‘Oh, yes, dearly loved.’
‘She could bring it to the nursery with her, no probs.’
‘That’s a relief. She’s very attached to him.’
‘Any attempt by some of these bullying three- or four-year olds to grab it from her will be very heavily negatived by me or, if necessary, a combined troubleshooters staff force.’
‘Do quite a number of people come to see Judy in the office?’
‘Oh, yes. The formalities.’
‘Of arranging for a child to be enrolled?’
‘But Fern, with her unique way of treating things at certain periods, will decide occasionally that it’s not to do with nursery matters at all. She’ll sniff the air. Yes, you’ll see her sniff the air, like an animal, and she’ll form her own notion as to what’s really taking place. At these times she suspects Silver Bells And Cockleshells of being a locked-door cover. She apparently picks up an odour indicating this, or indicating it to someone of her analytic bent. This might be sexual, obviously, but once I heard her murmur, “Cordite,” as though she detected a firearm with some history, or possibly wanted a firearm to deal with some imagined menace.’
‘Cover? Cover what?’
‘Something not obvious going on.’
Yes. ‘How about you, and any other staff?’
‘How do you mean “how about”?’
‘What do you think?’
‘Of the locked door?’ Sue said. ‘And the locked safe?’
‘Yes, that kind of thing.’
‘I don’t want you to be uneasy. That’s why I’ve explained matters so thoroughly. I had an idea Fern might get unpredictable and rancid today. It’s the way she puts her head on one side from early a.m., like she wants to see behind what’s happening, or what someone’s saying, and requires this new viewing angle. Sceptical. A determination to be undeceived. Admirable in many ways. I thought it best if I assured you these moments of unusual carry-on from Fern are only moments and are concerned with a limited number of topics, mainly adult matters, in that special, rather unwholesome sense of “adult”. Your child and all the other children are totally safe. The cordite aspect I don’t see as serious. Cordite should be our servant, not our master or mistress.’ She nodded slowly three times. ‘Considerable rigour.’
‘Considerable rigour in what?’ Liz replied.
‘Official inspection of nurseries. Certification. These involve considerable rigour and poking about by bloody disgusting professional snoops, “only-doing-my-job” scumbags. They come unannounced. Judy might tell Fern to take the day off, otherwise. So, we just have to hope she’s in an unmemorable phase.’ Sue suddenly gave her voice grand deference and excitement: ‘Well, and here’s Mr Gordon Loam now,’ she cried.
He came out on to the landing through the door Fern had concentrated on with the blows and discourse. Liz thought he looked angry and somehow deeply deprived. Behind him stood a woman in her mid forties wearing the sort of bodyline, bum-cradling jeans Sue had spoken about and a purple roll-top sweater. She carried a large teddy bear: hugged it strongly to the sweater, as though it had been saved from kidnappers or a flood and would be devotedly protected for ever from now on. Had Gordon Loam attacked it? Fern was alongside what must be Mrs Timmins. Gordon Loam came hurriedly down the stairs and passed among the children towards the front door, ignoring Sue and Liz. ‘For shame, for shame, you dirty, driven dog! Return to your vomit. There’s none for you here,’ Fern shouted after him. He let himself out.
‘Judy, here’s a lady who wants to enrol her child, Christine,’ Sue said.
‘A lovely name,’ Fern said. ‘She’ll have a wonderful time here. A restful, ceaselessly friendly oasis. Oh, I do look forward to meeting your Christine.’
‘Come up to the office, will you, please,’ Mrs Timmins said to Liz.
‘There’s been a breakage therein, I believe,’ Fern said. ‘I heard it. That’s always liable to happen. Picture hooks notoriously get metal fatigue. Pictures of birds unfortunately can’t fly like birds. But it will all soon be righted.’
Liz and Mrs Timmins went into the office, and Mrs Timmins closed and locked the door. She put the teddy bear on a work station. They sat facing each other in bamboo framed easy chairs. Liz found herself sniffing, but unostentatiously sniffing, for whatever Fern might have sniffed if she’d been in a sniffing mood now. Liz, though, detected nothing. Fern had apparently caught the odour of cordite one day. Liz wasn’t sure she’d recognize the smell of cordite, anyway, but she felt pretty sure it wasn’t present now. ‘I gather from Sue the teddy bear is usually taped to the safe,’ Liz said. ‘A pleasant touch, and a reminder of what the nursery is all about.’
