Part 14 (1/2)
When the landlady appeared, apologising for having taken so long, the clergyman guided her towards the shadows at the back of the room. He glanced behind him to make sure that he wouldn't be heard, and told her of his decision: ”I'm going to leave the Church,” he said, looking at her through the gloom.
The chaplain explained how he thought he could do more of G.o.d's work at the shelter than at the Tower, whose congregation only seemed to come to his sermons to warm themselves against the radiators. His publishers had offered him another six-book deal with an even bigger advance than the first, which meant that he would be able to rescue many more ladies than he could at the moment. Not only that, but the succulence of the vegetables they grew was such that they had just secured a contract to supply a local restaurant.
There was silence.
”Where will you live?” Ruby Dore finally asked, fiddling with the end of her scarf.
”I'm going to rent a little place near the shelter. I don't need much.”
Ruby Dore glanced away. ”I haven't been entirely truthful with you either,” she admitted. ”I'm not going to be able to hide it forever, so I may as well tell you. I'm going to have a baby.”
It was Rev. Septimus Drew's turn to be quiet, and both of them looked at the floor. The landlady eventually broke the silence. ”I'd better get back to work,” she said.
As she turned to leave, the clergyman suddenly found himself asking: ”Do you fancy visiting the Florence Nightingale Museum sometime? One of the exhibits is her pet owl called Athena.”
Ruby Dore stopped and looked at him.
”She rescued it in Athens, and it travelled everywhere in her pocket. She loved it so much she had it stuffed when it died,” he added.
VALERIE JENNINGS LAY ON HER BACK in the empty sarcophagus, breathing in the dusty remains of an ancient Egyptian. She closed her eyes in the cedar-scented gloom, having just discovered that her favourite obscure nineteenth-century novelist had remained a spinster all her life. in the empty sarcophagus, breathing in the dusty remains of an ancient Egyptian. She closed her eyes in the cedar-scented gloom, having just discovered that her favourite obscure nineteenth-century novelist had remained a spinster all her life.
Not even the sudden appearance of Dustin Hoffman at the original Victorian counter that morning had managed to lift her mood. She had simply asked for some identification and, without a word to Hebe Jones about the exalted presence at the counter, collected the Oscar that had been standing on her desk for the past two years. She handed it to the actor as if she were reuniting a member of the general public with a lost set of door keys.
Opening her eyes, she stared at the underside of the lid, its decoration visible in the light that came in courtesy of a hardback placed under the lid to prevent suffocation. Once again she thought how ridiculous she must have seemed to Arthur Catnip, whom she hadn't heard from since their dinner together. And she bitterly regretted having worn someone else's dress to dinner with him.
Suddenly there was a polite knock on the sarcophagus's lid. It had taken a while for Hebe Jones to find her colleague. She had walked the aisles of mislaid possessions piled up on metal shelves stretching far into the distance, until she came across a pair of flat black shoes with rubber soles. She looked around, turning three hundred and sixty degrees in the process, but it seemed that Valerie Jennings had vanished. Eventually her eyes fell to the sarcophagus, and she spotted the book wedged underneath the lid.
Hearing the knock, Valerie Jennings sat up like Dracula rising from his coffin. Smelling strongly of cedar wood, she clambered out, made her way silently back to her desk, and opened a packet of Bakewell slices.
Hebe Jones followed her and sat down. ”I just asked one of the ticket inspectors why we haven't seen Arthur Catnip, and he said that he hadn't been to work for ages,” she said. ”Nor has he called them to explain why he hasn't come in. Someone went to his house, but there was no reply and his neighbour hadn't seen him either. They're really worried about him.”
Valerie Jennings remained silent.
”Why don't you try and find him?” Hebe Jones suggested.
”I wouldn't know where to start,” she replied.
”If you can find the owner of the safe after five years, you can find a tattooed ticket inspector.”
Valerie Jennings looked at her. ”Do you really think something's happened to him?” she asked.
”People don't just disappear like that. Especially him. He never even liked taking his holidays. Why don't you ring round the hospitals?”
”Maybe he just got sick of the job.”
”They said all his stuff is still in his locker.”
Unconvinced, Valerie Jennings reached for the phone book. A few minutes later she replaced the receiver.
”Well?” asked Hebe Jones.
”They don't have a patient there by that name.”
”Try the next one. The tree wasn't felled by one stroke,” she said.
