The Oracles (25 page)

‘
C
ONRAD
!’

‘Yes, Frank?’

‘Have you been listening?’

‘Yes, Frank.’

‘What have I been saying?’

‘That I mustn’t laugh,’ said Conrad piously. ‘Can we have some more marmalade?’

Archer snapped his fingers at the head waiter and pointed to the marmalade dish. This was his third descent upon the Metropole, and he was, by now, regarded with some awe. More marmalade was brought immediately.

Conrad fell upon it, for he was very hungry. They had been out to sea before breakfast that morning. Moreover, he was in tearing spirits; to find that he could return to East Head without uneasiness was an immense stimulant.

‘And why,’ asked Archer, ‘mustn’t you laugh?’

‘Because it would do a lot of damage to your
reputation
if this story got out,’ said Conrad promptly.

‘Yours, old man. Yours. Your reputation.’

‘Same thing.’

This was true. Their reputations were inextricably involved.

‘So you’ll keep a straight face till we get home?’

‘I’ll try. But I think it’s very funny.’

‘Funny my arse! A lot too funny. That’s the trouble.’

‘Can I tell Ivy when we get home?’

‘You’ll tell nobody. You’ll keep your mouth shut and let me do the talking.’

‘All right. But I don’t see why you should take me along, in that case. I’d much rather go for another sail.’

‘I take you along because I don’t trust you out of my sight for five minutes, until we’re clear of this town. I’m beginning to understand why it drove you crackers.’

‘Perhaps Pattison might like to come for a sail. It’s Sunday, so he’ll be free.’

Frank gave Conrad a murderous look.

‘I know you’re a very, very simple person,’ he observed.

This jibe went home. It was not one which Conrad wished to recall. He winced and protested.

‘Then don’t treat me as if I was Martha Rawson,’ continued Frank. ‘Pattison is going to need careful handling. We’re in the dark. There’ve been some very queer doings here. We’ve got to walk on eggshells till we find out how come Mrs. P. knew and he didn’t.’

‘Huh! Huh! Huh!’

‘Don’t laugh, damn you.’

‘Sorry. But we aren’t sure she knows, are we?’

‘I’m ninety per cent sure. Every single question we asked, the children fetched up with Aunt Chris. Joe wouldn’t have remembered if Aunt Chris hadn’t given him a chocolate biscuit. What got her so interested? Serafina told Aunt Chris a lie: said there was nothing in the shed. Why should Aunt Chris ask, if she hadn’t smelt a rat? Obviously she was on to it.’

‘I expect she laughed,’ mused Conrad wistfully.

‘She might. But she didn’t hand the joke on to hubby. Why not? Why did she let him write that letter?’

‘We can ask her.’

‘If we get a chance. I must sniff about and see how the land lies. If only she’ll go on holding her tongue we may get by, for I don’t believe anybody else knows.’

‘I think you’re taking it all too seriously.’

‘You do? I’m going to have nightmares about it for the rest of my life. When I think! If I hadn’t come down here the week-end of the storm and seen that thing, we’d be in the soup. I’d forgotten all about it till you showed me Pattison’s letter.’

‘Huh! Huh! Huh!’

‘Now look here!’

Conrad pulled himself together and swallowed his laughter. He twisted his face into an unaccustomed scowl which he kept up for the rest of breakfast and on all the way to the Pattisons’ house. He had a good deal of brow to knit, and he looked so fierce that Frank had to remind him they were not on a lynching party.

Christina, who was upstairs, heard the gate click. She looked out of the window to see this disconcerting pair rolling up the path, side by side. They were
formidable
, and had always been so, ever since they descended upon Europe, a couple of grotesque
adolescents
from out back in Boogie Woogie or wherever it was. They looked more like men from some other planet than migrants from any known continent. Conrad wore
corduroys
and a tweed jacket. Frank’s suit came from Savile Row. But these garments looked as incongruous on them as does fancy dress upon a civilised man. It was impossible to imagine what clothes they should have been wearing.

As they drew nearer she saw that terrible scowl and felt giddy with fright. Everything must have come out.
She stumbled across to the bed and sat on it for a moment, trying to get her breath.

The door bell chimed. She heard Dickie go along the hall to answer it, and knew that she must be there, beside him, to face whatever was coming, to draw their fire, if possible. She rushed down the stairs as Dickie opened the door.