‘The tapes came loose.’
‘This is something that can happen to tapes. It’s a very formidable looking safe otherwise. But I’m sure necessary. Business papers to do with the nursery? An obvious need for complete confidentiality. So, naturally, under lock and key.’
Mrs Timmins stayed quiet for half a minute, staring without a break at Liz the whole time. ‘You’re not here about a child, are you?’ she replied. ‘There’s no Christine. You’re an observer, aren’t you?’
‘An observer?’
‘Some inspectorate.’
‘It all seems in excellent order,’ Liz said. ‘As your assistant remarked, the puffin picture can soon be repaired and put back.’
‘Regrettably, there was something of a mild fracas,’ Mrs Timmins said. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if you noticed.’
Liz said: ‘Now and then we will all run into this kind of thing. The children took it as normal – surely the main point. They are learning a couple of prime lessons: (one) life will not be everlastingly placid and uneventful, and (two) there are occasions when a good, old-fashioned solid wood door is indispensable, rather than one of those frail, modern lightweight ones.’
FOURTEEN
‘Col’s been grieving about your shamefully violated Marriage Of Heaven And Hell, Ralph, and is disgusted by the jocose and flibbertigibbet way this savagery has been treated in the Press,’ Iles said. They’d watched while Ralph Ember, in the club porch, seemed to study the traffic and/or the horizon in very concentrated mode. And then, when he gave that up and returned to the bar, they’d followed him in.
During their observation spell in Shield Terrace, Harpur had pushed the car’s sun visor around to the side position, giving them some cover. With his gaze fixed hard on Ember, Iles had said: ‘I suppose you’ll be longing to know my interpretation of what we’re seeing, Col.’
‘I’m longing to know your interpretation of what we’re seeing, sir,’ Harpur replied.
‘Ralph’s had a visitor – someone he wants to make sure he’s rid of for now. He feels the club has been polluted, and he intends to guard it from any further insult.’
‘Which visitor?’
‘We arrived just too late to see. But someone he detests, with possible justification. I deduce this from the cast of his body as he stands there, very upright, very proud, very unforgiving around the tonsils and lower jaw area, buttocks clenched in contemplative rage: they could crack walnuts.’
‘I didn’t notice that – the tonsils and lower jaw, or the buttocks.’
‘Well, you’re not the kind who would notice, Col.’
‘Which kind would, sir?’
‘My kind, Harpur.’
‘But which kind is that?’
‘Mine.’
‘This possibly justified detestation and the pollution – you think it was Gordon Loam? But why would he come?’
‘Ralph’s resolved about something,’ Iles replied.
‘To do Gordon Loam?’
‘Ralph W. Ember is not someone to monkey with. His self-awarded dignity has sublime vastness. This is accompanied by a full-throttle determination to dispose of anyone who damages that dignity.’
‘Enzyme?’
‘Obviously, you’ll be thinking of John Foster Dulles, Col.’
‘Astonishing! How did yo
u know, sir?’
‘US Secretary of State in the Cold War.’
‘Oh, that John Foster Dulles!’
‘Promised “massive retaliation” if Russia nuked. Likewise Ralphy’s response when irritated, for instance by a shot Blake pic.’
Harpur would have regarded these guesses and theories from anyone other than Iles as daft whimsy and consummate crap. But he’d learned that the Assistant Chief’s intuitions sometimes turned out spot on. Often turned out spot on. He’d told Harpur not long ago that at Staff College he’d been dubbed ‘Delphi Desmond’ after the town in ancient Greece where, apparently, a Delphic Oracle did top-notch predicting to help prop up the barmy plots of classical tales.
In the club, Iles called delightedly, ‘Why, Ralph! What a treat to see you again! How are the family – Margaret and the children, Venetia and Fay? All well? Grand! The Monty’s brass fittings and mahogany panels are reassuringly splendid still in this age of three-ply and plastic.’ A few lunchtime customers were already in the bar. They went silent for a minute. Iles could have this chilling effect on some Monty members – those who’d been locked up, or were on bail and due to be locked up, or who should have been locked up and knew it and soon might be. The Assistant Chief had this type of impact whether he was in uniform or civvies. ‘Nobody shall ever call me dowdy, Col,’ he’d told Harpur not long ago.