Less than half an hour later, Valerie Jennings moved aside a discarded copy of the Evening Standard Evening Standard and sat down heavily in a Tube carriage. She failed to notice the front-page story about the miraculous return of the bearded pig to London Zoo following its journey around Britain, and stared blindly ahead of her as the train started to rattle its way out of the station. and sat down heavily in a Tube carriage. She failed to notice the front-page story about the miraculous return of the bearded pig to London Zoo following its journey around Britain, and stared blindly ahead of her as the train started to rattle its way out of the station.
When she arrived at the hospital, Arthur Catnip was lying in a four-bed ward in much the same state that she had imagined. Despite his powers of intuition, he had not had the slightest premonition that he was going to suffer a heart attack more catastrophic than the first shortly after kissing Valerie Jennings on the well-swept steps of the Hotel Splendid, an oversight he later put down to being befuddled by love.
The sight of her in her navy coat, smeared gla.s.ses, and flat black shoes immediately set his monitors shrieking. When the nurses finally calmed him, Valerie Jennings was called from her seat outside the ward and permitted to approach the patient. She sat by the bed, took his cold hands in hers, and told him that when he was discharged he could convalesce on her armchair with the pop-up leg rest, and she would lend him the works of Miss E. Clutterbuck to keep up his spirits. She told him she would help him regain his strength by taking him for walks around the local park, despite the geese, and if he fell into the duck pond she would pull him out herself, no matter how little hair he had left. And she told him that when he had fully recovered, she would pay for them to go on a cruise with the reward she had been given by the owner of the safe he had found on the Circle Line five years ago, and he could show her the island on which he had been marooned after falling overboard sodden with cider while in the Navy.
By the time she had finished, the warmth had returned to Arthur Catnip's hands. As she began to walk out of the ward he finally opened his eyes and turned his head. ”I like your shoes,” he said.
HEBE JONES OPENED THE DRAWER containing one hundred and fifty-seven pairs of false teeth and dropped another neatly labelled pair inside. Returning to her desk, she looked again at the bouquet of flowers from Reginald Perkins, and she thought of his wife tucked up safe and warm amongst her daffodils. Just as she put the tiny Chinese slippers into the mailbag, she heard the Swiss cowbell. Turning the corner, she saw Samuel c.r.a.pper standing at the original Victorian counter, the tips of his ochre hair standing up in triumph. containing one hundred and fifty-seven pairs of false teeth and dropped another neatly labelled pair inside. Returning to her desk, she looked again at the bouquet of flowers from Reginald Perkins, and she thought of his wife tucked up safe and warm amongst her daffodils. Just as she put the tiny Chinese slippers into the mailbag, she heard the Swiss cowbell. Turning the corner, she saw Samuel c.r.a.pper standing at the original Victorian counter, the tips of his ochre hair standing up in triumph.
”Someone handed in your briefcase yesterday. Sorry, I meant to ring you,” she said.
”Did they?” he asked. ”I didn't know I'd lost it. I've come because I've actually found something for a change.” He then picked up a large Hamleys shopping bag and put it on the counter. ”It was on the seat next to me on the Bakerloo Line and was still there when everyone got off. I forgot to bring it in, so it's been sitting at home for a few days, I'm afraid. I can't for the life of me work out what it is.”
Hebe Jones pulled the object out of the bag and looked at it. Eventually she was able to speak. ”It's a cabinet of rain samples,” she said.
CHAPTER NINETEEN.
BALTHAZAR JONES STOOD on the bridge above the raven burial ground, where a tiny freshly dug grave contained the remains of an Etruscan shrew. As he watched the workmen dismantling the enclosures in the moat, he was struck once again by how empty the place seemed without the animals. Unable to watch, he made his way up Water Lane, pa.s.sing the b.l.o.o.d.y Tower with its red rambling rose said to have produced snow-white blossoms before the death of the two little princes. No longer bothering to look around him in case he was being watched, he unlocked the door to the Develin Tower and started to sweep up the straw that had once warmed the belly of the bearded pig. As he worked his brush into the corner next to the vast stone fireplace, he discovered Hebe Jones's mouldering grapefruit. on the bridge above the raven burial ground, where a tiny freshly dug grave contained the remains of an Etruscan shrew. As he watched the workmen dismantling the enclosures in the moat, he was struck once again by how empty the place seemed without the animals. Unable to watch, he made his way up Water Lane, pa.s.sing the b.l.o.o.d.y Tower with its red rambling rose said to have produced snow-white blossoms before the death of the two little princes. No longer bothering to look around him in case he was being watched, he unlocked the door to the Develin Tower and started to sweep up the straw that had once warmed the belly of the bearded pig. As he worked his brush into the corner next to the vast stone fireplace, he discovered Hebe Jones's mouldering grapefruit.