The Bachelors

  ‘You won’t destroy the letter,’ Ronald said.

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘It has too many possibilities of exploitation. You could form a blood-brotherhood with several persons out of that letter. You have already offered to give it to me if I slept with you.’

  ‘Well, how do you know I would have given it to you in the end?’

  ‘You’re mistaken if you think it’s going to make any difference to the evidence against Patrick whether you keep it or not,’ Ronald said. ‘There are photo-copies which will be accepted in court together with evidence of the loss of the original.’

  ‘Why do you want it, then?’

  ‘To save my own reputation. I get jobs from the police in the detection of forgeries. I shouldn’t have told anyone about this document — that was my mistake. And it’s obviously my responsibility that it was stolen. But if I can produce the letter after all, the matter will be forgotten.’

  ‘If I give you the letter will you promise to come and talk to me again?’

  ‘No,’ Ronald said.

  ‘I don’t see why I should give you the letter. You’ve been talking as a friend and getting round me, and all you want is the letter.’

  ‘I’m not a friend, I’m a stranger,’ Ronald said. ‘I’ve quite liked talking to you.’

  ‘Well, I’m a stranger too. And I’m keeping the letter. There’s a price on it.’

  ‘Give it to me for love.’

  ‘What love do I get out of it?’

  ‘That’s not the point.’

  ‘Well, you’ve got a nerve, I’ll say that. But you all come for what you can get.’

  ‘Give it to me for love,’ Ronald said. ‘The best type of love to give is sacrificial. It’s an embarrassing type of love to receive, if that’s any consolation to you. The best type of love you can receive is to be taken for granted as a dependable person and otherwise ignored — that’s more comfortable.’

  ‘It’s all talk,’ she said. ‘I’m tired. I’ve been doing a late shift at the “Oriflamme”.’

  ‘Well, think about it in the morning.’ He took down his coat and shouldered his way into it.

  ‘If I give you the letter now,’ she said, ‘will you come back again some time?’

  ‘It’s unlikely,’ he said. ‘You go to bed. Thank you for talking.’

  ‘If I don’t give you the letter what will you do?’

  ‘I’ll come back and try again.’

  ‘Christ!’ she said, ‘you’re driving me mad.’ She went over to the window and thrusting her arm far into the deep makeshift hem, drew out a four-folded paper. ‘Take it and run quickly,’ she said. ‘Run now before I change my mind.’ She came and pushed it into the pocket of Ronald’s coat. ‘Go away,’ she said, ‘get out of my sight.’

  He sat down in his coat and smoothed out the paper. ‘You’ve crumpled it but let’s hear what it sounds like,’ he said and read aloud,

  ‘Dear Patrick,

  I would like you to accept the enclosed cheque for two thousand pounds. Please use the money to further your psychic and spiritualistic work. I leave the details of its disposal entirely to you.

  May I say how greatly I admire and have been inspired by your great Work. I shall never be able to thank you enough.

  Yours sincerely,

  Freda Flower.

  ‘You’ve crumpled it,’ Ronald said, ‘but at least you haven’t folded it. In forgery detection you have to watch out for the folds.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘Sometimes a line has been inked over after the fold has been made. The forger very often has second thoughts about the job after the paper has been folded, and to make everything perfect he unfolds the paper again and he touches something up; let’s say the stroke of an ‘f’. It’s possible to see under the microscope if that sort of thing has been done.’

  ‘Is that what Patrick’s done, do you think?’ She peered over at the letter. ‘It looks like a woman’s writing to me.’

  ‘So it does to me. He’s a clever forger. He’s done it before. He’s been convicted, served a sentence.’

  ‘Well, Alice doesn’t know that. Well, she does know it in a way, but she won’t face it. The baby makes her believe in Patrick.’

  ‘She’ll know sooner or later.’

  ‘Will he be sent to prison?’

  ‘Oh, one can’t guess,’ Ronald said, ‘it’s not such an easy thing to prove. This may be a difficult document. Experts often disagree. Seton’s side would have their own expert. And then, everything depends largely on the witnesses. If Mrs. Flower’s evidence should break down, for instance—”

  ‘But if they know he’s a forger from the past, surely—’

  ‘The court isn’t told till after the verdict.’

