The Convenience of Lies (7 page)

Eleven

Evan gives the impression of being at odds with the vulgarity of the mid 1960s. His car is a grey, razor-edged Triumph Renown - the preferred saloon of bank managers and accountants. Yet it fits him, fits the Cambridge don that he is, goes with the sports jacket, the cavalry twill trousers and the hand-made shoes.

This
is McCall’s rival, the man Lexie intends to marry… Lexie, this wilful, earthy girl who now runs barelegged and laughing through the waves that spill across the shore as both her lovers look on.

‘Quite
wonderful, isn’t she?’

McCall
can only nod in agreement. He has yet to grasp the basics of this three cornered arrangement. Its language and conventions are uncomfortable and new.

‘Always
doing her keep-fit exercises, you know. Theatre work’s pretty punishing.’

They
leave Lexie, her feet slap, slap, slapping against the wet sand, her hair damp with spray and unfurling behind her in the wind. McCall follows Evan to the cottage, half a pace behind like a younger brother.

‘We’re
going to have to look after you, aren’t we? You’re run down. Lexie’s told me.’

‘I
caught some infection,’ McCall says. ‘Knocked me sideways.’

Evan
boils their eggs on the paraffin stove, timed at exactly four minutes by his watch, then brews tea in a big brown pot. McCall fetches a bottle of milk from the larder and reaches down two cups from hooks on the painted dresser. They sit either side of a plain scrubbed table sharing the plate of bread which Evan buttered.

‘Eat
up, Mac. You’re going to need all your strength in the days ahead.’

McCall
does as he is told. What else can he say to this paradoxical man? It’s been two days since Lexie summoned him. He came with pills and cough medicine and personally gave them to the boy bedding his fiancée at every opportunity.

Even
in these liberated times, where is the polite conversation to cover that? And yet he seems entirely without malice, as if conceit and male affront are beneath him.

They
wash and dry their plates and cutlery, standing side by side at the earthenware sink. If there is any tension in the little kitchen it is due to McCall’s nervousness, his dread of being called to account for what he cannot help but few would excuse.

‘Lexie’s
got to get the van back,’ Evan says. ‘The hire runs out tonight.’

McCall
looks up, even more wrong-footed. He wants to be with her, not left with Evan. But his thoughts have been read.

‘She’ll
drive back to Cambridge this afternoon and we’ll follow on tomorrow.’

His
tone is kindly enough but firm. McCall is in no position to argue. He resigns himself to face a trial he cannot escape.

Lunch
is dressed crab and salad. They clear away and Lexie kisses them both, throws her bags in the van then drives off. Evan and McCall stand side by side and watch till the Bedford is out of sight.

‘Come
on, let’s go for a toddle,’ Evan says. ‘We’ve much to talk about, you and me.’

*

The grey-green North Sea breaks across the glistening beach, rolling its scattered pebbles ever smoother, ever smaller. Gulls hang in the louring sky and rooks lift off from fields the waves wait to reclaim.

It
seems to McCall that he and Evan are the last two people alive. They keep seaward of the debris left by the last tide. Evan’s brogues leave deeper impressions than McCall’s shoes for he is bigger and heavier. The wind picks up and bends through the spiky grasses stitched across the dunes.

Evan
is in his Gannex coat and wears a squire’s check cap to cover his thin fair hair. The hood of McCall’s parka keeps blowing back so he walks bareheaded in acceptance of his noviciate role.

‘You’re
in big trouble, disappearing like you did,’ Evan says. ‘Your tutor’s a friend of mine. Seems there are two options. Either you find some acceptable personal reason for leaving the university or you will be sent down.’

‘I
was planning to quit anyway.’

‘It’s
a shame because you’re a clever young man, you write well and have insight but you lack discipline, won’t apply yourself. That’s your problem, isn’t it? Too ready to peel off and do something more immediately interesting. Bit of a butterfly.’

Ships
pass on the curve of the far horizon, names unseen, crews unknown. The anonymous life appeals to McCall, goes with his desire to travel but never arrive.

‘I’m
an historian, Mac. I research people who are no more and times for which there are only the sketchiest of records. Events and people and their motives back then were as endlessly complicated as they are now so it is unwise to jump to conclusions about anything or anyone too quickly.’

McCall
knows this outdoor tutorial is no accident. Whatever Evan says today will have a purpose, coded or otherwise. But at its heart is the joust for a lady’s hand. There can only be one winner. Those are the rules of the game.

‘Most
people are rarely what they seem… take you, for instance.’

‘Me?
Why?’

‘Well,
to anyone who doesn’t know better, you’re a bright undergraduate from a well off and well connected family with a big old house in Shropshire. But what’s the real story about you?’

