an idea—likes to waste time. I believe you really have to make a grab for what you want in life.”

Geraldine wondered how much notice teachers had to give; she would have thought it was a term. But all she said was, “Mm. I think I might faintly have gathered that impression even before we met!”

“
Touché
, Miss Coe.”

“Jericho,” said Graeme.

“That may have sounded drier than I meant it to. I’m very much in sympathy. Both with you and your wife.”

“Yes, it’s been hard on Dawn, of course, and the kids. But in a strange way they’ve got something out of it. My wife has found religion. And the boys…well, they too after a fashion. And all of them, they’ve got their angel.”

“And would you say,” asked Graeme, “that
you’d
got anything out of it?”

“Oh, myself—yes, in all honesty, I think I have.” His expression was wryly self-mocking. “You see, Dickens here has embarked upon the Great British Novel. The
definitive
Great British Novel.”

“Has he indeed?” said Geraldine. “That’s wonderful! What’s it about?”

“The effects of unemployment. People who’ve not been out of work…they may be sensitive, imaginative, as well-intentioned as all getout but they really have no idea, no idea at all.” He smiled. “Yes, I know! It all sounds very dreary! But I trust it won’t be, any more than
Hard Times
or
Bleak House
.”

“Have you a title yet?” asked Geraldine. “May I read some of it?”

“
Behold a White Horse
. But, no, I wouldn’t want anyone to look at the book, not even you, until at least the first draft is finished.”

“I can understand that. How long will it take?”

“A further six months?”

“You won’t mind my mentioning it, though?”

“Advance promotion? Not at all.” Josh told himself he’d better get to work on it—and fast! He could think of no better incentive. He watched her write in shorthand what he took to be the title.

“Then I certainly wish you luck with it. Now, what about this second thing you spoke of on the telephone? A sort of sign, you said, which even you couldn’t put down to coincidence.”

“No, I think I’ll let Dawn tell you about that.”

“
Her
miracle, is it?”

“She’ll do it more justice. Besides, you’re right, she’s the person who actually saw it. Well, she and Mickey, I should say.”

“In that case, what about this tour you promised, while the light’s still good?”

It was not an extensive tour. Graeme took pictures of both St Matthew’s and the vicarage. Geraldine had hoped to meet the vicar in the process but Simon was spending the afternoon in Lincoln and since Mrs Madison had earlier informed Dawn (whose husband had suggested Simon might feel flattered to hear of Janice’s engagement) that she always grabbed the chance to accompany him and thereby shop at Sainsbury’s, there was no one to photograph outside the vicarage…other than Josh, who had already been photographed outside the church. At four o’clock they went to High Ridge and met the two boys. There Graeme posed them together in front of the building and then shot them surrounded by several of their classmates. Geraldine afterwards spoke to a few of these. She was impressed, yet vaguely worried, by the fact that nobody appeared to know anything about what had happened to the Heaths last Wednesday. One of the younger girls asked shyly if they were making a commercial for some wonder spot-remover and there was a good deal of giggling and speculation until the headmaster himself came out, attracted by the growing crowd. But even Mr Dane told Geraldine he had no idea of anything newsworthy, nationally newsworthy, having befallen any of his pupils.

“Bar the spots?”

“Yes, that was strange, very strange indeed, but hardly worth the notice of Fleet Street I’d have thought.”

He looked at her expectantly and was clearly disappointed by her reticence, no matter how politely she made conversation.

“But if you’d be so kind as to let me talk to you tomorrow, Mr Dane, after you’ve had time to read the
Chronicle
; and if perhaps I could meet some members of your staff…?”

Then seeing that Graeme had by this time got everything he needed, she excused herself tactfully and joined him and the three others for the brief ride back to Tiffany’s, where Graeme wanted shots of the boys taken at the scene of their encounter.

After she’d looked around for salient details, she moved back a short way, to stand next to Josh. “Was that the school where you used to teach?” she inquired.

“No.” He seemed to hesitate before telling her which that had been.

She asked him why he hadn’t spoken to Mr Dane.

