Come Clean (1989) (24 page)

Ralph stirred and opened his eyes. ‘Lie still for a little while,’ she said. ‘You’ve been knocked about.’

He still looked dazed and seemed to have trouble focusing on her when she spoke. If he could see anything at all, it would be her blood-soaked legs first, and that might trouble him.

After a while he said: ‘Mrs Iles?’

‘Yes, Ralph.’

‘Alone here?’

‘I had to see you.’

He tried to get up, supporting himself on his elbow, but did not have the strength and sank back. For a minute or two he closed his eyes again, and she feared he might sink back into
unconsciousness. Perhaps he was more badly injured than she could see.

‘Ralph,’ she said, ‘are you listening? Please listen. I don’t want to harass you, not now in that condition, but just tell me this one simple thing. You can nod or shake
your head if you like. Did you find Ian? That’s all I’m here for. I must know.’

He made no movement, his eyes still closed, and she felt even more strongly that unconsciousness had claimed him again.

Panic began to take over once more. ‘Two men did this to you, Ralph. You remember? You might know them. Was it because you failed to locate Ian? If you can just tell me that
–’

His eyes opened again. ‘Where’s Margaret?’

‘Your wife? I don’t know. There seems to be nobody here.’

‘She went to pick up the children from school.’

‘Nearby? Might she have seen the men, too?’

Now, he did shake his head, but very slightly. ‘Ash Tree. Private. Who’d send kids to school in this neighbourhood?’

Even in her present state she found it half-touching, half-comic, to hear him talk snob when blood-bathed and helpless on the floor.

‘They mustn’t see me like this. God, they come home from lessons on civics and dance and find their father looking like a butcher’s shop.’ He made another attempt to sit
up and this time did better, finishing propped on an elbow. She stood and went closer, to offer him help. He took hold of her hand and with his other one reached up to the bed and gripped the
blankets for more support. She pulled and he once more closed his eyes, this time to concentrate on the physical effort, and gradually got himself to his feet. At once he swung round exhausted and
sat on the bed, still holding Sarah’s hand. For a couple of minutes, he remained with his head hanging forward, occasionally groaning slightly.

‘Perhaps they’ve done you real damage, Ralph. You ought to get a doctor.’

‘Sorry about the sound effects. I always let the back row know when I’m suffering. It will pass. We’ve got a lad who was a nurse lives close, fully trained. I’m going to
give him a ring. But Mrs Iles, I don’t understand how you are here.’

‘I came to ask you about Ian.’

‘Yes, but here.’ Raising his head now, he waved his free hand, to show he meant the bedroom.

‘This is where they beat you up. I found you in trouble.’ The bleeding on his face had nearly stopped, but occasionally a drop fell on his trousers or the bedclothes. He watched as
if charmed, like a child seeing snow descend for the first time, and eventually released Sarah’s hand and fondled the injuries to his nose and eyebrow.

‘Please tell me, Ralph. Was it because you couldn’t produce Ian for them? It has to be that, has to be. Look, I’m scared frantic about him. Someone’s been pulled out of
the dock.’

She was crouched down in front of him where he sat on the bed, her face close to his, trying to keep contact with his big, brown eyes, and get past the pain and the secrecy. Never before had she
gone so hard for intimacy with a man while totally repelled by the notion of intimacy with him. He did not reply.

‘Listen Ralphy, but for me you’d be dead,’ she said.

‘Dead?’ He gave a small smile.

‘Yes, bloody dead,’ she yelled, ‘you ungrateful wreck. I’ve done you lip service.’

From downstairs came the sound of people moving about and, alarmed in case the men had returned, she straightened up quickly and went on to the landing. She heard a child’s voice and then,
shortly afterwards, a woman called from below: ‘Ralph, what’s going on? Who’s there?’

Another of those touches of farce at just the wrong time. She had saved a man’s life, and now here she was in a bedroom with him when his wife and children returned home, though at least
neither she nor Ralph looked as if they had been at a lovers’ tryst.

‘Mrs Ember,’ she said. ‘Could you come up? There’s been a beating.’ But she found that Ralph had managed to stand and make his way from the bedroom and was about to
go downstairs. As he began, his wife appeared at the bottom and looked up. ‘Ralph,’ she cried. ‘What?’ For a moment, Sarah must have been half shielding him. Now, Mrs Ember
obviously saw his injuries, and perhaps she could make out the blood streaks on Sarah’s face, too. ‘Those animals, Ralph? Yes, those animals. Macey?’