‘I’ll be alert in case anyone does, and inform him-her that, on the contrary, you’re famous for non-dowdiness, anti-dowdiness, in fact.’
Ralph ordered drinks, and the three of them went to a table for some privacy. Iles mentioned Harpur’s supposed reaction to the club shooting and Press treatment. The ACC continued: ‘Naturally, Col had never heard of W. Blake, but he’d picked up from the newspaper column that this guy must be someone important in respectable annals, and so Harpur could feel sorrow at the harm done. Col’s a great fan of literature. He doesn’t know any, of course, but he gives it genuine, comradely approval in a general way. You speak the word “literature” to him, and a very warm, accommodating smile will brighten his gnarled-before-its-time phiz temporarily, showing he’s heard the term before and might even have an idea what it means. Almost definitely I can state he would never do a Goebbels and burn books by the trainload.’
‘I don’t understand why you’re here,’ Ralph replied. ‘I mean, two people of your rank.’
‘There’s only one person of my rank,’ Iles said. ‘Me. And then there’s Harpur.’
‘Mr Iles likes to keep the city peaceful: no blood on the pavements, Ralph,’ Harpur said.
‘I would certainly endorse that,’ Ember said.
Harpur glanced up towards The Marriage Of Heaven And Hell. ‘So good to see the collage has been repaired,’ he said. ‘In proper condition it gives the club an ambience.’
‘Col’s strong on ambiences,’ Iles said, ‘and no longer mixes them up with ambulances. If he ever got to Staff College, which, plainly, he never fucking will, they’d probably fix “Ambience” on him as a friendly cognomen. Clearly, the club has its own fine, distinguished character which cannot be seriously damaged by a wayward gun-pop incident of that sort, Ralph. I agree with Col; the salvaged Blake figure relays an additional genial atmos. But The Monty is not only about this lovely interior. It has a place in the wide outside. When we first arrived, Ralph, we saw you in the porch gazing forward in a particularly significant, highly empathic fashion. Probably, you’ll want me to point out what, whom, you resembled then – in my opinion.’
‘Well, no, I don’t think I do,’ Ember said.
‘The French lieutenant’s woman waiting at the end of the sea wall for the French lieutenant to come back in The French Lieutenant’s Woman,’ Iles replied instantly.
‘I’ve heard of him,’ Ember said.
‘Who?’ Iles said.
‘The French lieutenant,’ Ember said. ‘Do we ever find out where he’s gone?’
‘And do you know what Harpur said to me?’ Iles replied.
‘Some bollocks,’ Ember said.
‘He declared: “Ralph is in an act of homage to the city he adores and is so much a pillar of. He revels in its happy, even serene, incessant hum of wholesome activity.” Would this be an accurate interpretation of your posture then, Ralph? “Earth has not anything to show more fair.” That kind of malarkey?’
Ember said: ‘Well, I—’
‘Wonderful, Ralph!’ Iles cried. ‘Harpur might look thuggish and woebegone, but he has this unparalleled perceptive knack. The sight of you in the porch, enjoying the view, and your personal thoughts prompted by that view, would tell Col that you were experiencing a quiet, reflective moment. And, yes, this could be categorized as a spell of homage. I don’t think that is to exaggerate.’
Ember said: ‘Well—’
‘We felt privileged, I and Col, to be part of that grand experience, although from a sizeable distance in our car. Yes, the experience was so strong and authentic that it easily reached us, evidently an experience with legs. We considered it would be a kind of disrespect, a minor sacrilege, to interrupt, just as one would hang back while, say, waiting for a nun to complete her prayers. We delayed until you went into the bar, when our approach would be less disruptive. Col was very firm on that. He’s much into decorum.’
‘What the hell’s this all about?’ Ember said.
‘Ah! You’re one who goes to the core of things, Ralph,’ Iles said.
‘So much wordage,’ Ember replied.
Occasionally, Harpur thought Ralph had part-discovered how to handle the Assistant Chief. It was about time. He’d had some practice.
