Part 14 (2/2)

ENVOI.

Frieda Haxby Palmer stretches, yawns, and adjusts the brim of her panama hat. She takes a sip of her gin and tonic. The cooling wind lifts her hair slightly, and the smell of the sea is sharp. She is utterly content. She is in heaven.

'Well, I must say,' she says, as she reaches for her pocket binoculars to scan the archipelago. 'I think this is absolutely splendid. Don't you?'

Nathan agrees. He seems to be drinking a more than acceptable Gewurztraminer, a wine which he might have found a little sweet in his previous incarnation, but here it seems just the ticket.

Belle, the dear innocent, is enjoying a gla.s.s of applejuiceit is of the purest Pearmain, she a.s.sures them.

All three of them are enchanted by their fate. This is so very much pleasanter than anything they had ever thought of. They are not quite sure how it has come abouthave they done anything very special, to be so lucky as to find themselves sailing on a fine crimson-sailed three-masted schooner across a sunlit sea to what can only be the Isle of the Blessed? Or does everybody come here in good time? Better not to question too closely. Better just to sit here, in these comfortable blue-and-yellow-striped deckchairs, and accept with grat.i.tude whatever the white-robed crew may bring. For this is the voyage to end all voyages. And it is free.

Question they may not, but they may converse. They have established that all had died by water, and now they sail upon the water. A myriad of little rainbows sparkle in their wake, and the rise and fall and swell of the sea soothes them like babes unborn. How wonderful it is to be dead, and without fear! Though, as they discuss their various endings, they discover that none of them had died in fear. Not even Belle.

Frieda, as the senior citizen of the party, tells her story first. She describes her delightful residence at Ashcombe, and the many agreeable rambles surrounding it. She tells them of her mushroom expeditions with Will Paine, and their suppers of fungus stew, it was a fungus that undid me,' she says, with high good humour. 'I was walking along the coast path one evening, just beyond Hindspring Point, when I saw beneath me the orange winking of a patch of chanterelles. It was a very steep patch of moss and bracken and old tree rootsthere'd been a bit of a landslip a couple of years ago, I was toldand a sheer drop beyond thatso I knew it was very very stupid of me to try to scramble down. But I just couldn't resist. I had to have them. And of course, like a b.l.o.o.d.y fool, I lost my footing, slipped, and fell. And that was it. I must say, to do myself justice, I've climbed down a lot worse bits of scree in my time. You should have seen Sweden! But I suppose I am getting on a bit. Anyway, that's what happened. And my last thoughts were, Frieda Haxby, you're a b.l.o.o.d.y fool. That's all I remember. Telling myself I was a b.l.o.o.d.y fool. I didn't feel a thing.'

And she laughs, and knocks back what is left of her gin and tonic.

Belle is next to speak. Her tale, which had so haunted Nathan Herz, is short, like her life, but heard by the ears of eternity it is not sad. For here is Belle, unblemished, to speak of it. 'It was party time,' she says, smiling. 'I was with my friends. We'd been drinking a bit, I suppose, and some of us were a bit highyou know what it's like. It was a great evening. You know what I mean. August, you know. A great night. We were all having a good time. And thenwham. Not a big crunch, but wham. And I remember thinking, thank G.o.d Marcia couldn't come. She had a rotten cold, poor Marcia. I suppose something hit me on the head. I can't remember a thing.'

She pauses, sips her juice.

'A short life and a merry one,' she says. 'That's what I had. What more can you ask?'

'You never asked for much,' says Nathan, fondly. So Belle remembered nothing of the looming dredger, the fierce tide flowing fast through the piles of the bridge, the water bobbing with cans and bottles, the women in their summer dresses, the clinging to belts and buoys and driftwood and plastic chairs? All this was gone as though it had never been, in divine amnesty, and Belle's hand was miraculously restored. 'You never asked for much,' repeats Nathan, with indulgent admiration. 'In fact, if you ask me, you were seriously underpaid. People exploited you. You should have asked for a rise.'

'Oh, get along with you,' says Belle. 'Anyway, I wasn't talking about money. Men are always talking about money. There are more things to life and death than money.'

'Still,' says Nathan. 'I think you should have had a better innings. It wasn't fair.'

'Innings, outings,' says Belle. 'It's all the same to me.'

Nathan tells her that she is blessed with a happy temperament. Belle a.s.sures him that his temperament is pretty good too and that he'd always been, well, popular in the office. Frieda listens to the young things with approval and nods like an old sage who has foreseen it all.

Nathan describes his own adventure next. He is still at a loss as to how to explain his actions. He can remember quite clearly his win at Lingfield (the horse had been called Easy and Over) and his dinner in Greek Street. He can recall his happy maudlin chat with Baxter Coldstream, his mellow yet slightly troubled sensations as the cab bowled over the bridge. He remembers walking down to the river, and down the steps, and down the slipway, and standing in the river in his shoes. 'I must have been p.i.s.sed out of my mind,' he says, shaking his head. 'I keep trying to tot up how much we'd hadit can't have been all that much, can it? But I remember thinking, if I walk down into the water now, it will all be all right. So I did. And it was. And here I am. I must have had a heart attack, I suppose. Is that what they said?'