‘Macey, Mrs Ember? Who’s that?’ Sarah asked. She had never seen Ralph’s wife before. According to Ian, Ralph did not like her coming into the club: the Monty was his job,
with all its rough and dubious elements, and their flat another world, if he could keep it like that. Perhaps that was why Ralph had seemed so disturbed to find Sarah not just on the wrong side of
the bar, but in their bedroom. Looking down the stairs, she saw a small, blonde, boyish-looking woman of about her own age, flushed now with anger or fear or the two. She seemed too neat and
decorous for Ralph, nearly Rougement Place, and definitely up-town and bone china.

‘I’m all right, Maggie,’ he whispered. ‘Take the girls into the yard, would you? Just for a few minutes. I’ll spruce up.’

‘But who is this woman? Why is she here? She’s hurt, too? And, Ralph, the swearing. In front of the girls.’

‘It’s all right, Margaret. Do what I say.’ His wife turned and went out of sight, calling their daughters, and Ralph began to descend the stairs very slowly. Sarah followed.
Half-way down he paused and turned: ‘Well, I’m grateful, Mrs Iles. I feel it is only right to say that, in the circumstances. One abhors churlishness, oh, above all, churlishness is
abhorrent.’

On the whole it pleased her to hear some of the familiar tatty resonance and fart-arsing grandeur stoke his voice again. ‘Ralph, you could say more,’ she replied.
‘Please.’

He stood swaying on the stairs for a moment, his face showing traces again of its former sinister dignity, despite the blood. ‘Somebody in the dock?’

‘A silver Metro.’

‘They didn’t mention that.’

‘Who? The two who did this?’

‘Is this confidential information? Your husband?’

‘Who’s Macey?’

‘That’s Margaret talking. Don’t take any notice of what she says. Not in the picture at all.’

‘Which picture is that, Ralph?’

‘A silver Metro means nothing to me.’

‘Of course not, but –’

He held up his hand. ‘Mrs Iles, I’m convalescing, trying to. Could you go easy?’

‘All I want to know about is Ian.’

He sighed for a while and fingered his injuries again. ‘All right, I owe you. Accepted.’ He turned to face her squarely, a come-clean, partners-together movement. ‘What you
supposed is correct. I didn’t find him, and they thought I hadn’t tried. Well, and a bit more: they believe I’m protecting him, putting him wise to the hunt. I’m surprised
to be alive.’

‘Perhaps I disturbed them. Tell me, would you protect him?’

‘As far as I know, he’s safe, Mrs Iles.’

‘Please, make it Sarah. After all, I’ve had hold of your tongue.’

He gave a small, creepy, Japanese-style bow that caused a few spots of blood to shower from his nose on to the stair carpet. ‘Thank you. So, where is Ian? You’ve seen him? Why did
you come here? Because he’d heard I’ve been searching for him and told you?’ He gave that minute smile again. ‘How stupid I am. You’re not going to tell me where he
is, are you, even if you knew?’

‘I should cocoa, Ralph, even if I knew.’

‘I’m the enemy.’

‘You’re –’

‘Oh, not big enough to be an enemy to someone like you, I suppose. A nobody. But nobodies often catch the worst of these situations,’ he said.

‘They’ve got you terrorized, Ralph, so you’re not in control. I’m not blaming you, because you can’t help that.’

‘Right – a nobody. Ah, well, I suppose I knew that already. Panicking Ralph. What I didn’t realize was how much Ian must mean to you.’

‘But of course you did.’

‘I knew you had something satisfying. Not the seriousness of it.’

She did not answer. In a way he was right. These fears today for Ian had taught her, too, that despite everything, she could not bear to think of him hurt, or worse: could not bear to think of
him taken from her. Yet it was only an hour or two ago that Margot had asked why she worried so much over what her husband might know, and suggested she really meant to hang on to him and all he
stood for. The confusions that had torn at her for months remained almost as destructive as ever. Only almost, though. Didn’t she realize a bit better after watching that crane work and the
open doors of the ambulance how much she wanted Ian?

There was no need to let Ralph know any of this. ‘Now, listen, thank you, anyway,’ she said. ‘I’m so much happier than when I arrived. I’m going into your
Ladies’ room for repairs and then out the way I came in, through the fire doors. You don’t need me here. This incident – it’s serious, and your wife might want to call the
police. I mustn’t be about.’

