The Count of Eleven (39 page)

“Ms Conning?”

“That’s who I am. Who are you?”

“Onze. We spoke.”

“Come in,” she said with a gesture as though she were flicking an invisible cigarette at the gate, and turned back to him when she reached the house. “Weren’t you supposed to be bringing your daughter?”

“She couldn’t make it, I’m afraid. I’ll tell you all you need to know.”

“I like to see who I’m togging,” the dressmaker said, and stepped into the house. “Well, as long as you’re here, come in.”

Jack frowned at the toddler while smiling at the same time, and was answered by a loud suck on the dummy. “Are you leaving her out here?”

“She’ll be all right so long as you’ve closed the gate properly,” Amy Conning said with more than a hint of accusation. “She can’t reach the latch.”

Jack went up the gravel drive, noticing that nobody except the toddler and her mother had seen him, and hesitated on the doorstep. “Isn’t there anyone else to look after her?”

“My parents live up the road. They’ll be round in an hour or so.”

They might need to come sooner than that, the Count reflected. There was a phone in the hall, next to a staircase with open treads, and another Conning who lived locally ought to be easy to find in the directory beside the phone; he wouldn’t have to say much. He followed the dressmaker past the front room and another which smelled of cloth and which was crowded with torsos in various stages of undress, raised trophy-like on poles. His fingers were straying to the lock of the briefcase when Amy Conning dumped the bag of groceries on the kitchen table and turned on him. “No need to follow me like a hound. We’ll go in the front room.”

It was furnished with a suite whose upholstery displayed frames of timber. Rugs were scattered across the polished floorboards, mirrors hung on the walls. A box of toys was shoved in the corner nearest to the television. The dressmaker sat with her back to the window and gave herself a cigarette which made her mouth look more petulant than ever. “Smoke?”

“I leave that to others,” Jack said with a broad grin, and produced his lighter.

“We could do with more people like you who live and let live,” the dressmaker told him, cupping her hand around his as he lit her cigarette. The redundant gesture amused him, though her momentary closeness affected him with a pang of dismay; he wouldn’t let her come that close again. “So tell me what I can do for your daughter,” she said.

Through the window Jack could see the toddler struggling to stand up on the swing. “I think your child’s about to fall. Perhaps you should

‘

“You sound like her grandmother. She’s got to learn. I can’t be looking after her every moment of the day,” Amy Conning said with the briefest glance out of the window, and any dismay Jack had experienced on her behalf was gone for good. “You were going to tell me what you need,” she said.

Jack placed the briefcase between his feet and sprang the lock open. The toddler spat out the dummy and began to howl. “She’s just trying to get my attention,” the dressmaker said without looking.

Jack reached ivto the briefcase and rested his fingertips on the blow lamp which felt cool as a welcome drink. “You’ve brought her measurements, have you?” Amy Conning said. “Let me see or you’ll have me wondering what you’re hiding between your legs.”

Jack stroked the barrel of the blow lamp “I don’t suppose you recall our being in touch earlier than Saturday.”

“Oh, do shut up,” she said, and banged on the window behind her. “What about?”

“Luck.”

Without warning she jumped up and ran out of the house. Jack didn’t move except to close his hand around the blow lamp the Count wouldn’t let her escape. He watched as she grabbed the dummy from the lawn and stuck it in the toddler’s mouth before shoving her down on the seat of the swing and giving it a hard push. “Now just try and amuse yourself for a few minutes. Nan and Grandad will be here soon,” she said, and took several drags on the cigarette as she returned to the house. When she came into the room she looked so peevish that Jack had to suppress a snort of mirth. “I don’t see how you could have got that letter,” she said.

The only way Jack could deal with the unexpectedness of this was by glancing past her at the window. “Never mind her,” the dressmaker said, plumping herself onto the chair. “You’ve got some explaining to do.”

“Certainly one of us has.”

She turned defensive at once. “I only sent them to my customers, and you aren’t one.”

“You’re talking about the letters.”

“That’s right,” she said defiantly, “I am.”

“You sent letters to how many of your customers?”

“Thirteen, like it said. Why not? It was only a joke.”

“A joke.”

