The Bachelors (26 page)

‘You
are right,’ said Father Socket. ‘And would that I had known it earlier. He is
tonight under arrest for activities the nature of which I will not sully my
lips by describing. I myself have just come from the police station where I was
given to understand that attempts had been made to implicate myself in these
activities. Fortunately——’

‘What
were the activities?’

‘Young
women were involved. I say no more,’ said Father Socket. ‘Fortunately there is
no shred of evidence against me. I have been away for some days, and I find on
my return this afternoon that my flat has been searched in my absence. Needless
to say, nothing of the least incriminating nature was found. My name is clear.
I have come straight to you to offer my services in atonement for the harm done
to Mr. Seton by Dr. Garland.’

‘Doctor
so-called,’ said Marlene.

‘A very
wise move,’ Patrick said meekly to Father Socket.

Father
Socket looked at him, opened his mouth and closed it again.

‘We
must have our refreshments,’ said Marlene. ‘The Interior Spiral goes on!’ She
went to heat the coffee.

‘A very
wise move,’ Patrick said to Father Socket.

‘The
police have no evidence against me,’ Socket said.

‘Not
unless I lay it before them,’ Patrick said meekly, ‘because I have proof of the
facts.’

‘I have
come to offer my services, my son,’ said Socket. ‘I cannot do more. Under the
influence of my cloth, my evidence___’

‘Come
now,’ Marlene said, bearing in the coffeepot, ‘we shall refresh ourselves while
we discuss the details. How glad I am, after all, that the members of our
little Interior have defected! They were not worth their salt. All things work
together for good. Do you take sugar, Father?’

‘No,
nor coffee at this hour, if I may be excused.’

‘Details,’
said Marlene. ‘Now, it is a question, before we see Patrick’s counsel, of what
you were doing on the morning of the twelfth of August. You were at Patrick’s
rooms on that morning, receiving a private séance. Patrick was in a trance…
You saw a police car pull up outside just as you were leaving the premises…
his statement… in a trance.

By
midnight they were rehearsed.

‘Before
you leave,’ Marlene said, ‘shall we go into the Sanctuary for a few moments’
spiritual repose?’

In the
Sanctuary a dim green light was burning. Patrick automatically took the carved
oak séance chair while Marlene and Socket sat facing him.

They
breathed deeply. Suddenly Patrick’s head jerked backwards. Marlene whispered to
Socket, ‘Take my hand. He is going into a trance. He may prophesy.’

Patrick
gurgled. His eyes rolled upward. Water began to run from the sides of his mouth
which at last he opened wide. In a voice not his, he pronounced,

‘I
creep.’

Marlene’s
arms went rigid. Socket tried to release his hand but could not.

Patrick’s
mouth was foaming. His head drooped and his eyes closed. He breathed loudly.
His fingers twitched on the end of the chair-arm. Presently he lifted up his
head again and his eyes opened into slits.

Marlene
said, ‘He’s coming round.’

They
left the Sanctuary of Light, Marlene assisting Patrick.

‘Did I
give utterance?’ Patrick said. ‘What did I say?’

Walter Prett leaned his
bulk over the bar of the wine club in Hampstead. It had just opened and he was
the first customer. He said to the barmaid, ‘I say, Chloe, you know everyone,
don’t you?’

‘Just
about,’ she said.

‘Do you
know Isobel Billows?’

‘Now
who is she?’ Chloe said, concentrating her sharp young face on the subject.

‘She
was married to Carr Billows of Billows Flour.’

‘Oh, Flourbags?’

‘Yes,
his first wife.’

‘I don’t
know of her,’ Chloe said. ‘What about her?’

‘She’s
got lots of money. I broke her china the other day.’

‘Whatever
do you mean, you naughty boy?’

‘I’ll
have another,’ Walter said.

‘You
broke her china?’

‘Yes,
all her china tea cups. They were on a tray. I smashed the lot.’

‘Why d’you
do that?’ Chloe said, polishing the glasses on the counter so that her time
should not be not altogether wasted.