‘That’s
not something I talk about.’

‘Well,
let me try. You’re called Francis after the husband of the couple who adopted you, the Wrenns, because your father was his rear gunner when they flew together in the war. Tragically, your parents were killed in a car crash when you were little. They were quite poor so the Wrenns raised you as their own in rather pleasing surroundings near Ludlow. Mr Wrenn is now a diplomat in Moscow and has hopes for your success in Cambridge. Unfortunately, they’re not going to be realised, are they?’

There
is no hint of triumph or recrimination in Evan’s words. McCall has never been confronted with the facts of his own life by an outsider before. What Evan says is a shock. He has seen behind the veil.

‘How
have you found all this out?’

‘I
know what to ask and of whom to ask it.’

‘But
why have you bothered?’

‘Because
you’ve crossed my path and I need to know about you so I can work out how best to deal with the situation that has arisen.’

McCall
is now aware his infuriatingly conciliatory rival might appear to turn the other cheek but never unclenches his fists. Maybe Evan cannot conceive of life without Lexie, either. Odd as it seems, McCall does not dislike him – quite the opposite.

He
feels Evan actually understands how raw he is inside. It is this compassion which makes him more of a man than one who would knock him to the ground.

But
his inner steeliness disturbs McCall. His own desire for Lexie, the blood-hot, base infatuation to possess her, is no less but now seems shaded by his opponent’s more calculating passion. For all this, McCall remains in the grip of a blind madness. It’s already caused him to step off life as he has known it - and always thought it would be - and drop into the fearful unknown. And the malady has yet to run its course.

*

They
make toast on a long brass fork by the fire then spread it with Norfolk honey for supper. There are two bottles of house red which Evan bought earlier at the Ship Hotel. The room is lit by candles and feels like a den where schoolboys might share secrets.

‘You
must understand, Mac… I do realise how difficult all this must be for you.’

‘Difficult?’

‘Yes, it cannot be easy for you… this… this situation, I mean.’

McCall
can think of nothing to say so keeps quiet.

‘Lexie
and I have known each other many years. She is a singularly complex person for reasons which, if you’ll forgive me for saying, you cannot understand at your age.’

‘I
understand that I love her. Isn’t that enough?’

‘Sadly,
no. The fact is Mac, I shall marry Lexie and you will find someone else. That is what will happen.’

McCall
empties his teacup of wine in a single swig and refills it from the second bottle. He wants to be drunk. He has a sudden urge to shout and fight and draw blood from his enemy then steal his car and drive to Lexie. But where would she be? He doesn’t even know where she lives, only that she lives with Evan. Everything comes back to Evan.

Tears
of frustrated anger well up into McCall’s eyes and he hurls his cup into the hearth. It is a pointless, juvenile gesture which he regrets immediately. Evan clears away the mess with a brush and pan and wipes the wine stain from the chimney breast with a damp cloth.

McCall
sits with his head in his hands. Evan leans against the jamb of the kitchen door, arms folded.

‘If
you will let me, I’ll help you. Nothing that’s happened says we can’t be friends.’

*

McCall’s meeting with his tutor is brief. He leaves with a suitcase containing only a few clothes and the books he intends to keep. He looks haggard and distressed. Of Lexie, he knows nothing. Evan drove him back to Cambridge the previous day. The atmosphere was strained. McCall went to the Arts Theatre but they said Lexie wasn’t there. No one knew where she was or when she might return.

It
is coming mid-day. McCall is at Cambridge Station waiting for a train to London. He might tag along with a blues band he knows and put a soundtrack to a life that’s come off the rails. He dreads having to tell Bea and Francis the worst possible news.

The
station’s buffet is crowded and steamy. He buys a cheese roll and a cup of tea then finds a window seat. Through the condensation, he watches one train depart then another. In his mind, the moment he actually steps inside a carriage will signify he accepts he is beaten. He will have lost everything – and for what? Lexie always belonged to Evan. McCall only borrowed her for a day here, a night there.

He
thinks of a tutorial discussion about a letter from Jack Kerouac’s friend, William S. Burroughs…
There is no intensity of love or feeling that does not involve the risk of crippling hurt. It is our duty to take this risk.
And what then, comrade?

Another
London train is announced. McCall knows he must catch it. He makes for the door. Before he can open it, a girl in a duffel coat walks in… a girl with dancer’s legs, hair the colour of sunshine and a smile which promises pleasures to come.

‘I
guessed you’d be here,’ she says. ‘I’ve got a car outside. Let’s go back to the cottage.’

So
they did for that was what Lexie wanted.