‘Are you busy?’ asked Archer, as the two avengers surged into the hall. ‘We’ve come about your letter to Conrad. How do you do, Mrs. Pattison?’

‘How do you do?’ she whispered, shaking hands.

She looked so scared and so pretty that both Conrad and Archer felt anxious to kiss her. Conrad did so, and drew her arm through his as they all went into the lounge. His brows were no longer furrowed, and a little colour stole back into her cheeks.

‘How is Mrs. Swann? How are the children?’ she cried in distracted tones.

Conrad, recollecting that he had been forbidden to utter a word, glanced at Archer, who replied that they were all well and sent their love. At this Conrad looked mutinous, for he liked the truth. They had done no such thing. The children had not known of this expedition and Ivy was far too well aware of her place to send her love to Mrs. Pattison.

‘About your letter …’ began Archer, but was
interrupted
by Dickie, who wanted to get rid of Christina.

‘I’m sure,’ he said to her, ‘that you’re busy, and this is really a matter for the committee.’

‘I want to stay and hear about it,’ she said stubbornly.

He could not actually thrust her from the room, but he was terrified lest she should become contumacious, and gave her a look as quelling as that which Archer was, at the same moment, bestowing upon Conrad. Don’t
talk! was the tacit command to these two reprobates, who forthwith sat down side by side on a settee and prepared to hold their tongues.

‘About the letter,’ repeated Archer, shooting out his eyes at Dickie.

Some things were already clear. Pattison knew
nothing
. No disclosure could have taken place since he wrote that letter; he could not else have opened the door in so placid a manner. Mrs. Pattison, on the other hand, knew everything. She was terrified. There might be very little difficulty in persuading her to hold her tongue for ever.

‘The fact is,’ continued Archer, ‘that the Apollo isn’t for sale. Not at present. I’ve advised against it. Conrad very much appreciates your kindness in writing. He realises, of course, what an honour the town has done him.…’

‘Huh! Huh! Huh!’

Conrad caught Archer’s eye, heaved, and blew his nose.

‘But I’ve strongly advised him to decline. I feel that after Gressington there’ll be a good many Apollos about, don’t you know. Some of them rather so-so. What with one thing and another, I think this one had better go into cold storage for a while. Perhaps you’d be so very kind as to tell your committee that?’

‘I will,’ said Dickie, and added hastily, ‘Though they’ll be very sorry to hear it.’

He was not a bit sorry himself and found it impossible to say that he was. So he asked if they would now like to have it removed from the Pavilion.

‘Thanks,’ said Archer. ‘We’ve done that already. We went there last night and saw the manager, and he handed it over. Everything is quite in order.’

‘Then … then where is it now?’ breathed Christina.

Archer managed not to hear this question and
explained
that he was arranging to have all Conrad’s property sent over to Coombe Bassett. But Conrad could not ignore the misery in her eyes; he said heartily:

‘It’s at the bottom of the sea. We took it out in a boat early this morning and dropped it overboard.’

Christina and Dickie gave two gasps, one of relief, the other of surprise.

‘You needn’t have told them that,’ admonished Archer. ‘You’re supposed to be out of the bin and of sound mind again. The fact is,’ he turned to Dickie, ‘Conrad has taken a sort of dislike to it.…’

‘Huh! Huh! Huh! Huh!’

‘He can’t stand the sight of it. You know, he was a very sick man when he was … er … working for the Gressington competition, and the associations … well … they’re painful.’

‘Huh! Huh! Huh!’

‘Shut up, Conrad. But this is in confidence, Pattison. We’d just as soon not have it known.’

‘Oh yes, I see,’ said Dickie, trying to look as if he did.

‘I mean, the people here might think it a bit odd. They offer to buy it and he takes it and … and …’

A violent convulsion shook Archer. He realised that in another minute he would begin to laugh himself.

‘So that’s that,’ he concluded hastily, determined to get Conrad out of the house as soon as possible. ‘If you’ll be a good fellow and say all the polite things? Put all the blame on me. You’ve been such a very good friend to us both. Sorry to have taken up your time. You must be busy. Come along, Conrad!’

But Conrad, who had suddenly grown serious, was looking searchingly at Dickie. Then he turned to Christina and said:

‘He didn’t like it, did he? They made him write that letter? He didn’t want to?’

‘He likes some of your other things better,’ she said.