‘Why?
That’s what I ask myself between opening times. I love that woman, Chloe. And
yet I go and behave like a hog.’

‘Just a
minute,’ said Chloe, drawing inspiration from the embossed cornice. ‘Just a
minute. Haven’t I heard that she’s got a barrister friend?’

‘She
has indeed. Martin Bowles. Do you know him?’

‘No, I
don’t think’

‘No,
you wouldn’t know him. He’s nobody. Only he hangs round Isobel for her money.
He’s the financial wizard, you see. And lines his own pocket on the right side
of the law. A common little, vulgar little—”

‘Now
don’t start that,’ Chloe said, ‘Walter, please. Not at this hour of the
evening. Hallo, Eccie,’ she said as Francis Eccles came in.

‘And he’s
bald,’ said Walter. ‘At least I’ve got a good head of hair.’ He shook his white
mane.

‘You
could do with a trim,’ said Chloe.

‘I’ve
resigned from the British Council,’ said Eccie. Walter hugged him like a bear
and embraced him on both cheeks. He drew from his pocket three five-pound notes
and gave one to Eccie. ‘What’s this for?’ Eccie said.

‘A
congratulatory gift.’

‘The
return of a loan,’ said Chloe. ‘I remember the last time you were here—”

‘Vulgar
little lower-middle-class ideas you have, Chloe. I do not borrow and return. I
take. I give.’

‘You
can give me sixteen and six and clear out,’ Chloe said. ‘I won’t be talked to
like that.’

Walter
beamed at her.

‘Yes,
it’s all right when you’re in the right mood,’ Chloe said, ‘but you turn about
like the weather.’

‘My
lectures,’ said Eccie, ‘were designed to reveal the essence of art from Botticelli
to Kandinski, with reference to the lives of the artists themselves, supported
by coloured plates, excellent reproductions. Those lectures have stood the
test—”

‘I
should leave out the lives of the artists,’ Walter said. ‘They don’t bear
looking into.’

‘Oh,
come, I wouldn’t say that.’

‘They
break up ladies’ china cups,’ Walter said mournfully.

‘Since
when were you an artist?’ Chloe said.

Walter
looked dangerous.

‘Walter,
now, Walter,’ said Eccie, ‘don’t
do
anything.’

‘I have
spent a long time not doing anything,’ Walter said. ‘The sins of the artist are
sins of omission. You should do a lecture on that, Eccie, with reference to the
lives of the art-critics.’

‘Well,
as I was saying,’ Eccie said, ‘this chap called me in, and he said’

‘I pray,’ said Alice, ‘day
and night. I go into churches and pray if the doors are open, and I pray that
Patrick will be saved from prison.’

‘I
wouldn’t build on it,’ Elsie said.

‘I am
building on it. I pray for Patrick, and that’s the test. If Patrick doesn’t get
off, I don’t believe in God.’

‘Patrick
hasn’t much chance, with the statement he made to the police against him.’

‘He was
half in a trance when he made that statement. There’s a police officer that’s
got an influence on Patrick, and he talked him into it. Patrick was just out of
a trance.’

‘The
jury won’t know what a trance is.’

‘They’ll
learn.’

‘There’s
a prejudice against spiritualism,’ Elsie said.

‘Oh,
can’t you look on the bright side, Elsie?’

‘I don’t
know what’s bright about you having Patrick wearing you down for the rest of
your life.’

‘Well,
he’s my choice, Elsie.’

‘I know
that. I’m afraid for you.’

‘Don’t
be afraid for me. And you needn’t be afraid for Patrick either, now that Father
Socket’s come forward to speak for him. There’s no denying the impression
Father Socket makes on people.’

‘Father
Socket?’ Elsie said. ‘He’s against Patrick. He was in with Mike Garland. A
couple of
those.’

‘There’s
been a rift. Garland is in trouble with the police and let Father Socket down.
So Father Socket has come in with Patrick now. It’s going to be all right, I
feel it. Father Socket was with Patrick on the morning of the twelfth of
August, and he saw Patrick in a trance just before the police came—”

‘Twelfth
of August was my birthday,’ Elsie said.