Twelve

Being a Scotland Yard press officer gave Malky Hoare a status he’d never had before, a feeling of managing serious events, not just peddling tabloid scandals from the margins as before. Some of his pre-divorce chutzpah was coming back - thanks to Benwick. He’d pinned a hero-gram on the PR department’s notice board lauding Hoare’s handling of the televised press conference when Etta Ross ran out in distress. Who wouldn’t be thinking cosmetic dentistry?

Hoare
was calling various news desks to alert them to a photo opportunity in the Ruby investigation when McCall rang from a phone box in Norfolk.

‘Glad
you’ve touched base,’ Hoare said. ‘There’s been a significant development. Benwick’s having the reservoir dragged the day after tomorrow. You need to be down here early.’

‘So
he’s given up hope of finding Ruby alive?’

‘Got
to face facts. If they’re not found in the first twenty-four hours, it usually means the worst and the kid’s been gone for over a week now.’

‘How’s
the mother?’

‘In
a hell of a state, apparently.’

‘I’ll
need to talk to her… and Benwick. Let’s meet before any other hacks pitch up.’

‘What
about a coffee, seven-thirty on the day? There’s a greasy spoon in Woodberry Street just by the reservoir. Café Leila, it’s called.’

‘OK,
you’re on. One last question - is the mother a suspect in any of this?’

‘Christ,
Mac. You know I can’t comment on anything like that - even if I knew.’

*

McCall decided against telling Lexie about the reservoir being dragged. If Etta finally answered one of her sister’s many phone calls and mentioned it, he’d still advise against Lexie being there. A body recovered from water can be a gruesome sight.

They’d
time for a walk along the dunes before leaving for Garth Hall. Lexie needed to collect her car then attend to business in Bristol. McCall would head for London.

‘Evan’s
a lovely old sweetheart, isn’t he, Mac?’

‘For
buying the cottage?’

‘It’s
like we’ve got a time machine to travel back to where everything was happy.’

Lexie
squeezed McCall’s hand a little more tightly.

‘Are
you ever going to tell me what you were doing in Oxford that day I saw you?’

‘There’s
not much to say, not really… just dealing with something from the past.’

‘Go
on, I’m listening.’

‘Some
African stuff… something catching up with me.’

‘Don’t
talk in riddles. What happened in Africa?’

He
withdrew his hand from hers and hunched forward slightly as if to make himself a
smaller
target. Lexie stopped and made him face her.

‘Come
on, Mac. Tell me. It’s obviously bothering you.’

McCall
looked away, looked anywhere but into her eyes. It began to drizzle. The sky sank into the sea over Lexie’s shoulder.

‘Some
people got killed… some villagers there.’

‘Killed?’

‘Yes… murdered. Six of them.’

‘You
weren’t there, were you… on a story?’

‘That’s
what I do, isn’t it?’

‘God,
Mac. That’s awful but how’s this connected to Oxford?’

‘Through
a shrink there. He was recommended to me.’

‘Ah,
so that’s it. What happened was bad enough to trouble you, psychologically?’

‘I’d
seen worse… but I was younger then. Life was still a game.’

‘Was
the shrink able to help you?’

‘Not
a lot, no… right out of magic wands that day, apparently.’

*

Neither spoke much on their drive back across England. McCall regretted opening up to her on the beach. Admitting to mental stress felt like confessing to a weakness. But it also exposed him to questions he wasn’t prepared to answer - not to her, anyway. He needed to divert her attention.

‘So,
come on, I’ve given you a confidence so you tell me why you’ve really pitched up in my life again.’

‘Because
Ruby is missing.’

‘No
other reason, then? Just because me being a hack might help you?’

‘Well,
that and I’ve thought about you lots over the years. Felt guilty, I suppose.’

‘But
we were a long time ago.’

‘True
but you were special.’

‘But
not special enough for you not to marry Evan.’

‘You
know, Mac… if you think about it, you should be thankful I didn’t marry you.’

‘Thankful?’

‘Yes, grateful even.’

‘How
do you work that out?’

‘Simply
because I would have destroyed you and your career back then.’

‘In
what way?’

‘My
unfaithful streak was a mile wide. Can you imagine what I’d have got up to while you were away on stories for weeks on end? You could never have trusted me. You’d never have been happy.’

‘So
you were doing me a favour, dumping me?’

‘I
know you were hurt and I’m truly sorry but I knew only Evan could put up with me in the long run. I couldn’t have given you loyalty, not then. Evan represented the security I needed.’

‘So
it wasn’t love between you and Evan - just a matter of convenience?’

‘I
always worked on the basis that if I had two men who cared for me and one went, I’d still have the other.’

‘Do
you regret anything?’

‘Well,
I’ve never had kids with anyone. But as my mother always said, if you’ve none to make you laugh, you’ve none to make you cry.’