  ‘Alice thinks the case won’t come off.’

  ‘No, perhaps it won’t come off. Perhaps he won’t be sent for trial.’

  ‘Is it confidential that Patrick has been to prison?’

  ‘No, it’s common property.’ He was examining the letter upside-down.

  ‘Perhaps I won’t tell Alice. She thinks they’re going to get married, some hope. Anyway, he’s taking her away to Austria as soon as the charge is settled one way or another.’

  Ronald folded the letter and put it far away into his inner pocket. ‘I must go,’ he said.

  ‘Will you come again, Ronald?’

  ‘It’s unlikely,’ he said.

  ‘You’ve got your letter,’ she said.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said.

  ‘You need someone to look after you,’ she said.

  ‘I was once engaged to a girl who wanted to be a mother to me. It didn’t work.’

  ‘You think I’m not good enough for you,’ she said. ‘Not your class.’

  ‘I’m an epileptic,’ he said. ‘It rather puts one out of the reach of class.’

  ‘I know you’re an epileptic,’ she said. ‘I was told.’

  ‘Well, goodnight, Elsie.’ He went down the stairs and out into the dark streets of Monday morning.

  Chapter XI

  IT’S treachery,’ Alice said, quite loud in the empty café.

  ‘Now look, Alice,’ Elsie said, ‘I’ve never signed any blood-pact with you. We’re friends. And being friends doesn’t mean being blood-sisters. For goodness’ sake let’s keep our relationships straight. Treachery is not the word.’

  ‘Where did you get all this kind of talk?’ Alice said. ‘Now don’t you turn cat, Alice. You need a friend just at this moment.’

  ‘To think that you actually handed over that letter without even letting me see it,’ Alice said, ‘and now the case is coming up and the letter will be used against Patrick.’

  ‘To begin with,’ said Elsie, ‘I didn’t know whether he was going to go for trial or not when I gave him the letter. Secondly, it wouldn’t have made any difference to the case because they photo’d the letter and that would have been good enough. Third, I gave it to Ronald for his own sake and I’d do it again—’

  ‘What you wouldn’t do for a night with a man…’

  ‘He didn’t so much as shake hands with me. Fourthly, it was more his letter than mine, and—”

  ‘It’s Patrick’s letter,’ Alice said, ‘by law.’

  ‘No, it’s Crown property, excuse me. But it’s his forgery, all right. Five, if you don’t believe Patrick forged the letter I don’t see what you’re worried about. They can’t prove a forgery if there isn’t a forgery. It goes by folds in the paper and pauses in the writing. They see it under the microscope. Ronald—”

  ‘Oh, shut up,’ said Alice, ‘with your one, two, three, four, five. You’re such a clever cookie since you saw that man, a pity you don’t stop to think he’s in the pay of the police.’

  ‘Well, it’s his job.’

  ‘Yes, to fake up the evidence. He’ll say whatever they want him to say.’

  ‘You don’t know Ronald,’ said Elsie.

  ‘Now he’s got the letter, you won
’t be seeing him again,’ Alice said. ‘You wait and see.’

  ‘I know,’ Elsie said.

  ‘God,’ said Alice, ‘it’s kicking again. I feel faint when it does that.’

  Elsie leaned over the café table and looked at Alice’s stomach as she clutched it. ‘Take your hand away,’ Elsie said, ‘and let me see.’

  Alice took her hand away.

  ‘I can’t see anything,’ Elsie said.

  ‘Don’t stare like that. Someone might come in the shop.’

  ‘No-one will come in, it’s too early. I can’t see it move.’

  ‘You have to look close. It only looks like a butterfly, but it feels like a footballer inside me.’

  Elsie slid round to the seat beside Alice and put her hand on Alice’s round stomach. ‘I can feel it!’ she said. ‘Kick, kick. I can feel it.’

  ‘It makes me giddy,’ Alice said.

  ‘I’ll go and draw you another espresso.’

  ‘All right,’ Alice said.

