The Piper's Tune (54 page)

Lindsay had eaten porridge, kippers, a little scrambled egg and several slices of crisp toast spread with fresh butter and marmalade, washed down with black coffee. She was pleasantly full and her guilt had diminished and she felt more clear-eyed and clear-headed than she had done in months. The illicit pleasure of being with Geoffrey was stimulating. She watched him light a cigarette, watched smoke curl from the matchstick, saw him inhale, shake out the match and place it gently in an ashtray. He exhaled and smiled at her through the dispersing smoke.

She had dressed with care, had arranged her hair, touched her face with powder, her lips with rouge: enough, just enough, to let him know that she did not take him for granted.

‘Not a coincidence: what do you mean?' Lindsay said.

‘If your husband had a choice – which apparently he had – he chose you over this other girl. Doesn't that indicate something other than coincidence?'

‘Geoffrey, don't tell me you're arguing Forbes's case for him?'

‘I wouldn't dare,' said Geoffrey. ‘It's a fair question, though.'

‘It's not a comedy of manners, Geoffrey, not a matter of misplaced affections or mistaken identities. The girl's pregnant.' Lindsay paused. ‘Are you asking if Forbes loved me more than he loved her? The answer's remarkably simple: I had money and poor Sylvie Calder did not. I had sound family connections and Sylvie Calder had none. Even so, she obviously offered him something that I could not and that's why he took up with her without a thought for me or how it would affect our marriage.'

‘He didn't choose to marry the girl, however.'

‘Of course he didn't.'

‘And he will not marry her now?'

‘No.'

‘Are you sure, Lindsay?'

‘Absolutely sure.'

Geoffrey blew smoke, wafted it away from her with the flat of his hand. His cuffs, Lindsay noticed, were fastened with silver links rubbed to a fine patina that all but obliterated the monogram. She wondered if the links had once belonged to his father and provided a connection with home, if they were symbols of the sailor's life, the traveller's life where everything had to be compact and functional, nothing superfluous. Would she ever attain that degree of intimacy with him, she wondered, become so necessary that he would not leave her behind no matter how far he travelled?

‘Did the fact that Forbes was your cousin make any difference?'

‘None.' Lindsay did not resent his inquisitiveness. ‘Forbes had lived all his life in Ireland. We were strangers when we first met, old enough by then to…' She experienced a twinge of suspicion, then of surprise. ‘Geoffrey, are you asking why I chose to marry him?'

‘Probably.'

‘My grandfather threw us together.'

‘I don't think that's good enough,' Geoffrey said mildly.

Now she understood: he was probing, gently probing to discover if she still loved Forbes, if all those fine confused feelings had really been swept away or if some spark of attraction still remained between them. How could she answer him? How could she tell him that she had been driven by a physical desire that had transcended common sense and that had even survived the tedium of courtship. How could she possibly admit that she still took pleasure in Forbes's love-making? How could she separate sex from love in a way that Geoffrey would understand, would not misconstrue? She wanted Geoffrey's arms about her but she did not feel for him the clamouring ache, the infuriating and insistent demand of the blood that Forbes had once roused in her and perhaps still did.

‘Do you feel that way about me?' Geoffrey said.

If she said
Yes
then Geoffrey would fight for her. If she said
Yes,
he would take it as a signal that all was up with her marriage: Geoffrey was sure enough of himself to assume responsibility for another man's children but another man's wife, however, might never be his. If she said
No,
however, he might slip away from her to avoid a commitment that could never be fulfilled and she would lose his love and friendship for ever.

The risks, the dangers were considerable.

It took courage for Lindsay to accept them.

‘No, Geoffrey,' she heard herself say. ‘No, I do not.'

‘At least you're honest, Lindsay.

‘How could I be anything else after what you've done for me?'

‘I've done nothing,' he said.

‘You've asked for nothing, if that's what you mean.'

‘I'm in love with you, Lindsay, but that doesn't give me the right to ask anything of you, not even that you love me in turn.'

‘If I do go back to Forbes…'

‘You will,' Geoffrey said. ‘You should.'

‘Will you still love me then?'