‘So it
was. Well, that was the day that Patrick made the statement. But everything’s
all right now.’

‘I don’t
see you need to pray for Patrick if you’re so sure of that.’

‘It’s a
test of God,’ said Alice.

Elsie telephoned from
Victoria Station to Ronald. ‘I’ve got to see you. It’s about the evidence for
Patrick Seton. Father Socket is going to give false evidence. I’ve got to see
you.’

‘Father
who?’

‘That
Father I told you about, that let me down.’

‘Oh,
yes.’

‘Well,
he’s going to say that on the morning of twelfth of August — which was my
birthday and I had the day off — he’s going to swear—”

‘Look,’
said Ronald, ‘I’m not the police.’

‘Can’t
I tell you? I’d rather give you the story.’

‘It’s
not my business. Go straight to the police station. Ask for Detective-Inspector
Fergusson. Have you any evidence?’

‘No,
only my word.’

‘Well,
it’s as good as Socket’s. Go and see Mr. Fergusson.’

‘I’ll
ring and tell you what he says.’

‘No
need to,’ Ronald said. ‘It’s not my business.’

‘Then I
don’t know if I shall bother,’ Elsie said. ‘It’s not my business either.’

Marlene was on the night
train to Scotland.

‘I’m
very sorry, Patrick,’ she had said, standing at the door of her flat, her
baggage packed and visible in the hall behind her, keeping him out. ‘Very sorry
indeed. But on consideration I simply must safeguard my reputation for the sake
of the Circle. Nothing has changed, my feelings are the same, but on
consideration I can’t give evidence. And as it happens I’ve been called away
urgently. You have Father Socket. I am no loss.’

She
thought, now, perhaps she had been hard on Tim. It had been well-meaning of him
to telephone to her.

‘I say,
Marlene, do keep out of the Seton case. You’ll be charged with suborning,
Marlene dear. The police may be on the alert for suborners, Ronald Bridges gave
me the tip.’

‘What
is suborning?’

‘Conspiracy.
Cooking up evidence in a law case beforehand.’

‘There
has been no cooking up on my part. There is no contrary proof whatsoever.
There—’

‘It’s a
criminal offence, Marlene dear, you might go to Holloway prison. I should hate—”

‘You
beastly little fellow. You snivelling…’

She had
hung up the receiver in the middle of his protests. All the same, on
consideration…

The
train to Dundee was a rocky one. She stood up in her bunk and tried to adjust
the air-conditioning equipment of the sleeping compartment, but failed. She
pressed the bell. No-one came. She wondered if Patrick might have some
spiritual power over her, even in Scotland. She could not sleep.

‘The key,’ said Dr. Lyte
miserably, handing Patrick the key.

‘A
month’s supply of insulin,’ he said, handing Patrick the prescription. ‘When
will you be going?’

‘The
day after the trial. Alice is upset, you know. Very depressed. She needs the
holiday.’

‘I’ll be seeing you in
court then tomorrow, Mr. Fergusson.’

‘Yes,
Patrick. Be there at quarter past ten.’

‘If I
get off, Mr. Fergusson, I may have some news for you.’

‘Let’s
have your information now, then, Patrick.’

‘I’d
rather wait and see if I get off.’

‘Your
news wouldn’t be about Socket, would it?’

‘I’d
rather not say, Mr. Fergusson.’

‘We
need information about Socket. I don’t mind admitting it,’ said Fergusson.

‘That
statement I signed in August — you’ll be using it in court?’ Patrick said.

‘Yes,
Patrick. We can’t let you get away with that, I’m afraid. You’ve been useful to
us, but a statement’s a statement. It’s filed.’

‘You
got me in a weak moment when I gave you that statement,’ Patrick whispered. ‘I
was upset, you remember, Mr. Fergusson—” He looked at the broad shoulders and
did not want ever to have to leave the chair in which he sat contemplating
them, and go out into the streets again.