‘I didn’t understand it,’ said Dickie hastily. ‘I tried to, but …’

‘You tried to?’ cried Conrad in amazement.

‘I wanted to like it, you know. I went and looked at it several times. I must say, it’s a great relief to me to know that you … don’t care for it so much yourself. I couldn’t get anything from it, and felt that must be all my fault. I even started to read everything I could get hold of about Apollo, to see if there was anything …’

Conrad’s yelps were no longer to be stifled. He kept trying to apologise, but only went off into fresh
convulsions
every time he opened his mouth. Neither Christina nor Archer could resist the contagion. They were soon as helpless as he was. Dickie politely laughed too.

‘Books … books …’ said Conrad, at last, with a violent effort at gravity. ‘I’m sorry. Books! You see, Martha read me some books … funny … very funny … those books.…’

‘They can’t have been the same books that I read,’ said Dickie.

‘Oh yes,’ gasped Archer, coming to Conrad’s rescue. ‘Girl turned into a tree. Must have been a sell for Apollo, that.’

Conrad had fallen into a fresh paroxysm. He was trying to say something but could only hoot. At last he managed to articulate one word:

‘Thunderstorm!’

At this Archer and Christina nearly jumped out of their skins. Their laughter ceased abruptly.

‘Just remembered it,’ explained Conrad, getting his breath. ‘Very bad thunderstorm, killed all the
barbarians
.’

‘Oh, I remember,’ said Dickie. ‘It’s in Herodotus.’

‘You see,’ said Conrad, turning to Christina, ‘these barbarians, these Persians, they were marching on this mountain … what is it called? Apollo’s mountain?’

‘Parnassus,’ said Dickie.

‘Where his temple was, at Delphi. So the local yok … the shepherds and … er … gro … farmers, and so on, they thought they had to fight. They went up to defend the place. But the priests who worked the oracles, they weren’t going to fight. They decided to sell out. They had some sacred armour that it was sacrilege to touch; they put it out in front of the temple as notice of surrender, and announced that the God had moved it out by a miracle.’

‘Herodotus,’ interposed Dickie, ‘merely says that the armour was found outside.’

‘Does armour walk out of a temple on its own legs?’ demanded Conrad. ‘It wouldn’t now, and I don’t believe it could then. You can see what Herodotus thought by the way he put it.’

Dickie had taken a book from a shelf and turned up the passage.

‘“But when the barbarians were hurrying down upon the temple,”’ he read, ‘“a still greater portent befell. For it was marvel enough that arms of war should, of their own will, move out and lie before the temple; but thereafter occurred a second, of all prodigies the most worthy of wonder. For, as the barbarians were
approaching the temple of Athena Pronaia, thunderbolts suddenly fell on them from heaven, and two crags were torn from Parnassus, falling in their midst and crushing many to death. A cry of triumph was heard from the temple of Pronaia. These combined events provoked panic among the barbarians. The Delphians came up and slew a number of them. The rest fled straight to Boeotia.”’

‘You see!’ commented Conrad. ‘And that reminds me! Where’s Martha gone?’

‘Mrs. Rawson?’ said Dickie. ‘I believe she’s been ordered to take a year’s cruise.’

Conrad nodded and turned to Christina.

‘Very good thunderstorm,’ he suggested. ‘Did a lot of good. They do, sometimes.’

She murmured a faint agreement. He knew. This was his way of telling her that he knew exactly what had happened, and that she need not be frightened any more. She wanted to go away and cry, but feared that she might faint before she got out of the room.

‘Hadn’t I better,’ he suggested, ‘come and look at your baby? The children will want to know how he is. They’ll be disappointed if I haven’t seen him.’

‘He … he’s in his play-pen … in the dining-room,’ murmured Christina, struggling to her feet.

Conrad rose too and helped her out of the room. Dickie made an effort to follow them but was detained by Archer, who said that he wanted to settle the exact wording of Conrad’s reply to the committee.

‘Do you have any brandy anywhere?’ asked Conrad when they reached the dining-room.

‘There’s some c-cognac in the sideboard.’

He found it and gave her some, after which she cried for a little and he inspected Bobbins.

‘Hasn’t he got rather a long back?’ he asked, when her muffled sobs had subsided.

‘They all have,’ she said. ‘It’s normal. Oh, Mr. Swann!’