Outside the air was warm compared to the coolness of the solid stone building that we had just left. Fiona was going to see if she could dig up any further information on George Ferdinand. She was meeting the young girl who had been so talkative before, when she was working as a hostess in one of Flackyard’s seedy clubs. Shortly after her last chat with Fiona, she had been dismissed for talking too much, and was now between jobs. Keen to tell all about Georgie boy — for the right price?
That evening, the thought of another takeaway meal was too much, so we went to a popular restaurant in Lilliput for dinner. The small intimate dining room was full to capacity with people enjoying light conversation, locally caught fish dishes and excellent house wines. The meal was cooked to perfection and the drink had a relaxing quality. So by 11.30 p.m. I was starting to feel sleepy with the effect of the wine. But then Fiona suggested a swim in the heated salt-water pool back at the house.
The water was kept at a constant temperature and moonlight shone through the clear glass roof, trickling across the water like cream in black coffee. Jazz music scalded the soft night air; Fiona’s hair shone in the light and her body was phosphorescent in the clear black water. She swam near to where I was sitting on the side, and playfully splashed me before swimming off again.
“Do you ever wish that things could be different?” Fiona asked thoughtfully.
“Sometimes. Why, have you got man problems?” I replied.
“How intuitive of you. Would you believe that even in the 21st century, women still want love affairs to go on forever and ever. Why aren’t we clever enough just to enjoy it on a day-to-day basis?”
“Love is merely a state of mind,” I said using one of LJ’s little sayings.
There was a note of cynicism in Fiona’s voice. “What absolute male rubbish, it has to be more than that,” she said. “Sometimes two people see each other just for an instant, perhaps walking along a pavement, and there’s a rapport. It’s not sex, it’s not love, it’s a sort of unexplainable magical fourth dimension of living. You’ve never seen this person before, you’ll never see them again; you don’t even intend to try because it doesn’t really matter.”
“Everything that is good, I mean, that is profound and understanding in the two of you, becomes reality at that precise moment.”
“My grandmother gave me two pieces of advice when I was a boy,” I said.
“Don’t ever jump off a high building without a parachute or go out with a woman who keeps a diary. You are definitely starting to sound like a diary-keeper. It’s time I went to bed.” I said, getting up and pulling on a towelling robe around me.
“There’s one thing I’d like to know,” said Fiona.
My Omega watch showed two o’clock. “Why are you really so interested in Robert Flackyard — is it the opium?” Fiona asked. I must have stopped in my tracks, for she added, “If it’s one of those big boy’s secret, and I’m not allowed to know. well then, you really don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”
I didn’t rise to her baiting, but went and sat down on one of the wicker chairs at the poolside.
“What is it that you’re supposed to be doing down here now? Why are you still here, Jake? You know as well as I do that if Oliver Hawkworth is found to be involved with Flackyard there will be a cover up by the Government.”
“Especially if it were likely to bring any adverse publicity or disgrace on them.”
“Who is it that you are so interested in, Jake? Why do get the feeling that you’ve got a hidden agenda”
“You sound like you have a theory,” I said. “What do you think?”
“I think you’re lost, I think you’re pursuing yourself,” she said.
She waited for a comment, but I made none.
“Are you Jake?” she persisted.
I said, “Things have happened during this assignment that have made me take a very close look at myself and what I do. The first rule in this game is to always look at the facts as laid out before you. But, for this assignment, I’m going to make an exception to that rule. I’m going to go with my gut instincts, they’re usually right and have saved my life numerous times.”
“Well you’d better count me in on that, Jake Dillon, because I’m not going to let you have all the fun alone.”
“Look,” I said. “Can’t you see it, haven’t you grasped it yet, that everyone is alone? We’re born alone, live alone, die alone, do every fucking thing alone.”
“Forgive me, but even making love is simply a way for two people to pretend they aren’t alone. But they are. People in this business are even more so alone, and aching with a whole perverse bundle of insecurities and un-tellable truths turning over and over in their heads. You’re groping around in the dark trying to find your way through the bureaucratic maze with a hundred people shouting different directions at you. So you grope on; grabbing handfuls of whatever comes within reach and occasionally you actually get your hands dirty. You are alone and so am I. You’ve got to get used to it or you’ll wind up telling people that your husband doesn’t understand you.”
“I’m still single — remember,” said Fiona. “I can tell you, darling, there will be a whole lot of men very miserable on the day that I get married.”
“Really, you’re so modest,” I said. “Exactly how many men are you going to marry?” She glared up at me and then immediately changed the subject to Harry Caplin and his youthful spirit and wonderful larger then life personality.
“Did you know that Harry has an enormous cellar under his house?” Fiona said, as she stepped out of the pool picked up a large white towel and wrapped it around herself. “It was the other day while you were in London, he’d asked me over for drinks and was definitely trying to get me drunk.”
“Anyway, after we’d polished off the second bottle of bubbly he excused himself to go and get another from the cellar. Call it curiosity or perhaps professional interest, but I decided to have a snoop around. Do you remember the oak panelling in the hallway?”
“Vaguely,” I said.
“Well, there’s a secret door that leads down to the cellar. Harry had left it slightly ajar. I’d got half way down the stone steps, when he turned the corner at the bottom and spotted me. He was furious when he found me there, he made a real fuss about the steps being slippery and how dangerous they were and that the cellar was off limits to everyone including Sofia his housekeeper.”
Fiona ran her long fingers through her hair in an attempt to untangle it, and while she was doing this, I contemplated what she had just told me; on the beach the sea kicked the shore in delinquent spite.
“So did you get a look at this cellar, was it well stocked?” I said.
“To be honest, Jake, from where I was standing on the steps, I couldn’t really see much, except for a small window and arched doorway at the end of the room. If my sense of direction is correct, though, this was almost certainly on the seaward side of the house. But the weirdest thing though was the overwhelming smell of vinegar down there. It was so strong it almost choked me.”
‘The problem is the vast quantities of acetic acid that you have to get rid of…’
I thought about it momentarily. Then I said, “Get dressed; we’re going to take a look at Harry’s enormous cellar right now.”
Fiona wasn’t keen to go but we went.
Chapter 29
We discarded the notion of getting to Harry Caplin’s house on foot, because even at two o’clock in the morning there was the likelihood that we would be seen. Using the small inflatable dinghy from the boathouse, we paddled, kayak style, pulling on the plastic oars, cutting silently through the black water.