“What’s wrong with that? We can all do with a laugh now and then.”

“Oh, quite,” Jack said, letting go of the blow lamp and regaining his hold on it. “So how did you make it clear to your customers that they weren’t meant to take these letters seriously?”

“I didn’t think they needed to be told.”

With a growing sense of disappointment which felt disconcertingly like helplessness, Jack realised she was on the defensive for precisely the opposite reason than he’d expected. “Are you saying you didn’t write anything at all on the letters?”

“Just my summer prices on the back. All right, so it wasn’t only a joke, it was a promotional gimmick. I still don’t see what it has to do with you.”

Jack touched the blow lamp once more for luck and reluctantly let go of it. “Because I know someone who didn’t know how to take the letter to begin with.”

The Count willed her not to ask for a name, and she only said “Is that why you’re really here?”

“It was at first. Now He rummaged in the case and snapped it shut. “I’m afraid I seem to have wasted your time. I haven’t brought the measurements after all.”

“I’d rather see her anyway.”

“I wonder if her mother may have fixed her up. If she hasn’t I’ll let you know,” Jack said, and stood up. “Sorry to have troubled you. It could have been worse.”

“I won’t ask how.”

If she suspected him of anything, it was of being capable of making life more difficult for her over the letters. Of course, he thought, she’d concluded that he was concerned with trading standards and practices perhaps that someone had complained to him. “You didn’t do anything illegal,” he told her as he stepped onto the path, then he pointed at the toddler. “Except that I should take more care of her if I were you. Seat-belts and so forth. Sometimes we don’t know our own good luck until it’s taken away.”

On his way to the van he couldn’t shake off a lingering sense of frustration. If he had found out that she hadn’t sent the letters it would have solved so much. Still, the Count’s career wasn’t over yet, and he set about planning his next visit as he drove home.

When he closed the front door Julia looked out of the kitchen. “Where were you?”

“Held up on (he road. These days they call highwaymen drivers,” he said, not wanting to entangle himself in further explanation. “You don’t look too happy. Anything wrong?”

“I just wanted you to be home to hear the news.”

“Why, what was it saying?”

She sighed and pointed at an envelope on the stairs. It was addressed to her. Jack reached for it, but she’d had enough of waiting. “It’s from the college,” she said. “I got the job.”

In the morning the passports arrived. Jack’s photograph raised the biggest laugh, and speculation as to what he had been trying to remember. “Where you were,” Laura suggested.

“Who you were,” Julia said.

“Where I was bound for.”

“We know that,” Laura protested. “Crete.”

He couldn’t argue. The other photographs appeared to be looking to the future, Julia producing a dreamy smile, Laura more concerned with the face she would be presenting to the world. “I’ll go to the bank before work,” he said.

He had more than one reason to do so, and going out early would give him time to make another call. Delighted as he was with Julia’s success at the college, so much good luck in such a short time struck him as precarious, in need of reinforcement. There were few tasks left for the Count to perform, but it seemed best to deal with them as soon as practicable, to give nothing a chance to go wrong.

By half past ten he was at the bank, ordering Greek money and traveller’s cheques. “Shall I debit your account?” said the counter clerk, a young man whose sketchy moustache was glistening with sweat.

“I’ll pay cash.”

As if that was a cue, Mr. Hardy emerged from his office behind the clerk. “If the manager’s free,” Jack said, ‘could I have a word?”

“It was Mr. Orchard, wasn’t it?”

“It still is.”

The clerk emitted a nervous cough and went to mutter at the manager. Mr. Hardy frowned at the clock, but poked his paunch at the enquiry window as Jack finished signing the order forms. “Some fresh problem, Mr. Orchard?”

“Not even a stale one, I hope. I thought we might have another chat about buying a house.”

“I’m afraid my position on that hasn’t changed.”

“But ours has. My wife’s has, anyway. She’s been hired to teach a computer course.”

“Please pass on my congratulations.”

“And an invitation to talk about a mortgage?”

“Not at the moment, Mr. Orchard, no.”

The heat of the day seemed to gather behind Jack’s eyes. “You promised that if our circumstances changed ‘

“Perhaps you should have informed me sooner. For a variety of reasons the branch’s loan allocation for the quarter has been used up.”