‘No, we don’t call the police. You know that, and even Margaret knows it. But I understand, Sarah.’ He resumed his slow descent of the stairs. ‘Stay out of sight until
she comes back in, then disappear.’

‘Ralph, what the hell’s it all about?’

‘You’ll see the children in the yard. I’d prefer you didn’t talk with them. Do you mind? No reflection, absolutely none. How could it be, for heaven’s sake, you,
from up there, down here? But they’re bright, inquisitive. It’s surprising what they pick up. Just a friendly, relaxed wave, if I might suggest. A decent but impersonal social gesture,
to convey that all is well, and they’re not living on the edge of chaos. They’re just kids in straw hats.’ He went to the bar phone and called his nursing friend. ‘Could you
come over right away, Harvey, and check I’m firing on all cylinders?’

‘Ralph, tell me what it’s about,’ Sarah said. ‘It might be my life, as well as Ian’s. Could you identify these men? I hear this name, Macey. One of Loxton’s?
Don’t I deserve to know?’

‘Some of Harvey’s balm, a bath and a bit of a lie-down and I’ll be fine,’ he replied. ‘In a couple of hours we’re open again. Busy tonight. Super-bingo.
Always a very nice, select crowd.’

Strangely, she felt especially tender towards Desmond that evening and suggested they should go out to a restaurant for dinner. His eagerness was touching: people who knew him
only through the job would have been astonished at how vulnerable he could seem sometimes.

They were into the main course when she noticed that he had grown extremely uneasy. ‘This a place we shouldn’t come to?’ she asked. ‘Another?’

‘Could be.’

‘Why didn’t you say?’

‘I didn’t know for sure. And it’s your night out, your choice. I didn’t want to be a wet blanket.’ He leaned forward over the food. ‘Crooked money backing it.
Or, it’s being protected.’

‘God, how can you tell?’

‘The man eating alone behind me.’

‘Yes?’

‘Leo Tacette.’

‘Should I know him?’

‘Watch the way the waiters run around him.’

‘He owns it?’

‘Or he protects it. Harpur would have known they’re into this place. I lose track. Should have checked for an update.’

‘But, so what, for God’s sake, Des?’

‘Eating in the same place as a known heavy villain, possibly a place belonging to him? No, it’s not a keel-hauling offence. Doesn’t prove anything.’

‘But not whiter than white?’

‘One day it might be made to look bad.’

‘Who by?’

‘Oh, enemies. Or friends. A night like this could end up part of a dossier.’

Tacette seemed to eat little, and was drinking Perrier water. Yes, he did appear proprietorial. Thin, bald, with a small, dense, black moustache, and large straight nose, he spent most of his
time gazing about at the other customers. His looks were what she thought of as local: strong, incandescently
lumpen
, weathered, cheerful. He might have made it as chairman of the council.
‘At least the food’s good,’ she said, determined to salvage the evening.

‘Great.’

Perhaps Margot would have been able to provide a few words of seasoned jargon to account for Sarah’s wish to be nice to Desmond tonight. Sarah herself put it down to a general happiness
now she could believe that Ian was probably all right. And the new certainty that he meant so much to her came into things, too: she felt that would be hurtful to Des, if he knew, and so she wished
to show him special warmth and friendliness, the limits of what she could offer.

In the car she had asked: ‘What sort of day, Des?’

‘Oh, negligible.’ She waited but that was it: nothing about the dock. In a while he said: ‘You?’

‘Very steady progress with Rushdie. Page eight in
Shame
now.’

‘I think I liked page eight. He’s good at page eights. Did you get out at all?’

‘The shops, briefly.’ That had ended the talk.

Now, they were eating cassaulet, or goose stew as it was given on the no-nonsense menu. Tacette suddenly left his table and, carrying the glass of Perrier, came and stood near theirs. ‘Mr
Iles, it’s a privilege to have you here. I hope everything is to your liking.’ He carefully looked towards each of them. Talking seemed a big effort, but he made it.

Desmond nodded. ‘Lovely, Leo.’

‘Yes, indeed,’ Sarah said.

‘I’d no idea you had an interest in Chaff, Leo.’

‘Really?’

What did that mean, she wondered.

‘How long?’ Desmond asked.

‘We needed to diversify. Actually, this is Anthony’s side of things. You know Anthony?’ He nodded towards the pay desk where a younger man, bigger than Leo and with very
pointed features, stood alongside an older woman. ‘And Daphne giving a hand! A real family concern. But these youngsters! Big ideas. They’re the future. That’s what I
hear.’