Death's Jest-Book (44 page)

No sign of Dierick. Skulking
bastard! I suspect even Jacques shares my distaste. Certainly he's
not quite the same easy, outgoing companion he was before the little
squirt arrived.

Anyway, I'm going to end my last
full day here relaxing, and keeping my fingers crossed for that call
from sunny California!

Wed
Jan 2nd, 8.30 a.m.

All
good things come to an end, and this for me has been very good
indeed. What a change there's been in my life. I look back only a
couple of months and find it hard to recall that so recently I was a
penniless student with no assured future. And of course I don't have
to look much further back to see myself as a convicted criminal
paying his debt to society. And then with Sam's tragic death, I hit
rock bottom.

Of course I'd give it all up to
have him still alive, and if I shared Charley Penn's belief that in
fact his killer was still undetected, I think that the desire to make
good what the law has failed to address is the one thing that might
tempt me back to criminality. But there's no escaping the fact that,
from that low point, I've been soaring upwards ever since.

I've had several strokes of luck,
giving me hope that rather than just being as it were a midwife to
Sam's great brainchild, I may really be able to claim a small part in
its parentage. And I'm delighted to say that I have made many
excellent new contacts among Linda's politicos.

So, dear Mr Pascoe, everything
seems for the best in the best of possible worlds!

But I have to stop now and get my
gear packed. The party's breaking up. Not even Dingley Dell can keep
the real world at bay for ever. The politicos are getting back on
their respective gravy trains. Jacques, accompanied by Dierick, is
touching base at the monastery then heading back to the UK to resume
his promotional tour.

As for me, it had been proposed
before New Year that I should travel back with Linda and Mouse to
Strasbourg and stay there a few days before going on to Frankfurt and
Gottingen, both of which played a large role in Beddoes' European
life. At the time the only thing which made me hesitate about instant
agreement was Mouse. By herself she may have reverted to the quiet
and shy little creature she really is, but Zazie and Hildi could be
waiting back home, eager for a progress report, and ready to urge her
back into the fray. I'm probably flattering myself, of course, but
now that Linda has put herself in the frame too, I shudder at the
picture of myself lying in my bed in the Lupin guestroom and both
mother and daughter tiptoeing in to say Hello Sailor!

Why is my life so complicated?
What wouldn't I give to be more like you, Mr Pascoe, so well
organized, with my life under perfect control, but, alas, those genes
were not tossed into my cradle by whatever Fairy Godmother attended
my birth. My mother knew what she wanted and set out to get it, so I
reckon I must have inherited my chaotic make-up from the father I
never knew. From what my mother said about him, which wasn't much, he
was wild at heart and not one whom fortune favoured. All I can hope
is that I might get some of the luck he never did.

I am sitting writing this as I
finish off the coffee at the breakfast table. Frere Jacques and I
discovered one of many things we have in common is an internal alarm
clock set for early rising, the result of our shared experience of
the life cellular! Dierick is an even earlier riser. No sign of him
this morning, and, to give him credit, no sign of his overnight
presence on the sofa. When I met him yesterday, his manner to me was
unchanged, distrustful neutrality! So I think I've read that
situation right.

Penologists might like to note
that in many ways the monastery has left Jacques a lot more
disciplined than the Syke left me. His bag is already packed and
standing in the entrance porch, and he has just set out to walk up to
the castle and make his farewells. I meanwhile, not yet packed,
linger here, pinned down by an irresistible urge to bring you up to
date with the course of events since last I wrote and a superstitious
feeling that by staying close to the phone I may persuade Dwight
Duerden to ring. After all, it's still not midnight in California and
I did say in my message that I'd be leaving here today. You must
think me pathetic to be clutching at such straws - oh god there it
goes!

Oh god! indeed. Thirty minutes
have passed, one thousand eight hundred seconds, and in that time
fortune, who doesn't care to be taken for granted, has raised me up
and then shown me how easily she can cast me down!

It was indeed Professor Duerden.
He said he'd spoken to various people as soon as he got back to St
Poll and they were hugely enthused by what he told them. They are all
desperately keen to meet me and find out exactly what it is I've got
to offer. I had to keep reminding myself that he was ringing from
Southern California where most people speak English, a lot speak
Spanish, but everyone speaks hype. But when he finished by inviting
me out there as a guest of the university, all expenses paid, I
couldn't help catching some of his excitement. No, let me not be too
English about this. I was bubbling fit to burst! I heard myself
asking, idiotically, what the temperature was out there. To tell the
truth, I was getting just a bit tired of invigorating frosts. A man
can only be braced so far before he busts. Disappointingly he said it
was about forty-eight degrees outside at the moment, then he laughed
and went on, 'But it is nearly midnight! During the day, when the sun
shines, we get in the high sixties, maybe even higher with a bit of
luck.'