“We only heard about the job yesterday,” Jack said, wondering whether, if the letter to Julia had been sent first class, or she’d phoned him at work with the news rather than waiting until he came home, or he hadn’t been late home because of Amy Conning, whom he hadn’t needed to visit so urgently after all “You mean we’ll be on your list for the next quarter,” he said.

“I can’t commit myself at this stage any more than I did previously. I suggest you contact the bank to schedule an appointment after you return from holiday, assuming that you haven’t taken my advice concerning cancellation or postponement.”

“We won’t disappoint our daughter. My wife isn’t going to be needed in court. Her old boss has said she’s innocent.”

“Then I should count your blessings, Mr. Orchard, and then put your mind to husbanding your good fortune.”

“Rather than wiving and daughter ing it, you mean?”

Mr. Hardy leaned forwards over his paunch and lowered his voice. “I think you might try taking life a little more seriously, Mr. Orchard.”

“Believe me, I wish I could introduce you to some of the people who’ve reason to know that I do.”

It was the Count speaking. He’d leaned forwards too, so that his face was only inches from the manager’s. For a moment he felt that the glass was about to melt away and let him take hold of the man. “I wish you all the luck you’ve wished us,” he said, ‘and I look forward to seeing you when I return.”

Perhaps Mr. Hardy had overbalanced, top-heavy as he was, or the buckle of his belt had caught under the ledge beneath the window, but it seemed to Jack that the Count’s gaze was holding Mr. Hardy in danger of toppling against the glass. “I wouldn’t want us to be enemies. I haven’t many of them,” Jack said, and pushing himself away from the ledge on his side of the window, watched the manager bob up like a distorted reflection of himself.

Outside the bank Jack drew a long hot breath. He felt both enraged and wildly hilarious. At least he knew what to do with these feelings before they turned into anything like frustration. He went to the nearest phone box and fed in change and dialled one of the numbers left in his head. “Doctor Globe’s surgery,” the receptionist said.

“When’s the latest the dentist sees patients?”

“How late do you need him?”

“Later than you think,” Jack refrained from saying. “I can’t take time off work,” he said.

“Last appointment is normally five-thirty.”

“Is he there later for emergencies?”

“He’s here, but the surgery would be shut. In an emergency your best bet’s the dental hospital.”

“Thank you for the clarification,” Jack said, and rang off.

He couldn’t deal with the dentist that night, since he himself was working late. He went home to tell Julia how Mr. Hardy had let them down. “Oh,” she said, and trying to sound less angry and sad, “Oh well, nothing is for ever.”

Her disappointment stayed with him throughout the day like a reminder of the Count’s next task. Her and Laura’s attempts to seem as if they had accustomed themselves to the setback only intensified his sense of purpose. In the morning he told Julia that he would be home late. “I’m going to see what can be done about a mortgage.”

“Don’t get involved with anyone who might make matters worse.”

It was almost the last time he would need to deceive her. The deception was ultimately Edwin Globe’s fault, and one more reason for the Count to deal with him. “You know I wouldn’t commit us to anything without discussing it with you,” Jack said.

His workday passed like a slow parade in which he was participating at a distance. When at last he returned to the van he felt as though he’d been held up all day by the passing of a funeral. He drove along the motorway past Helsby, to the junction which would have been the thirteenth if there had been such a number, and made for Runcorn.

There wasn’t a house to be seen for miles. Only signs stood by the road, pointing an arrow to places he had never heard of and another for ‘all other Runcorn traffic’. Presumably by following the latter he would reach The Heath by a process of elimination. Helter-skelter slip roads led him under the carriage way homebound cars staying close on his tail as he braked at the tight steep curves, and he wouldn’t have minded seeing a police car keeping the traffic in check. But the Count never saw police cars; that must be part of his luck.

After ten minutes’ worth of curves and underpasses he came to a straight road which led him to The Heath, a series of unfenced playing-fields overlooked by pairs of large houses and more distantly by fat chimneys producing fatter industrial smoke. Several amateur football games were attended by scatterings of supporters. Jack parked at the further end of the line of their vehicles and strolled across the baked field to the dentist’s house.