Part 30 (1/2)

The screen was flickering so much Speke thought it was about to answer her last question, unless it was his vision that had begun to flicker. When the screen remained blank he said ”Miss Pork, my name is Roger and I wonder--was ”Same here.”

”You are? You're what?”

”Wondering what I'm being made to listen to.”

”I'm not making you. I was jum, just wondering. That is, I'm speaking on behalf of Face to Face Communications.”

”That's what you call this, is it?”

”No, that's what I'm saying. I wish we could see each other face to face.”

”Do you now?”

Speke's gaze darted from the line of ink to the screen, where the flickering had intensified. ”Why?” said the voice.

”Because then I'd see if you lum, if you look, if you don't just sound like--was Speke gabbled before he managed to slam the handset into place.

He kept his head down until he couldn't resist glancing up. Though Mrs s.h.i.+llingsworth wasn't watching him he was convinced that she had been. He repeated the next number out loud and moved the directory another half an inch, another quarter, another eighth. Something was close to making itself clear: the digits beneath the ink or the restlessness on the screen? He keyed the numbers he was muttering and glanced up, down, up, down. ... ”p.o.r.ne,” a voice said in his ear.

”My name is Roger and I wonder--was ”p.o.r.ne.”

”I wonder what number I've called.”

”Ours. p.o.r.ne.”

That was the name in the directory, but Speke suspected that he had inadvertently keyed the numbers which perhaps, for an instant too brief for him to have been conscious of it, had been visible through the line of ink. ”Don't I know you?” he said.

”Where from?”

”From in here,” Speke said, tapping his forehead and baring his teeth at the screen, where his grin appeared as a whitish line like an exposed bone in the midst of a pale blur. ”I expect you wish you could see my face.” ------------------------------------443 ”Why, what are you doing with it?”

Speke stuffed the topmost form into the edges of the screen, because each flicker seemed to render his reflection less like his. ”Don't you think that your name says a lot?” he said.

”What do you mean by that, young man?”

”You're a woman, aren't you? But not as old as you want me to think.”

”How dare you! Let me speak to your supervisor!”

”How did you know I've got one? You gave yourself away there, didn't you? And since when has it been an insult to tell a woman she isn't as old as she seems? Sounds to me as if you've got something to hide, Mrs or Miss.”

”Why, you young--was ”Not so young. Not so old either. Same age as you, as a matter of fact, as if you didn't know.”

”Who do you imagine you're talking to? Charles, come here and speak to this, this--was ”It's Charles now, is it? Too posh for that ape,” Speke said, and fitted the handset into its niche while he read the next number. He fastened his gaze on the digits and touch-typed them on the handset, and lifted the form with which he had covered the screen. His grin was still there amid the restless flickering; the sight made him feel as though a mask had been clipped to his face. He let the page fall, and a voice which felt closer than his ear to him said ”Posing.”

”Who is?”

”This is Miss Posing speaking.”

”Why do you keep answering the phone with just a name? Do you really expect me to believe anyone has names like those?”

”Who is this?”

”You already asked me that two calls ago. Or are you asking if I know who you are? Belum--was Mrs s.h.i.+llingsworth was staring at him. He hadn't realised he was speaking loud enough for her to overhear, even if his was the only voice he could hear in the crowded room. The panic which overwhelmed him seemed to flood into his past, so that he was immediately convinced that every voice he'd spoken to on the phone was the same voice, not just tonight but earlier-- how much earlier, he would rather not think. ”Thanks anyway,” he said at the top of his voice, both to a.s.sure Mrs s.h.i.+llingsworth that nothing was wrong and to blot out the chorus around him, which had apparently begun to chant ”I'm speaking” in unison. The only voice he wanted to hear, was desperate to hear, was Stef's. ------------------------------------444 He couldn't remember the number. He stared at the flickering line of black ink while he thumbed through the wad of corners. As soon as he'd glimpsed the number, which now he saw was in the same position as the line of ink, he let the directory fall back to the page from which he was meant to be working. He pulled a form towards him and poised his pen above it as he typed the digits, resisting the urge to grin at Mrs s.h.i.+llingsworth to persuade her this wasn't a private call. He had barely entered the number when the closest voice so far said ”S & V Studios.”

”Stef?”

”Hang on.” As the voice receded from the earpiece it seemed to retreat into Speke's skull. ”Vanessa, is Stefanie still here?”

”Just gone.”

”Just gone, apparently. Is there a message?”

”I've already got it,” Speke said through his fixed grin.

”I'm sorry?”

”You're forgetting to disguise your voice,” Speke said and, dropping the handset into its niche, leaned on it until he felt it was secure. ”I'm speaking,” said a voice, then another. All the screens around him appeared to be flickering in unison, taking their time from the pulse of the line of black ink on the page in front of him. He shoved himself backwards, his chair colliding with the desk behind him, and was on his feet before Mrs. s.h.i.+llingsworth looked up. He didn't trust himself to speak; he waggled his fingers at his crotch to indicate that he was heading for the toilet. As soon as the door of the long room closed behind him he dashed out of the building to his car.

He drove home so fast that the figures on the pavements seemed to merge like the frames of a film. He parked as close to the entrance as he could and sprinted the few yards, his shadows sprouting out of him. He wasn't conscious of the number he keyed, but it opened the door. The lift displayed each floor to him, and he wished he'd thought to count them, because when he lurched out of the box it seemed to him that the room numbers in the corridors were too high. He threw himself between the closing doors and jabbed the b.u.t.ton for his floor, and the doors shook open; he was on the right level after all. He floundered into the corridor, unlocked his door, and stumbled into the dark which it closed in with him. He was rus.h.i.+ng blindly to the bar when the doorbell rang behind him. He raced back and b.u.mped into the door, yelling ”Yes?”

”Me.”

Speke shoved his eye against the spyhole. Outside was a doll with Stef's face on its swollen head. ”Haven't you got your k.u.m?” he shouted. ------------------------------------445 ”Can't you see I've got my hands full? Didn't you see me flas.h.i.+ng my lights when you were driving? I've been right behind you for the last I don't know how long.”