Chasing Freedom Home (Malinding) (11 page)

24

It must have been, thought Lizzie, the slowest courtship on the planet. The villagers wondered at the slow development of what might become a romance. Rachel seemed to have decided that not only did they have "Worlds enough and time" but that "Time's winged chariots" were not going to arrive and spoil things.  She made contact with Ed-Lamin perhaps once a day; a glass of tea, a smile, the return of an article of clothing which had been washed and dried and ironed, some days no contact at all.

On one day they had shared the jetty, he at one end, she at the other, just sitting, gazing into space. It happened that they walked back from the river to the compound at the same time but they did not speak. Their eyes might have followed the flight of the same flock of migrant birds, but nothing detectable was made of it.

After a month he was seen to pick up and return to her a book she had, perhaps accidentally, dropped; much was made of this in the darkness of bedrooms in several village houses. On another occasion, when the piped water supply failed, it was remarked that Rachel was the only woman Ed-Lamin helped to draw water from the well; he even carried a bucket full of it to the kitchen for her. She affected indifference; he affected invisibility.

Andrew and Lizzie, together with Henry, speculated on the likely outcome of such a tenuous relationship. Henry was himself starting to notice that there was a female of the species; a bright, intelligent Gambian Ph.D. student who occasionally shared his research. He also eventually noticed that she was beautiful, an attribute he had only recently discovered. He pretended to himself for a while it was her brain he admired but after a joint visit to a village, purely for furthering their research, beyond Janjanbureh where they had to share accommodation, he dared to remark on some other of her features and was delighted by her response. She proposed a relationship, he proposed marriage and within a month they had moved in together - after suitable and proper negotiation with her father, of course. Kola nuts changed hands; a bride price was discussed; a bed and several cooking pots were purchased and handed over; a bride price of many thousands of dalasi was agreed. It was most satisfactory. There was a marriage ceremony, satisfactorily celebrated in a long and very noisy motor cavalcade from Banjul to the market place at Malinding. The villagers wondered whether Ed-Lamin and Rachel were even on the same planet.

Eventually though people were beginning to speak of them in the same breath. The couple spoke together, first about trivia - weather, the flight of birds, the ways to catch fish and such. Lizzie and Sirra and Binta held their breath.

Rachel was the first person Ed looked for in the morning; he was the last person

she spoke to before he slept. Eventually they were seen to take long walks, usually down to the river. There they sat, close together, dangling feet over the water. Sometimes he placed his arm round her shoulders; it became natural for him to help her to her feet. She did not protest; she smiled, and occasionally took his hand as they walked back to the compound. Eyes watched, heads nodded, knowing smiles were exchanged. One evening, as light faded, he kissed her. The next night she was in his bed. They seemed to be the only people in the village who were surprised by this outcome.

25

'Please don't cry.'

'I'm not.'

'What's this, rain?'

'Rachel, you know why I cry, you must do. You know why I still breathe, why I go on eating and drinking and living. You know who I grieve for and you know who I live for. You're as much part of me as this, this face or this arm. You're not Jane, you couldn't be; I don't want you to be. You're Rachel, the girl who saved my life twice.'

'Ed-Lamin; shut up. Please don't see me as some sort of Florence Darling. Is that the right name? Grace Nightingale? Perhaps I should go back to school? Could you be my teacher?'

'Me? Teach you? What could I ever teach you?'

'You taught me some very nice things last night.'

'Erm ...'

'Erm? Is that all you can say?  Erm? I think I could get to like Erm. I think you could be a very good teacher. I'd read about it. The Internet's full of it but the practical demonstration last night was, was, Erm … I'm going to blush. Shut me up. Kiss me. Thank you; that's the twelfth time.'

'You're counting?'

'Of course; first time was on the boat just before I threw you overboard; once again the night before last and nine times last night and once again just now. Total, twelve. I failed maths but I can count kisses.'

'What do we do now? I want to tell the world, well, I want to tell the family …'

'Can we have a shower first? I'm hot and sticky. Nice sticky, but …'

'Rachel, you can't go round saying you're hot. Nice girls don't tell people they're

hot and they certainly don't tell people that they're hot and sticky!'

