We That Are Left (23 page)

Then abruptly, at the corner of the park, he asked the cabbie to pull over.

‘I'm afraid this is where I get out,' he said. ‘I shall be in touch. About the job.'

‘I'll look forward to it.'

He smiled at her. Then, taking off his hat, he leaned forward and kissed her very lightly at the corner of her mouth. It was the kind of kiss an uncle might give his niece, yet somehow it was not that kind of kiss at all. His chin was soft and sharp at the same time.

‘My God, but you are lovely,' he murmured, his mouth close to hers.

‘Am I?'

‘Lovely enough to make a fool of a wise man.' She thought he might kiss her again. Instead, he settled his hat on his head and got out of the cab. He leaned down, one hand on the open door. ‘
À bientôt
, Miss Clematis.'

‘À bientôt
, sir. I should call you sir, shouldn't I, if I'm going to work for you?'

‘I'd prefer Your Excellency. But Gerald will do.'

‘Isn't it a little soon for that?'

‘Do you think so?' The way he looked at her made her flush. Drawing a note from his wallet he gave it to the cabbie. ‘Warrington Avenue. And take care of her. Goodbye, Miss Jessica Melville.'

‘Goodbye, Ambassador.'

As the taxi coughed and leaped away from the kerb Jessica turned, watching him through the back window until the cab
lurched, picking up speed, and he was gone, lost between the dappled trunks of the plane trees.

Mrs Leonard did not look like a medium. She looked like somebody's aunt. She wore a silk blouse with a paisley shawl, and sensible low-heeled shoes. Her hair was neatly pinned. She asked them if they wished to introduce themselves or if they preferred to remain anonymous. Her accent was educated but she did not pinch out the words in shiny little beads from the front of her mouth like other women of her class. Instead they flowed from her steadily, gently, like a slow-moving river. She asked if they would like some tea.

‘No tea,' Eleanor said, clutching her hands in her lap like a grenade.

‘Are you sure?' Mrs Leonard said to Jessica. ‘It's no trouble.'

‘I'm quite all right, thank you,' Jessica said, though actually now she thought about it she did rather want some tea. The champagne from lunch was starting to give her a headache. She wondered if Mrs Leonard was psychic as well as sensitive or if she could just smell the wine on her breath.

Mrs Leonard showed them to a small walnut table in a corner of the room and drew the curtains, putting on a dim lamp that softened the edges of the furniture and thickened the air to a yellowish soup. She explained that, once the sitting had begun, she would allow herself to pass under the control of her spirit guide. Feda, she said, was a distant ancestor of hers, the Hindu wife of her great-great-grandfather who had died in childbirth when she was only thirteen years old. Feda was not the girl's real name but a shortening of it, derived by Mrs Leonard from the letters brought forward when Feda had first started to come through. Since then Feda had always referred to herself by that name.

While Mrs Leonard was in trance, it would be Feda's voice that they heard. Mrs Leonard herself would know nothing of the words spoken through her, either during the sitting or afterwards. It was the responsibility of the sitter to speak
directly to Feda and through her to the spirits for whom she was communicating. It was easiest, Mrs Leonard said, to imagine it as a meeting between friends, the friends who had gone over and the friends on this side. When she asked if they had ever sat before Eleanor did not answer. In the yellow light her face looked sallow, the shadows beneath her eyes as dark as bruises.

‘Trust in Feda,' Mrs Leonard said gently. ‘With her agency we shall reach those you seek on the Other Side. In the Spirit World there exist what I can only describe as Enquiry Bureaux, where those who are anxious to send messages to their loved ones on earth make contact with those spirits who have grown proficient at coming through. Occasionally these are people they, or you, knew when they lived in this world. Mostly they are strangers. Do not be afraid. They wish you no harm. They come through because they want to help you.' She smiled at Eleanor, then turned to Jessica. ‘You are not afraid, I think. But you are uncertain. You have doubts.'

‘With respect, a great many people have doubts about what you do.'

‘Jessica! Mrs Leonard, I apologise, my daughter—'

‘Your daughter is right. My sitters are often doubtful. They have many questions and I am glad of it. Scepticism provokes productive investigation, provided of course that the sitter maintains an open mind and a sincerity of purpose. I would ask you only to remember that the seance, like the scientific laboratory, has conditions that must be respected. Disruptive conduct is not only unhelpful, it can be very dangerous. Ask as many questions as you need but do so, I beg you, with courtesy and respect. Feda wishes only to help you. She will do her best to seek for you whatever proofs you require. Is there anything else you would like to ask me?' The intensity of her gaze made Jessica squirm. She shook her head.