But as the other two had predeceased him, they cannot enlighten him on this matter. Instead, they turn their attentions to a very agreeable lunch which has materialised on deck. If this is death, they think rather well of it. They may be an oddly a.s.sorted little trio, but they seem to have plenty to talk about as they enjoy their unpretentious salmon mayonnaise. They discuss, for example, the sceneryNathan is of the view that they are somewhere in the Med, whereas Frieda opts for the Swedish archipelago in good weather. Belle is not into the naming of places, but she nevertheless volunteers the Canaries. Not that she'd been there, but she'd seen the brochures. It doesn't really matter where they are, does it, for it is all quite heavenly, says Belle.

The table is cleared, and coffee arrives, and the s.h.i.+p sails on.

'Well,' says Frieda, wiping her mouth and fingers vigorously on a large sky-blue napkin. 'That was delicious.'

She turns to Nathan, with a smile of replete satisfaction, of happy antic.i.p.ation.

'Now, Nathan,' she invites, 'you must tell me how young Benjie enjoyed his nice surprise. Such a remarkable boy. How's he getting on? Were they all astonished, or had they guessed?'

Nathan is for a moment at a loss. Is there ignorance in heaven? Yes, he can see there is. He coughs, mutters, prevaricates.

'Well, there's been a few setbacks,' he explains, i'm sure it will all work out for the best, but when I left I'm afraid there were a few problems. Benjie hasn't been very well.'

'What do you mean, not very well? Been sick has he?' asks Frieda, with the robust contempt of the immortal. But as Nathan begins to mumble out an account of Benjie's depression, his fever, his suicide attempt, her manner softens. She listens with what is almost a parody of concern.

'And you think all that's just because he came into a bit of money?' she asks, appearing to be sincerely bewildered.

Nathan nods. He may not be a hundred per cent convinced by some psychological interpretations, but this one seems to him to be pretty obvious.

'Well, blow me,' says Frieda. 'Who'd have thought it? I meant to cheer him up, give him something to play with. What I'd have given for a bit of backing at his age!'

Nathan feels free to point out that she had done well enough without any backing. And goes on to suggest that the unexpressed envy of the rest of the family had not been very good for Benjamin.

Frieda laughs, but not very happily.

'Well,' she says, quite testily, 'I'm very sorry. I didn't mean any harm. Just a bit of fun. Perhaps I should have left it to David after all.'

'That might have been even worse,' says Nathan.

Frieda rallies, grows indignant. 'What do you mean, worse?' I suppose you mean the rest of you would have liked that even less, do you? Well, I don't suppose it was very well intended. To tell you the truth, I got sick and tired of hearing Mr Sugar-wouldn't- melt-in-his-mouth-D'Anger go on and on about social justice, as though you could get it by waving a wand. The Just Society! Let him have a try, I said to myself. Let's see if the n.o.ble D'Anger presses the b.l.o.o.d.y b.u.t.ton. But then I thought better of it. Of course he wouldn't. Who would? So I thought I'd experiment with Benjie. Give myself a generation to play with. I wonder what happened to those Grisewood shares. Did they hang on to them?'

But Nathan knows nothing of Grisewood, and cannot enlighten her.

'Oh well,' says Frieda, after a few moments of sulky silence. 'So I got it all wrong. I just wanted to shake things up a bit, that's all. I mean, everything happened too slowly, back there.'

'I'm sure n.o.body blames you,' says Belle the peacemaker. 'I'm sure it will all work out for the best.'

'You know nothing about it, young woman,' says Frieda, who is mortified by the revelation of her own obtuseness. Ha? she handed on a poisoned chalice to young Benjamin? Has she favoured and undone him, as Gladys had favoured and undone Everhilda? How stupid can she have been?

'Then tell me about it,' says Belle, equably. 'Tell me about this Just Society. Whose idea was that?'

'It's a long story,' says Frieda.

'Well,' says Belle, putting her head back and shutting her eyes in the warm sun, and feeling the pleasant heat beat on her eyelids, 'we don't seem to be in much of a hurry.'

In heaven there is neither marrying nor giving in marriage;, nor shares nor the buying nor selling of shares. But there seems to be food, and there is no reason, reflects Nathan, why there should not be conversation. As Frieda remains silent, Nathan prompts her.

'You could tell Belle,' he says, 'about the Veil of Ignorance. That's where it all begins. I'm never quite sure if I got to the bottom of it. Now's my chance.'

And so they sail on across the sparkling ocean, in happy seminar, towards the Isles of the Unimagined, until kingdom come. Maybe one of them will get it right this time.

'Jump for it!' cries Emily Palmer, as the tide comes in. And Benjamin D'Anger jumps.

January 1996.

Porlock Weir.

end.

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