'They don't even tell the person who made them hot and sticky?'

'Certainly not. They may, perhaps, drag that person into the shower with them and demand that person washes them nicely and dries them carefully. That might just be considered acceptable.'

'Perhaps, in the interests of saving water, that person might possibly be encouraged to make them even more hotter and stickier and then have the shower?'

'Rachel!'

'I was only thinking of saving the planet, and conservation of limited resources and …'

'And what?'

'And I'd like us to do in daylight what we did last night after you blew the candle out. Please. I want to watch us making me hot and sticky. I want to watch us making love. Then we can have a shower together and then we can go and tell the world.'

'Tell the world that we've had a shower?'

'Um, possibly they'll be able to work that out for themselves.'

'Was that an "um" not an "erm"?'

  'I'll let you know. After my lesson.'

26

First Chairman Geoffrey Bibby, Lord Protector of the United Republic of England, stared out of his office window at the River Thames. Nothing moved. Nobody was going anywhere, not without his permission. Three months in office. Twelve weeks of total authority. The country cleansed of immigrants; the Church disestablished; parliament suspended; the Royal Family sent into exile.

Suddenly it was all so simple. All the years of plotting, planning, spying, betrayal, fear and suspicion had finally paid off. It had been all worthwhile. There was no opposition - all gone, fled or dead. The population down to forty million, all hard-working white self-sufficient citizens; not a foreign trace of a face among them. State Education was a thing of the past; the National Health Service was freely available to all who had the means to pay for it. The few criminals who escaped execution were devoting their lives to voluntary work, unpaid of course. Slavery? Of course not; rehabilitation. Work or die. Docks, airports and railways had closed, redundant in this bright new age of total self-sufficiency. Trade with foreigners? All untrustworthy thieves. England stands alone!

Chairman Bibby snapped his fingers.  Theresa tiptoed into the room, stood waiting by the door.

'Come in. It's time for your reward. Here, now. Good girl. No, you can keep your clothes on for the moment. Now, what was it I promised you?'

'My lord, you promised me my freedom.'

'So I did. So I did. There was just one more task, wasn't there? I don't think I explained it to you, did I, my lover?'

'Sir, you said you would explain it to me when the time was right.' Would he kill her? Please God, let him do it quickly. He was smiling. He waved her to a chair opposite his.

   'Now, there is a foul rumour that must be laid to rest. There is a whisper that my late daughter, poor Jane, gave birth to a coloured child before she went mad and died. Have you heard this?'

'No, my lord. I am sorry to hear of your loss.'

'No matter. Now, listen carefully. It is a fact that poor Jane was pregnant. Her late mother and I took her to the clinic and I learned that she gave birth there. It was supposed that the child was still born, but Jane insisted it was healthy and that lie has survived, even if the bastard did not. You, Theresa, must discover the truth. The child must not survive; it could do the State great damage if this rumour were to live. Rid me of this lie and I will guarantee you free passage to any part of the world you wish to visit. Truly: you need not doubt my word. In your way you have been of service to me.'  He opened a drawer in the huge desk and threw a sealed envelope to her.

'Memorise the information in this. There's also a Warrant that authorises you to work for me for one more month. There's also payment for you - two years wages and as much again for any expenses you incur. When you have evidence of the child's death call the number I wrote on the envelope and record a one-word message: "Completed". You can then leave the country by any means you choose; you will not be prevented. You can strip off for me one last time. He was almost gentle.

'Get out now. Walk out naked; I want to remember that arse. Oh, send in the girl you'll see waiting on the other side of that door - she's your replacement. Give her a few words of advice, will you? I don't want to waste too much time breaking her in. Good girl.'

Theresa gathered her clothing and the letter. She curtseyed to her master and backed out of the door. The child sitting in a huge armchair stared at her, wide eyed.

'He's waiting for you, love. Don't ever keep him waiting. Whatever he tells you to do, do it.  Never question him. Try not to cry; that excites him. He'll hurt you. You know he's going to fuck you?' The girl nodded. Perhaps she had been drugged. Theresa hoped she had. It wasn't much to hope for. The child stood up and walked slowly through the door, ready to meet the Lord Protector of England.