‘No,' he said, ‘that's not the real issue, darling. The real issue is will you still love me? I can't answer that question for you.'

‘And I can't answer it either.'

‘Then we'll just have to wait and see,' Geoffrey said.

‘Do you mean it?'

‘Of course I do.' He put down the cigarette and glanced at his wristlet watch. ‘Listen, I'm not abandoning you, Lindsay, but I will have to show my face at the Gareloch some time this morning. I'd take you with me but that really wouldn't be advisable under the circumstances.'

‘No. It wouldn't fit in with my plan.'

‘Plan?'

‘Oh, yes,' Lindsay said. ‘I'm not entirely lacking in female wiles, Geoffrey. I spent a good deal of time last night thinking it out.'

‘What do you intend to do?'

She smiled at him and touched his hand.

‘Go straight to Harper's Hill,' Lindsay said, ‘and talk to my Aunt Lilias.'

‘Will she help you?'

‘Oh, yes,' Lindsay said. ‘I'm absolutely sure she will.'

*   *   *

Martin was delegated to come after him, to calm him down and find out what had started the row. At that moment Tom did not care who knew about his private affairs or even what the outcome would be for the partnership and his future in it. He had assaulted a Franklin. He had bloodied the nose of a managerial colleague in front of witnesses, and if George Crush hadn't spoken out he might have gone on to commit murder. He should be ashamed of his behaviour but he was not. His blood was still on fire and he had no particular patience with Martin, although he did acknowledge that his brother-in-law had every right to ask for and every reason to be told the truth.

He allowed Martin to steer him into the office and give him a hand towel from the bottom drawer to wrap round his broken knuckles.

‘What the devil was
that
all about?' Martin said.

‘Why don't you ask your precious cousin?'

‘Be easy, Tom. Be easy. I'm asking you,' Martin said. ‘Besides, Forbes has already gone. As soon as you let him go, he picked himself up and charged off down the main staircase with George Crush scuttling in his wake.'

Tom wiped bloody spittle from his face with the hand towel.

‘All right,' he said. ‘All right.'

‘Does it have to do with Lindsay?' Martin asked.

‘Lindsay? What makes you think it has to do with Lindsay?'

‘You were were keen on her once. I thought perhaps…'

Tom gave a little grunt, not quite laughter. ‘I didn't realise it had been so obvious. No, it doesn't have to do with Lindsay, although she is involved.' He looked straight at his brother-in-law, at the broad Franklin features, the honest blue eyes. ‘I've a grown daughter, did you know that?'

‘Yes. We all know that.'

‘Apparently she's been Forbes McCulloch's mistress for the past five or six years, and now he's got her pregnant. That's it.'

Martin was silent for half a second. He absorbed the information slowly, frowning, his jaw set. He was too mature to feign embarrassment.

At length, he said, ‘Does Lindsay know?'

‘Yes, Lindsay knows.'

‘Will she – I mean, will she leave him because of it?'

‘She's already gone. She left Brunswick Park late last night.'

Martin nodded, frowning. ‘Divorce, I suppose, is inevitable.'

‘Is that all that concerns you, Martin? A possible scandal?'

‘No, no, no, of course not. Sorry, Tom, your daughter must be your first concern. Have you seen her yet?'

‘Not yet. I didn't know where he had put her until five minutes ago.'

‘Is that what the fight was about?'

‘I lost my temper. I shouldn't have lost my temper.'

‘God!' Martin said. ‘If it had been me – I mean, if he had done that to my daughter I think I'd have killed him. He was never right for Lindsay, you know. He should never have been brought into our family. He should have been left in Ireland where he belongs. Pappy has a great deal to answer for. Pappy and Aunt Kay too. It's not as if we needed new blood. Hah! New blood, listen to me! Bad blood, that's what it is. Bad blood all along. Did he tell you where to find her?'

‘George did.'

‘Crush? My God! Crush knew, and you didn't?' Martin placed an arm about Tom's shoulder. ‘That's rotten, just rotten.'