‘This idiot who went on the anti-Blake hunt – did he have a grudge?’ Iles said. ‘I mean against you, not against Blake or the Romantic Movement, though God knows the Romantic Movement deserves to get blown away by its own sodding wild West Wind.’
‘Grudge?’ Ralph said.
‘The blood on the pavement already mentioned, Ralph,’ Harpur said. ‘We want to avoid that.’
‘Pavements in this city are for pedestrians, going briskly and efficiently about their unthreatened business,’ Iles said. ‘I, Desmond Iles, exist to achieve and preserve this urban safety.’
Ember said, ‘Yes, but—’
‘The council is aiming to enter “The City of Culture” competition,’ Iles replied. ‘We need to be extra careful. Stains everywhere at street level won’t help with the application. There’s a lot of high-grade snorting goes on among the cultured, Ralph. These are people who believe Charlie, used without stint, increases their appreciation of the arts and straightens out major philosophical glitches. Such heavy users will be drawn here if our city wins the nomination. You won’t want to lose that trading opportunity.’
Ember said: ‘No, but—’
‘Envy,’ Iles replied.
‘Whose?’ Ralph said.
‘Think about Basil Gordon Loam, Ralph,’ Iles said.
‘Think what about him?’ Ralph said.
‘We take it he was the marksman,’ Harpur said.
‘It’s well-known his family was wholeheartedly, even reverentially, into tea,’ Iles said. ‘This is what I’m getting at when I say “envy”. Tea in a very big way. The Gordon Loams would certainly go along with Cowper.’
‘I’ve heard of him, too,’ Ember said.
‘Of course,’ Iles said. ‘You started that mature student degree course, Ralph. Admirable.’
‘Suspended because of business pressures,’ Ember said.
‘Very understandable. Tell me a university course that could put you in touch with six-hundred-thousand-pounds-plus a year, untaxed. You’ll know Cowper’s another poet,’ Iles said. ‘He wrote about “the cups that cheer but not inebriate”.’ Ungrammatical but accurate. You won’t see anyone smashed on tea.’
‘What’s it to do with envy?’ Ralph said.
‘His family were up there among the importers and promoters of good, innocent cheer, with its particular, noble Brit-honed rituals – warm the po
t, water boiling, milk in last, cube or grain sugar if needed,’ Iles replied. ‘Hombres finos. But then the slide, the collapse of all that glory and tradition, leaving us with Basil Gordon Loam, someone possessed of an elegant history but not much more than that.’
‘And someone who wouldn’t be satisfied with a Cowper cuppa,’ Harpur said.
‘So, in his awful degradation, he notes and resents a present-day equivalent of those formidable ancestors,’ Iles said. ‘Specifically, he sees The Monty and its remarkable proprietor, Ralph Ember. This is why I spoke of envy. It encompasses him. It roughs him up. He has to work off his jealousy, his hatred of another’s distinction and success. He comes to The Monty and delivers his miserable, sick rancour on one of the most public symbols of that distinction and success, the high-floating Blake, like the battlefield flag in The Red Badge Of Courage.’
‘Mr Iles fears you could feel compelled to hit back, given the special provocative vileness of the attack, Ralph,’ Harpur said. ‘In that type of conflict, the blood on the pavement might be yours. This is what upsets Mr Iles.’
‘Gravely upsets,’ Iles said.
‘The ACC is very susceptible, Ralph. At Staff College he was—’
‘Susceptible to what?’ Ember replied.
‘As Mr Iles sees it, this city depends on you, Ralph.’
‘Not just as I see it,’ Iles said. ‘Many, possibly Harpur included, small-minded, obtuse jerk though he is.’
‘Modesty makes Mr Iles reject any claim to uniqueness,’ Harpur said. ‘He’s admired for his humility. At Staff College, I gather, he was known as “Unvainglorious Ilesy”.’
‘This city exists in a state of equipoise,’ Iles said. ‘You are vital to that inspiring, yet fragile balance, Ralph. Clearly, your splendid contribution could not be made if you were in the morgue or catastrophically disabled, perhaps a bullet irretrievably lodged in your brain, making logical thought tricky because blocked by metal. You’ll ask what I mean by equipoise, as Harpur did when I first used the term way back. But on the third or fourth explanation, aided by graphs and sketches, he came to understand it: patience pays when dealing with Col.