He shrugged. “Some deep, subconscious resistance to authority, maybe?”

It hadn’t looked all that subconscious, though. “Must make it hard on open evenings.”

“Oh, when your children are as bright as mine you don’t need to attend those things.” He didn’t add that Dawn went to them unfailingly.

“I’ll tell you what amazes me: that they could have kept all this so utterly secret for the past five days! They must be quite remarkable.”

“They are. And if they hadn’t been, why do you think this angel would have chosen them?”

“My goodness,” she said.

“What?”

“Could the confirmed atheist be undergoing a change of heart?”

“Good God, no.” He gave his swift, attractive grin. “I’m afraid my mind was on something else.”

“Ah.”

When the two of them were sitting in the car again, a little ahead of the others, who were choosing ice creams for themselves, he asked, “How long will you be staying? Or don’t you know yet?”

“Well, at least until tomorrow. Graeme goes back this evening.”

“The Royal’s a good place. It’s just on that corner, if you look through the rear window. Beyond the petrol station.”

As she screwed round, instead of moving his body away to give her room, he appeared to bring it slightly towards her. The contact wasn’t much, yet she was suddenly aware of a tension between them that was sensual and electric. She quickly drew back. And when she spoke again she was relieved to hear her voice sound normal.

“Tell me, Josh. Why did the boys look so surprised to see us just now and what did Billy mean when he told you he thought Mr Madison had asked for a few days of…something or other…and you cut him off and said there’d been a change of policy?”

“Simon Madison’s the vicar.”

“I know that.”

“Did I say a change of policy?”

She smiled. “I got the impression you might be trying to keep something from me.”

“It can’t have been important. If I remember I’ll let you know.”

She nodded, reflectively: now formulating a suspicion she hadn’t consciously admitted until then.

Could she trust him?

The boys returned soon after. This time Michael sat at the front while William squeezed in next to his father at the back. Graeme had gone into the
Scunthorpe Evening Telegraph
, whose office was hardly twenty yards from the parked car, and asked for any photographs they might have of the vicar of St Mathew’s. He came back carrying a Manila envelope.

Then they drove down West Street, to the block of flats where the Heaths lived.

There, Josh ran upstairs to prepare his wife for the arrival of the press. She flustered easily, he said; he’d thought it better not to give her any warning. And when the others followed him up after the agreed five minutes she was clearly far from happy. Yet, equally clearly, she responded well to Graeme, a fact Geraldine found less surprising then than later, and by the time he’d taken a dozen photos and said he must depart she was pressing him to stay for at least a cup of tea. Though he declined with lazy Aussie charm, and a promise he’d take her up on it the next time he hit Scunthorpe, Geraldine of course accepted.

“Not,” she murmured sweetly, stooping at the nearside window, “that
I
rate even as a consolation prize, you great smooth layabout from Bondi Beach!”

“Jericho, stop griping, will you? Can’t you see you’re well in with the trumpet player?”

“Trumpet player?”

“And the walls came tumbling down!”

“Now
there
, as a matter of fact, you do find an example of a man with sex appeal.”

“Well, you know the place they say you’ll often get the best story?”

Back upstairs, she joined a mildly relapsed Dawn in the kitchen, where, while tea was being prepared, the talk was fleetingly of Graeme, then of the angel, finally of Mr Apsbury. Elderly vicars, it seemed, could make Dawn forget both about secret troubles and large young Australians and even perhaps about messengers from heaven; and to begin with Geraldine viewed such a fast-returning interest in church life as nothing more than sublimation—until she realized she was doing this and rebuked herself for indulging in not merely an anti-feminist but, maybe worse, a stereotypical way of thinking.

She fought, too, against forming glib judgments on the angel story: it was very plain the boys believed in what they’d told her. And the business of the almost disfiguring acne…what was one to make of that? She’d been shown a snapshot, obviously a recent one. (Had borrowed it, as well.) She thought that Geoff would have to come up with some pretty solid medical opinion in the face of such evidence (ha, ha!) as indeed, knowing him, she supposed there was little doubt he would.