  ‘I wish I had something alive and kicking inside me, ‘Elsie said.

  Tim Raymond sat in his club, looking as lonely as possible in the hope that someone married would take him home to supper, but prepared, if not, to dine alone at eight o’clock. Hildegarde had just written from Gloucestershire, after a long silence, to say she was entering a convent. On hearing this news Tim had telephoned to Ronald. ‘Have you heard from Hildegarde?’

  ‘That’s the second girl you’ve driven to religion,’ Ronald said.

  ‘I’ve driven?’

  ‘Well, yes, in a way.’

  ‘Hildegarde told you about our affair?’

  ‘Well, not directly. Anyway, of course I knew about it and now that’s the second girl——’

  ‘I know,’ Tim said. Two years ago his first real girl friend had entered an Anglican Sisterhood.

  ‘What about that other one you were thinking of marrying?’ Ronald said.

  ‘Oh, that’s all off. She hasn’t taken to religion.’

  ‘Well, two’s plenty.’

  ‘I wonder why they take to religion?’

  ‘There must be something wrong with you,’ Ronald said.

  ‘So there must. Do you know, I always felt Hildegarde was still keen on you, Ronald.’

  ‘Well, she must have got over it. What Order has she entered?’

  ‘Some Canoness affair. I feel rather shattered. Not that I felt all that strongly about Hildegarde, it’s just that a loss is a loss. And I didn’t know she was R.C. When did she go Roman?’

  ‘Two years ago,’ Ronald said, ‘and two months. I forget the odd days.’

  ‘What a good memory you’ve got. Did she join under your influence?’

  ‘Yes. I rather regretted it later.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because she lapsed.’

  ‘Well, she’s gone back. There’s definitely something odd about Hildegarde. She was a spiritualist for a time, not long ago.’

  ‘Under your influence?’

  ‘Well, it gave us something to talk about. One has to have something to talk about. Hildegarde was a difficult girl to find something to talk about with. Anyway she gave up spiritualism when I got out of it and she must have gone bang back to Rome. Funny going from spiritualism back to Catholicism, don’t you think, all prejudices apart? A bit extreme. There are other religions she could have tried if she had to have a religion.’

  ‘There are only two religions, the spiritualist and the Catholic,’ Ronald said.

  ‘I say, that’s going a bit far. There’s the Greek Orthodox and the Quakers and of course the C. of E. and some people are Buddhists, and—”

  ‘You must take it in a figurative sense,’ Ronald said, ‘or leave it, because I need a drink.’

  ‘Well, that’s the news. I thought I’d let you know. Come and drink with me.’

  ‘I’m going out. I’m late, actually,’ Ronald said.

  ‘I’ve got nothing to do tonight,’ Tim said. ‘What would you do?’

  ‘See a film.’

  ‘Don’t want to, somehow.’

  ‘Sit in your club and look as lonely and miserable as possible. Someone will turn up and take you home.’

  Tim was doing this when the porter came to announce that his Aunt Marlene was enquiring for him downstairs.

  ‘I’m not here,’ Tim said, and moved to another chair. The chair he had been occupying was placed in the window and the curtains had been left undrawn. He suspected that Marlene had seen him from the street. He took off his glasses, polished them with his handkerchief, and put them on again.

  An almost telepathic communication from the entrance hall — for nothing could be heard from that direction — told him that an argument was going on between Marlene and the porter at the desk. Tim tiptoed attentively to the door, tripping over the legs of someone whose face was hidden by a newspaper, so that Tim’s hand came to rest on the man’s lap.

  ‘Oh,’ Tim said, ‘it’s you, Eccie.’ He straightened up, by which time the porter had appeared again.

  ‘The lady said she is convinced you are in the building. I’ve told her I would have another look.’

  ‘I’m going along to the bar,’ Tim said. ‘Tell her you’ve had another look.’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ said Eccie, ‘that the British Council is going to suit me. Their notions of art—”

  ‘Come along to the bar,’ Tim said, urgently. ‘My aunt’s downstairs.’

  ‘Well, she won’t come up here.’