‘Very well, then. Shall we begin?' Mrs Leonard bent her head, putting her hands together. ‘Let us pray.'

Jessica pretended to close her eyes, watching the medium
through the blur of her eyelashes. As she intoned the words in her clear quiet voice a change came over Mrs Leonard's face, the skin slackening over the bones. Eleanor's face was clenched with concentration, her eyes squeezed tight as a child's.

‘Amen.'

There was a silence. Then a faint hum began to vibrate in Mrs Leonard's throat. Her lips were slightly parted, her head tipped back. She was quite still and yet she quivered with sound, like a strummed guitar string. Very slowly her head began to move from side to side, her mouth making the shapes of words. She did not speak. Her mouth began to move faster until, throwing back her head, she raised herself almost out of her seat, her hands stretched into stars.

Suddenly she froze, her mouth open, inhaling a long shuddering breath. She held the breath a long time before releasing it but, as she exhaled, all the tension seemed to drain from her body. Her shoulders loosened and her fingers curled and, as she settled back into her chair, the frown on her face gave way to blankness, and then to a childish grimace.

‘You know, it isn't fair to push in, not like that. You have to wait your turn.'

The voice was high, a child's voice. There was petulance in it but laughter too. There was a whispering, as though the child were talking to someone just out of sight.

‘I have to!' the child protested. And then in a different voice, the singsong voice of children in schoolrooms, she said, ‘Good afternoon, ladies.'

No one spoke. Then Eleanor leaned forward. ‘Is that you, Feda?'

‘Yes, Feda. Feda is here.' Again there was whispering. ‘Feda can't see your face. Stop laughing.'

‘Is there . . . is there someone with you, Feda?'

‘Yes. Raymond is here. The girl too.'

So that was her trick, Jessica thought. To start with someone half-familiar and then reel out the line. She shook her head, impatient with the shiver at the back of her neck.

‘The girl?' Eleanor asked.

‘Raymond's sister. With the long yellow hair. She has been here a long time, much longer than Raymond. Raymond takes care of her now.'

‘Does Raymond have a message for us?'

The room was warm and very airless. The headache tightened around Jessica's temples. She could hardly bear it, the pitifulness of Eleanor's hope, her credulity. She wanted to scream, to turn on all the lights, to shake Mrs Leonard awake and keep on shaking her until her teeth rattled. Think of London, she told herself. Think of nightclubs and champagne and driving motor cars and falling in love. Instead she thought of Mr Cardoza, the touch of his lips at the corner of her mouth. The uneasiness in her stomach made her feel faintly sick.

‘There is someone else here,' Feda said. ‘I can't see him well; he is not as solid as Raymond. I think he has not been over long, or not yet learned to build himself. It is not easy, Feda knows, it takes time. But he is very eager. He won't wait, though I tell him he must.' She giggled. ‘Don't joke, this is serious.'

‘Who is with you, Feda?' Eleanor whispered.

‘A young man. Feda doesn't think she has seen him here before. But then Feda sees so many people. He is waving his arms. He is saying something but Feda can't hear. Stop it!'

‘My darling, is that you? Oh, Feda, please, I beg you. Tell me who it is.'

‘He is trying to build up the letter but it is hard for him. He shows me N or M, he cannot keep it straight. Or perhaps it is W? What do you mean, can I read? If you are mean to me I shan't help you, so there.'

‘M,' Eleanor breathed. ‘M for Melville. Oh, Feda, tell me what he looks like.'

‘He is tall, not too tall, though. Brown hair. Well-built, not heavy or thick-set but strong. He has brown eyebrows too and a straight nose, a good-sized mouth, not full but not thin either, a nice mouth. There are dents on the sides of it, from
laughing. His face is oval. His hair falls over his eyes but he pushes it away with his fingers.' Again she giggled. ‘Cut it, then, if it provokes you so.'

It was a lucky guess, Jessica was certain, but she could not help thinking of Theo then, the impatient way he had of jabbing at his hair.

