‘Go on,’ he said.
I hesitated, wondering how to put it when I knew so little. ‘Did you know there was an expedition into the Attikonak area in nineteen hundred?’ I asked.
‘Yes.’ And it seemed to me his tone was suddenly guarded.
‘Well, it appears that the leader of that expedition was my grandfather.’
‘Your grandfather?’ He was staring at me and it was obvious that the revelation meant something to him, had come as a shock.
‘Now perhaps you’ll understand why my father was so interested in anything to do with Labrador,’ I said. ‘It explains all those questions he asked Ledder — questions that the psychiatrists couldn’t understand. And because they couldn’t understand them, they thought he was mad.’
‘So James Finlay Ferguson was your grandfather, eh?’ He nodded his head slowly. ‘I thought maybe it was that. As soon as they told me your father’s name I guessed we’d be back to that expedition. So did Bert. My God!’ he said. ‘This is the third generation. And it was never more than gossip. Nothing was proved. Not even that woman could prove anything. And now you come over here with a lot of wild accusations that are based on nothing more substantial than this.’ He stared at me stonily, the veins of his face corded with anger. ‘Why the hell didn’t you tell the authorities that your father was living in a world of the past — or didn’t you dare? Did you think that would make him appear even more crazy?’
‘He wasn’t crazy,’ I almost shouted at him. I didn’t understand half of what he’d been saying. ‘As for telling the authorities — I’d never heard about my grandfather’s expedition until last night.’
‘Never heard about it?’ He stared at me with obvious disbelief.
I told him then how I’d heard of it first from Ledder and how he’d only got the briefest information about it over the air from one of the geologists.
‘Good God!’ he said. ‘So you don’t know the details. You don’t know who was with your grandfather on that expedition — ‘
‘No,’ I said. ‘I didn’t come here because of that. I came because my father was a first-rate radio operator and I’m convinced…’
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I admit that puts a different complexion on it. But only as far as your motive in coming over is concerned,’ he added quickly. ‘It doesn’t mean Briffe is alive. You may have known nothing about the Ferguson Expedition, but your father did.’
‘What’s that got to do with it?’ I demanded.
‘Everything,’ he said. ‘In my opinion, everything. His motive is obvious.’ And he added darkly, ‘There are more ways than one of being unbalanced.’
I didn’t understand what he was getting at, and I told him so.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘Forget it. You’re not involved, and I accept that. But I can’t accept the rest — that your father really did pick up a transmission.’ And when I started to protest, he silenced me with an impatient movement of his hand. ‘Wait till you’ve heard what Bert Laroche has to say.’
He left me then and went out, closing the door behind him. Through the flimsy wood partitioning I heard the whisper of their voices. What was he telling them? Was he briefing Laroche what to say? But I couldn’t believe that. It was something else — to do with that expedition. If only I knew all the facts! I twisted round in my chair, watching the door, wondering what Laroche would be like. If my father were right, then the man had made a terrible, unbelievable mistake.
The door opened again and McGovern entered. ‘Come in, both of you,’ he said, and went over to the desk and sat down.
Lands followed, and then a third man, tall and lean with the sort efface I’d never seen before. A gleam of sun threw a dusty shaft across the office and he walked right into it, his face dark and angular, almost secretive, with high cheekbones and the eyes laced with little lines at the corners so that they seemed constantly screwed up to peer at some distant horizon. A great gash ran from the top of his head down across his forehead to finish above his right eye. It was parthealed now, a black scab of dried blood, and the hair that had been shaved away on either side of it was beginning to grow again like black fur against the white of the scalp. The eyebrow had also been shaved away and this gave his features a strangely twisted look.
McGovern told him to pull up a chair and as he sat down he darted a quick glance at me. His eyes were brown and deep-sunk in sockets darkened by strain. It was obvious that he’d been under tension for a long time and there was a pallor beneath the dark skin that suggested exhaustion. And then he smiled at me, pulling a pipe from his pocket and relaxing. His teeth were very white and the smile somehow altered the balance of his face so that it suddenly had a boyish, almost debonair look; the same sort of look that I’d seen on the faces of Farrow and his friends — careless and yet concentrated. He seemed younger then, though his dark hair was turning grey at the temples.
Lands had shut the door and he pulled a chair up and sat down. McGovern leaned forward across the desk. ‘Now then, let’s get this over with,’ he said to me. ‘I gather you still think your father may have picked up some sort of message from Briffe?’
I nodded, my mind concentrated on Laroche. I was trying to be honest with myself, to see him as he really was — an experienced bush flier. It didn’t seem possible that he could have made a mistake, not over a thing like that, and not when he was engaged to Briffe’s daughter.
McGovern had been saying something and he suddenly hit the desk in front of him. ‘Don’t just sit there, man,’ he shouted at me. ‘Tell us why you’re still convinced.’ And than in a quieter tone, he added, ‘You don’t seem to realize that we knew Paul Briffe. He was a friend of mine, of Bill’s, too. Bert was going to be his son-in-law. We’ve all of us every reason in the world to wish him alive.’ He leaned back in his chair with a little sigh. ‘But we don’t think he is.’ And he went on: ‘When I had the first report of this alleged transmission, I thought for a moment Bert had made a mistake. Sometimes in the bush it’s difficult to be sure …’ He let it go at that. ‘But then we got the full report, and when it was clear that nobody else had picked up the transmission, I knew it was no good calling for the search to be resumed. Now you come here and after reading those reports, you say you’re still convinced your father did pick up a transmission. Why?’
I stared at him, sitting squat like a rock behind the desk. How could I explain to him how I felt about my father? The sense of helplessness came back to me, stronger than ever. ‘I’d like to hear what Laroche has to say,’ I said obstinately.
‘Sure. But first, you tell us what makes you so damned sure.’
‘Because I know the sort of man my father was,’ I answered.
‘You read the psychiatrists’ report?’
‘Do you expect me to agree with it?’ I stared at him, anger flaring up inside me. ‘He wasn’t unbalanced. And he didn’t suffer from delusions.’
‘Did you live in the same house with him?’
‘No.’
‘Then how can you be sure about his mental state?’
‘Because I’m his son.’ McGovern’s attitude was that of a brick wall. I could feel myself battering against it. ‘A son should know if his father’s mad or not. And Dad wasn’t mad. He knew it was Lake of the Lion and he knew it was Briffe. Why else do you think — ‘
‘What’s that you said?’ The question was slammed at me by Laroche and there was a sudden stillness in the room. He was staring at me, and then he glanced across at McGovern who said quickly, ‘We’ll leave the matter of your father for the moment.’ He leaned forward, holding my attention with his eyes. ‘Right now I want you to hear what actually happened.
When you’ve heard it, I think you’ll agree with us that there can be no room for doubt.’ He turned to Laroche. ‘Go ahead, Bert. Tell him what happened.’
Laroche hesitated, glancing at me and running his tongue along the line of his lips. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I guess that’s best. Then he can sort it out for himself.’ He shifted his gaze, staring down at his hands. I thought — he’s nervous. But then he began to talk and I wasn’t sure. He had a slight accent, and, though he was hesitant at times, it was mostly because he was searching for the word he wanted. His voice was flat and without emotion; he had been through it all many times before.