  ‘Oh, won’t she?’ said Tim.

  Eccie puckered his face in puzzlement and followed Tim, who, looking over the banister, perceived a corner of his aunt in the hall as she argued with the porter.

  They slipped into the bar.

  ‘I have a series of twelve lectures,’ Eccie declared over his drink. ‘They have gone down well for twelve years. They are old and tried and have stood the test of time at the old Institute. They cover the Renaissance to Kandinsky. They were the nucleus of the Art course at the Institute. Thousands of people passed through our hands south of the Humber. I travelled the length and breadth, to W.V.S. centres, National Service units, prisons, summer schools — all over the place. And everywhere I went those lectures got a tremendous reception. They were highly appreciated. From the Renaissance to Kandinsky, with a set of colour reproductions, tested and tried. And now, when I’m all fixed for my injections for Malta, the chap at the British Council says — and mind you it’s we who pay them, it’s the taxpayer, you and I, whose money goes into their pockets — he calls me in and he says—’

  ‘Tim, oh, there you are!’

  Marlene stood by the other door leading from the back stairs.

  Tim put down his drink and disappeared out of the opposite door. Marlene did not pursue him, as he expected, through the bar. She retreated down the back stairs to the first landing, walked along a passage, and came out on to the big oak-panelled first floor landing where she again encountered Tim.

  She said, ‘The trial is on, and it is settled that you are to be a witness. We have decided, on Patrick’s own advice, not to give evidence for his character as he prefers his character to speak for itself. But there is a question of a statement that Patrick made to the police under duress, while still in a state of trance after a séance. We must testify about this séance. I have the date and the time. Eleven-thirty on the morning of August the twelfth. Patrick made his statement at twelve noon. He was not properly out of his trance. You are to give evidence that you saw him in a trance at eleven-thirty, but we must decide exactly what you are to say because you are inclined to be hesitant and vague. I am calling a meeting—”

  ‘Marlene, you shouldn’t be here.’

  ‘Get your coat immediately,’ she said, ‘and come with me.’

  ‘I’m just going to the lavatory,’ Tim said and disappeared with his long legs up the main staircase like an anxious spider. He did not, however, go into the lavatory, but into the library where an aged member and a young man we
re bending over an architectural-looking plan spread out on the table. They looked up at Tim. The aged member said ‘Who?’ and they both looked down again at their plan. Tim wandered over to the window and there slipped behind the curtains. Marlene waited outside the lavatory. A man emerged with eyebrows which were by nature fixed in slight astonishment, and which, when he saw Marlene, seemed to try to rise. ‘Is my nephew in there?’ Marlene said.

  The man moved off, assuming her to be one of the maids gone mad in her private life.

  Marlene waited. In ten minutes’ time she knocked loudly on the door.

  ‘Tim,’ she said.

  ‘Tim!’ she said.

  ‘Listen, Tim,’ she said. ‘I will take you across to Prunier’s. We can discuss everything there. You know you like Prunier’s.’

  ‘Timothy!’ she said.

  A very young man came round the corner. ‘Oh! ‘he said at Marlene’s back.

  ‘Would you mind going in there and telling my nephew, Tim Raymond, that he’s wanted urgently? A matter of life and death. Hurry.’

  The young man went in as one accustomed to military training, leaving the door open. Marlene stood in the doorway and watched while he politely looked round.

  ‘There’s nobody here,’ said the young man.

  The aged member from the library approached the door, followed by his young companion.

  Marlene was saying, ‘Nonsense. He is hiding from me. Have a good look.’

  ‘Who?’ said the aged member behind her.

  ‘Let me look,’ said Marlene, entering this tiled enclosure.

  ‘Who?’ said the old man.

  He was ushered away by his fellows.

  Marlene continued her simple but fruitless search. When she came out she caught sight of the porter as he came up the stairs with the look of one who had been sent.

  Marlene tripped along the passage and into the library. The room appeared to be unoccupied. A thin and feeble little cloud of cigarette smoke proceeded from the join of the window curtains. Marlene observed the bulge where Tim had pulled a chair behind the curtain to console his vigil, and made straight for it.