‘Oh yes, right.’ I looked at Anna again, eyebrows raised.
‘One of the things, the fundamental things, that Steiner discovered was that we have seven parts, seven kinds of self. The house, you see, is the philosophy made flesh, Josh. It is a template, a model, an embodiment of the human spirit itself, as revealed by Steiner. He was the Darwin, the Einstein of the spiritual world, and this was one of his great discoveries. When we die, Josh, only the first member, the physical body, is destroyed. For a few days its companions, the astral and etheric bodies, cling together, after which the astral body separates itself and goes on its way without the etheric, which also dies. Now the person goes through a painful process of purification, retracing his or her life experiences and purging them in what Steiner calls “the consuming fire of the spirit”, until at last the whole of their earthly life is distilled to an extract, a quintessence, which the Ego carries forward into the spiritual world, the Spirit-land.’
He was becoming more and more excited, eyes wild, and he suddenly reached out to grab my arm. ‘Josh, Steiner tells us that the process of purification takes about one-sixth of the time the person spent on earth. Don’t you see? For Lucy that would be four years. Four years! That’s why you’re disturbed, why you’ve come back to this house now. You were close to her, you sense her being at the time when she must move on into the land of Spirits!
‘That’s why she returned here. It was a dark night. I came into this room, and switched on the light, and there she was, out there on the terrace, a pale figure, but absolutely clear, unmistakable, illuminated by the light from the room. I cried out her name and went towards her. I wanted to speak to her, ask her forgiveness, but she disappeared. She’d come back to this house, Josh, to seek out the blueprint of her future life, to find her way forward into the Spirit-land.’
‘Forgiveness?’ I said sharply. ‘Forgiveness for what?’
‘What?’
‘You said you wanted to ask her forgiveness. What for?’
‘Oh …’ He became a mass of confusion. ‘I felt responsible. She was my student …’ Then he turned on me. His frown might have been puzzlement, or concern, or perhaps no more than a struggle to concentrate. He repeated my name a couple of times, ‘Josh … Josh,’ then his face cleared and he said, ‘I understand-you’re suffering, right? Shit, you feel guilt … despair, right?’
‘Yes, but-’
‘I felt exactly the same, until I discovered the truth.’
‘The truth? You know the truth, about how she died?’
‘Ha!’ Now a beatific smile lit his face. ‘But that’s the point, Josh, that is the point.’
‘What is?’
‘She isn’t dead.’
We left soon after, exchanging promises to catch up again another time. As we made for the front door Marcus, returned now to a more prosaic spiritual plane, said to Anna, ‘On morphine, was he?’
‘What?’
‘Owen, when you saw him.’
‘I suppose so, something like that.’
Marcus nodded, as if he knew all about morphine. ‘Messes with your brain, Anna. People believe all kinds of stuff.’
We stepped carefully through the obstacles on the living room floor, and I recognised a Lloyd Rees print on the wall that Luce and I had admired on one of our visits. The memory brought back just how much energy and life there had been in this house then, and how neglected it now seemed. I felt sorry for Marcus. He’d been an intriguing and generous man to know, and he’d made our student lives more interesting, more vivid. Now he seemed utterly lost.
When we reached the front door, Anna led the way up the path between the rocks, but Marcus put a hand on my shoulder and stopped me. He was uncomfortably close, his breath foul on my cheek. ‘Josh,’ he murmured, ‘you don’t want to get into all this. Really. I understand how fond of her you were, but believe me, there’s no conspiracy here.’
I nodded, embarrassed to see what looked like a tear in his eye. He was so close I couldn’t avoid noticing the unhealthy colour of his skin, the tufts of bristle he’d missed shaving beneath his chin.
‘Anna’s got it all wrong, you see. You should put her straight. Don’t let her make trouble. Bad for everyone.’
I didn’t mention this to Anna as we drove back to Central, where she wanted to catch a train. On the way she said, ‘Poor Marcus. I can’t believe how much he’s altered. This thing has really done him in, hasn’t it?’
‘Yes, pretty much. He’s a changed man all right. Did you believe what he said, about the accident?’
‘Yes, I did, though he wasn’t there of course, when Luce fell.’
I had believed it too, until that last little exchange at the door. Now I wasn’t so sure.
We agreed we’d have a think about things and talk again soon.
9
I wanted to think about something else, and Mary helped by giving me a new list of jobs that needed doing around the place. I got stuck into them, and was rewarded later with a lobster dinner and a bottle of wine. After the meal I lay on my bed with a crime novel one of the guests had left with us. She’d recommended it highly, and the reviews quoted on the back cover were all ecstatic, but it annoyed me. It wasn’t that it was unrealistic, at least concerning the technical aspects of murder-DNA profiling, gunshot trauma, the action of bacteria in buried corpses, autopsy procedures and all the rest-in these things it was grossly realistic. But I just couldn’t relate to the characters. They were so incredibly resourceful and resilient; the more they were beaten up and shot and misled, the more determinedly they returned to the fight and the more brilliantly their brains worked. Real people aren’t like that-they’re very easily frightened and confused, their motives are boring and selfish, and when trouble comes they have a tendency to curl up into a little ball until it all goes away. I know, because I’m one. But of course that doesn’t make for a very interesting read.
I had been confused by our visit to Marcus all right, and unsettled in ways I couldn’t quite define. The house had been part of it: claustrophobic, chaotic, a chamber of memories and ghosts. And Marcus himself, diminished and turned in upon himself. I thought about that performance of his, my mind coloured by the book I’d just been reading. In crime novels, of course, every fact, every event may be significant, carrying the germ of some revelation. Life may not be like that, but the more I considered Marcus’s mystic blustering, the more dubious it seemed, like an elaborate cloak he’d felt obliged to gather around himself. I began to become convinced that the cloak concealed something. A secret. And I wanted to know what it was.
On Monday morning Damien phoned and invited me to have lunch with him. It was a very swish place on East Circular Quay, with a stunning view of the Opera House, and I felt a little out of place among all the corporate suits, but pleasantly so. I really didn’t want to be like that again.
Damien was expansive and friendly, but also, I felt, pointedly assertive as he ordered this and that, as if establishing a certain position of authority. I let him come to the point in his own time, as we were halfway through our fish.
‘I got a call from Marcus Fenn at the weekend,’ he said, dabbing his mouth with his napkin.
‘Oh yes?’
‘He said you and Anna paid him a visit, at Castlecrag.’
‘That’s right.’
‘What did you think?’
‘It was a bit of a shock, frankly, seeing him again. He’s really gone downhill, hasn’t he? The house was a mess, and he didn’t look too fit.’
Damien nodded sadly. ‘You’re right. I’ve watched it happen. The university treated him very badly, you know. Really beat him up. He’d made a lot of enemies over the years, especially within his own faculty-well, you know how sarcastic he could be. The dean hated his guts and saw the accident on Lord Howe as a way to get rid of him. Rumours circulated-that he hadn’t organised proper back-up for the team, that he was indifferent to safety procedures, that he was spaced out on drugs when it happened-all discounted by the police investigation, but no matter. They made life as difficult for him as they could, and when he accepted a package they refused to give him a reference. Then Luce’s dad went for him.’