‘It was here.' Blindly the medium pressed the flats of her hands against her chest, then moved them down towards her stomach. ‘Or here? Sudden, he says it was very sudden. Stop it, stay still—I can't see his eyes, he keeps closing them. He's teasing me.'

Eleanor was weeping silently, the tears rolling down her cheeks.

‘He is still not built up but Feda feels like she knew him. From before. He must have been waiting here for you. He cannot say how long, time slips here, it is hard to count. He is laughing with Raymond, both of them laughing. He likes to laugh.'

‘Theo, darling, it's you, isn't it?'

The medium clapped her hands together in delight. ‘He says right first time.' Then she yelped, wriggling in her seat. ‘Theo is tickling Feda. He's laughing. And crying a little too. You are! He says he can't believe he has come through at last. He tried, he says he tried to reach you but he never had the strength.'

‘My darling, darling boy—' Eleanor's voice cracked.

‘Theo says don't cry. He is mended now. Nearly as good as new.'

‘And happy? Are you happy, my darling?'

‘He is nodding. He says when he first waked up he was sad, it was dark and cold and there were so many lost boys, so much pain and wretchedness, and he was afraid, but now it isn't dark, it is summer every day and he is happy. He misses you terribly but they are all together, the lost boys. Another family. And they are always laughing.'

‘Tell me what it's like, where you are.'

‘He says he wishes you could see it. He says it's like home,
roses, huge roses and wood pigeons calling and green meadows where the grass is so long you can lie down without anyone seeing you. They play football and swim in the river. Like being a child again. Except for the brandy. Now he's teasing Feda, he says she's not allowed, but Feda doesn't care, so there. Feda thinks brandy is horrid.'

So did Theo, Jessica thought. And Theo played cricket.

‘He says he has been trying to come through by himself. But though he tries and tries he flounders.' She stumbled on the word and frowned. ‘What's “flounders”? I thought it was fish!' There was some whispering and then she gave a shriek. ‘Oh! Theo has a dog, a big dog, brown, too big for Feda. It's jumping up, Feda doesn't like it. But Theo says not to be afraid. He says it's kind. Something P, Feda can't quite catch it. Patch? Pug? Is it a pug dog?'

‘Jim Pugh's dog?' Eleanor pressed her knuckles against her mouth. ‘You've found it? Oh darling, I'm so glad. Remember how you loved that wretched thing?'

‘He didn't!' Jessica cried. She could not help herself. ‘He never liked it. And anyway it wasn't brown. It was white.'

Feda let out a peal of laughter. ‘Should Feda say so? Out loud? Theo says he knew it, he knew you would be like this. He's laughing. A party? A party when you were small, too small maybe to remember, but Theo remembers. Poor conjuror, he says. Like the Spanish Inqui—not fair, too difficult for Feda.'

Jessica frowned but she did remember. A Christmas when she was four or five, a magician hired to entertain the children. Handkerchiefs all tied together and a bouquet of paper flowers and a real live rabbit in a top hat. She had held the hat upside down, feeling inside its lining for the trick.

‘He says this isn't magic, not this time. He says to ask him something.'

‘Like what?'

‘Anything. Something only he knows.'

Jessica stared at the table. Then she looked up. ‘Who am I?'

There was more whispering, a burst of childish laughter.
'Theo is teasing Feda. He doesn't give it clearly. He is bringing a letter, Feda can't make it out. Is it M? Now he has more. He is spelling something out. Mess? Feda's making a mess? He is laughing and Raymond too, but it isn't funny. Stop it or I won't try again. Be serious. So not M? Stop laughing. Mess is not a name. Jessica. You're Jessica.'

Jessica closed her eyes. Her hands were shaking.

‘Messica,' Eleanor breathed. ‘Miss Messica Jelville.'

‘He is fading,' Feda said. ‘There is a noise, a rushing noise, it is like the air going out of Feda, like there is a hole through my stomach. It is not Theo's fault, he did not know he did it. Feda is giddy. Like a merry-go-round.'

The medium whimpered, pressing her hands to her head. Then, very quietly she folded her hands in her lap and bowed her head.

Eleanor was weeping. Beside her Mrs Leonard took several slow deep breaths, in and out. Jessica bit her lip, trying to steady the thumping of her heart. The silence went on a long time. Then Mrs Leonard opened her eyes.