  Theresa dressed, then made her way out of the palace. Doors were opened for her, footmen bowed. A taxi was waiting outside the gate.

'Where to, my lady? Do you want to go to the hotel?' What hotel would that be, she wondered.

'Yes, to the hotel, please.' The hotel whispered quiet quality. A servant carried a case from the taxi to the reception desk. Her suite was on the fourth floor, overlooking a park. The same servant carried her case, offered to unpack for her, assured her that the hotel would be proud to render any necessary service. She was again addressed as "My Lady."

When she was on her own she sat in the chair placed at the desk. The park was deserted. There was no sound but she felt the beat of her heart.

The envelope contained the promised bank drafts. She stared at the sum; it was as much as a banker would have enjoyed in the old days. A handwritten sheet - Bibby's own writing - gave her the title of Theresa, Countess of London. There was a Diplomatic Passport in that name, with her picture mounted in it. Not an identity card; a passport. There was a sheet of information about the time and place of birth of an unnamed baby boy, together with the names of those present. It also listed the full qualifications of the doctor and midwife. If the child was alive she could find it. She picked up the 'phone and ordered afternoon tea.

A china pot of Darjeeling; smoked salmon sandwiches, the crusts cut off; a display of iced cakes, each a work of art.

'With the compliments of the manager, my lady'. Lady Theresa sipped and nibbled like a true aristocrat. Unlike a true aristocrat she was wondering where the bugging devices were hidden. She'd bugged him, and paid the price for it. It would be routine for him to have her followed, listened to, watched. That's what Watchmen did. Somewhere, concealed in her body, would be a locating device.  It would be stupid to try to locate it; it would be death to tamper with or remove it. She poured another cup of tea and re-read the notes. Better to behave and live; best of all, find the child, make sure it was dead, and take a chance that His Excellency, Professor, Doctor, and Lord Protector of England, Geoff Bibby could, perhaps for the first time in his life, be trusted to keep his promise. How stupid is that? she thought.

Theresa, Countess of London, rang the bell for room service. A maid appeared, curtseyed, requested instructions. The Countess requested that the tray be removed and that a bath be prepared.  It was done. She dismissed the maid, who had looked as if she might have been willing to share the bath, and stripped. The bathroom mirror was large and flattering. She had survived the years well, she thought. Little had headed south; little had run to fat. She moved back from the mirror and performed a passable salute to the Sun. Might as well give the Watchers something to watch, though she didn't want fat Geoff to realise how much he missed her and recall her to his service. His intimate service. She stepped into the scented water and relaxed. Could she wash away every trace of that monster? She wondered how his new plaything was coping with her job from hell. Surely the girl must be of age? Of course she wasn't; that was the reason for her dismissal. Fat Geoff had acquired a taste for younger flesh. No concern of hers, of course. Better to plan the execution of her own task, and if she survived that, plan her escape. She would call the clinic where the child had been born and request a meeting with whoever the manager of the place was. It was too late to that now; first thing in the morning, perhaps. Managers would be at home in their executive, Watchman approved, villas with double garages and obligatory hectare of lawned garden in Alderly Edge. Much more unsettling if the polite request, obviously an announcement of an inspection, greeted him or her on arrival in the office. Unsettling would be good. An early night and then Lady Theresa would be on her way north to find a dead child and contrive her escape. Could she rescue the child and take him to freedom? Not possible, not at all possible. Death was a partner in all Geoff Bibby's schemes. She watched the water circle its way out of the bath. Would her own life run out as quickly? Why had he slapped her after that final fuck? Usually he was either sloppily sentimental or downright brutal, generally the latter. That slap had been almost friendly by comparison. Had it been his demented version of a fond farewell? And the award of a title; he hadn't needed to do that. A diplomatic passport? There were only a dozen or so of those in existence and they could only be issued with the agreement of the whole Committee. She shivered; time to dry herself and go to bed, alone, at last. She wrapped herself in the thick white towel and took a last look out of the window as daylight faded on the deserted park.