Tom did not shake him off. He was relieved that the secret was out. He could leave the Franklins to sort out their own affairs now, arrange the family pow-wow by which Lindsay's ‘fate', and Forbes McCulloch's too, would be decided, as if nothing were more important than family honour and family pride. It was Arthur who had told him what had happened at Brunswick Park, who had telephoned him early that morning just before he'd left home. For a second Tom was tempted to inform Martin that Lindsay had not just walked out on her husband but had walked out on the arm of Lieutenant Commander Geoffrey Paget, the Admiralty's purchasing officer.

No, he would leave Arthur to impart that tasty bit of news.

Sylvie was his only concern right now.

‘Where is your daughter?' Martin said. ‘Where's he been keeping her?'

‘St Mungo's Mansions, at the very end of Maryhill Road.'

‘You must go there, Tom. Find her. Make sure she's – I say, do you think that's where Forbes has gone shooting off to?'

‘I doubt it,' Tom answered. ‘Somehow I very much doubt it.'

*   *   *

He ran across the yard with George trailing behind him. He was drenched in sweat and the front of his shirt and jacket were soiled. His head pounded, his heart too, a gigantic throbbing that seemed to pulse all through him right down to his feet. He felt as if he had been wired to an electrical outlet and pounded with a high voltage charge. But he was not out of control yet, not quite out of control. He ran diagonally across the square behind the office block, swung into the lane behind the paint store and headed for the stables where the big Clydesdale dray horses were kept and, in a separate building, the firm's vans and motor-cars.

The stink of horse manure and petrol hung over the cobbled forecourt where Donald Franklin's Lanchester was being washed by two young apprentices clad in a new style of dark blue overalls. They looked up, startled, when Forbes suddenly appeared in the yard.

‘Where is he?' Forbes snapped. ‘Where's my brother?'

‘B-b-brother, sir?'

‘Are you a bloody idiot? My brother, Gowry McCulloch. I'm looking for my brother. I want my brother out here. Now.'

‘Gowry isnae here, Mr McCulloch.'

‘Where is he then, damn it?'

‘Dunno, Mr McCulloch. He hasnae been seen here all mornin'. We just thought he was wi' you, like he usually is.'

Suddenly all the energy left him. Crushed by Gowry's absence, he felt as if he had charged into a blank brick wall. He had directed himself at Gowry, at telling Gowry what to do to solve the problem, how to execute the master plan that would fix everything for all of them. Now Gowry was missing and he had lost his ally, his tool.

He slithered on the ribbons of soapy water that trickled from the motor-car and snaked away through the ruts made by the hoofs of countless horses in the years before his arrival in Glasgow, in the good old days of Pappy Franklin's reign. The Lanchester glinted in the coppery light. Two young apprentice boys gawked at him as if he were a spectre. Then George, sawing like a war-horse, stumped into the yard and began to yell apologies into his ear.

‘I'm sorry, son. I'm sorry, Forbes. I should never have opened my trap. I mean, I thought – I thought he was going to do for you. I thought he was…'

‘George. Shut. Up.'

‘Honest to God, Forbes, I thought he was for murdering you.'

‘Perhaps,' Forbes said, ‘perhaps you should have let him.'

He gave a little shiver as shock crept into his bones. He felt in danger of passing out or, worse, of doing something so rash that it would finish him for ever. The apprentices watched, the water hose splashed on the cobbles, and George, still gasping for breath, ran out of apologies.

Lindsay had left him, he had been without sleep for thirty hours, and he was sore and bleeding: almost overcome by the stench of the stable yard and the din of industry around him, he felt himself waver.

‘Can you start that machine?' Forbes snapped.

‘What's that, Mr McCulloch?'

‘That machine, the motor-car. Can you start it?'

‘Aye, sir, but…'

‘Start it then.'

‘But Mr McCulloch, it's Mr Franklin's motor-car.'

‘Start it, just start it.'

He pushed through a wave of exhaustion, telling himself that to act without Gowry would be dangerous, that he must not be there when it happened. The boys cranked the handle at the front of the machine. Forbes heaved himself into the driving seat and waited for the engine to fire. He felt the shudder, the jerk and jounce of the big combustion engine and waited, quite patiently now, for the drive chain to engage.

George, by the running board, said, ‘Where are you going, Forbes? At least tell me where you're going.'