But,
from one moment to the next
…She would stake her career on it Dawn was neither lying nor even consciously exaggerating. So what was the answer? Josh Heath, out for fame and fortune, taking a crash course in hypnotism? The notion made her smile. Yet leaving aside such tempting possibilities, what were you left with? A miracle? Two miracles? A message?

Thank God though, she reflected, she had only to report, not interpret.

And, as to that, she did her reporting from outside the general post office. It took her fifteen minutes to dictate the story. Luckily it was a good line and so for once she didn’t have to enunciate like Sybil Thorndike. But, all the same, this evening she tried extra hard to eliminate all chance of ambiguity. For, if the copy-taker’s reaction was any real guide, people were going to be sufficiently incredulous anyhow.

24

Dawn Heath had insisted on her having tea with them: an omelette and chips, with bread and jam and homemade cake. They were a nice family, Geraldine thought. Although the boys didn’t say much, they were attentive and polite, and if an angel were going to appear to any teenage lads, why not to them? They joined in their mother’s speculations on the nature of the publicity to come and what the reactions of the world were most likely to be. What they
ought
to be, at any rate: Dawn furnished lengthy quotations complete with chapter and verse and rather warm, velvety cheeks. The quote which seemed to give her the most comfort, however, since she came back to it three times, was not in fact from the Bible.
God moves in a mysterious way his wonders to perform
. Her second favourite was more orthodox:
All things work together for good to them that love God
. Geraldine noticed that on the five or six occasions Dawn looked at her husband and then appeared to falter again, one or other of these statements almost visibly restored her confidence. Only Josh himself remained apart from all of this: not silent but not serious. Geraldine became impatient of his comments. Once he even winked at her over the top of William’s head. She felt prissily shocked and pretended she hadn’t seen.

But then he also seemed apart from the other main topic of conversation: the engagement of their daughter to a young man from Sheffield who was ‘really nice’ according to Dawn, ‘ace’ according to Michael and ‘okay’ according to his brother. “She’s a very lucky girl and so are we, Josh, aren’t we, we’re extremely blest! (Of course, Donald is, too, Miss Coe; I think I can say that, even if I do happen to be her mum!) Yes, praise the Lord, if we do half as well with the sweethearts these two eventually bring home (and indeed I know we will: every
bit
as well) then at least we’ll never have much to complain about in
that
direction. Not that I’m inferring we should complain at all, ever, about anything…Oh, pay no attention to him, Miss Coe: those faces he’s always pulling: you can never get him to show that he’s in tune with the rest of us, it’s really easier not to try.” Geraldine made no answer but she could see that over four years’ unemployment might have affected him far less positively than he’d acknowledged; and she felt she knew him no better now than after his telephone call eight hours ago.

After tea, though, she was given a further opportunity to put this right.

“Miss Coe’s going to be stopping at the Royal,” he announced. “I’ll walk her up there.”

“Oh, no,” she said, “you mustn’t bother.”

“Can I come, too?” asked Michael.

“
May
,” said his father, adding firmly, “No—you’ve got your homework.”

“I noticed a mistake that Mum made earlier.” The boy smiled ingratiatingly.

“Nothing to the mistake she made about fifteen years ago.”

“You mean, when marrying you?”

“Then that would really turn you into one, wouldn’t it?”

“No.” He shook his head happily. “Only Janice and Billy. Not me.”

“All right: that round to you. But if you’re going to turn into a self-satisfied little stoolie you needn’t reckon you don’t also qualify. Besides…”

“What?”

“Angels don’t have dealings with informers. At least,
I
certainly wouldn’t trust one that did.”

Geraldine couldn’t be sure how much of this was staged for her benefit. The good parent syndrome: here you see more of a friend than a father! Then again she felt irritated with herself. In all probability it
had
contained an element of showmanship but if she hadn’t been there she thought that it could still have taken place.

They walked through a shopping precinct towards the High Street, Josh carrying her small suitcase, and at the first crossroad he took her arm although there wasn’t any traffic. She became increasingly certain that within the next half-hour he was going to make a pass at her. What was less certain was whether she would mind.