That will suit me nicely, I
thought. Then something occurred to me which sent my spirits diving.
I am, you may recall, a convicted felon. Didn't the US immigration
authorities have strong feelings about that? Haltingly I put the
objection to Dwight. He said, yes, he was aware of that, but
dispensations could be made and he'd had a word with an old chum of
his in Washington and another with a former pupil currently in their
London Embassy, and it seemed that as long as I'd kept my nose clean
since release and Dwight guaranteed to take responsibility for me
while over there, I would be admitted as it were on sufferance. All I
had to do was send off a formal visa application and then present
myself at Grosvenor Square for interview when required. Was that OK?

My spirits were rocketing again!
I said it was more than OK, it was great! And he said he thought so
too and he'd expect to see me some time towards the end of January.

I must admit I put the phone down
and punched the air like a celebrating footballer!

While we were talking I'd thought
I'd heard the front door of the chalet open and shut, which I put
down to Frere Jacques returning. I had to share my exuberance with
someone and I rushed through into his bedroom, only to find it empty.
I must have been mistaken, I thought, and needing exercise to work
off the joyous rush of energy surging through my body, I went into my
own room to pack.

There was a head on my pillow,
two eyes looking at me rather nervously, a mouth essaying an inviting
smile.

It was Mouse.

I stopped dead in my tracks, then
took half a step backwards.

Perhaps fearful that I was going
to turn and flee, she threw the duvet back to reveal she was stark
naked. The way she did it, a quick spasmodic movement rather than a
tantalizing unveiling, plus the tension visible in every muscle and
the way she kept her legs pressed tightly together, showed me how
nervous and uncertain she was.

I should, of course, have turned
away and left the room. But, having overcome God knows what crises of
mind and spirit to bring herself to this point, how would such a
rejection have affected poor Mouse?

Sorry, that sounds like I'm
trying to justify my actions. I freely admit that, without that phone
call from Dwight, I would have been out of there so quick, she might
have thought I'd been a mirage! But like I said, I was bubbling with
a delight I wanted to share with everyone and without a first let
alone a second thought (and certainly not that Third Thought which is
my grave!) I was out of my clothes and into my bed.

Perhaps my
sense of joy was infectious for she very quickly relaxed, though
there must have been some pain in it for she was as inexperienced as
she looked. But the strange cry she uttered as I entered her (which
sounded to my admittedly not very attentive ears like
wununredunAAAYtee!}
seemed more triumphal than distressed.

From my own
selfish point of view, I enjoyed it very much, certainly a great deal
more than I might have anticipated. But
post coitum timidum est,
and as rapidly as the physical pleasure faded from my nerve ends,
the possible consequences of my action came swarming into my
disanaesthetized mind.

The first and most immediate was
that Jacques might return at any moment, and in my haste to oblige
Mouse, I now realized I hadn't even shut the door! I began to roll
off the bed but we were still tangled up and she seemed inclined to
hang on, resulting in a not unstimulating bout of wrestling which
might have made me forget about the open door if out of the corner of
my eye I hadn't glimpsed a figure standing like Death on the
threshold.

It was Dierick. He smiled, the
first time I'd seen him smile. It wasn't a pretty sight. Then slowly
he closed the door.

Mouse hadn't seen him. Firmly I
disengaged myself and got off the bed and, trying not to show an
ungentlemanly haste, I pulled on my clothes. After a moment Mouse
followed my example. Fully clothed, we stood on either side of the
bed and looked each other straight in the eye.

I felt I had
to say something, preferably something at the same time wise and
affectionate and maybe a bit conciliatory, but all I could manage
was,
'Danke schon.'

She said,
'Bitte schon.'

And we both laughed.

Then she left.

So what am I to do now, dear
Chief Inspector? Once more I am in desperate need of your good
advice. I know how much you must disapprove of what probably seems to
you my libidinous nature. How feeble I must sound if I plead strong
temptation and very weak flesh! Someone so physically attractive as
yourself must have had - must still have - endless opportunity to
indulge his baser passions, but I am sure your sense of probity and
power of will are both strong enough to make sure you never stray.
But that is why I, the weak, must always be turning to you, the
strong, in search of strength.

Dierick is the key, of course. I
looked for him to open negotiations, but he was nowhere to be found.
So I'll have to sweat on it, but I've resolved on one change of plan.

I will finish my packing now,
then go and tell Linda that I will not after all take up her
invitation to visit Strasbourg but instead will complete my
researches in Zurich and Basel, then move on to Frankfurt and
Gottingen prior to heading off to sunny California.

Ain't I the laid-back jet-setter
then! Ain't I the Citizen of the World!

Of course, even without the
threat of Dierick, if Mouse gives Linda any hint of what has just
taken place, it may be that I shall no longer have any reason to jet
anywhere except home. My claim to be Sam Johnson's literary executor
only exists through her goodwill, which might survive or indeed be
increased by the memory of our New Year celebration. But the idea
that just over twenty-four hours later I'd extended the courtesy to
her favourite daughter was not going to go down well.

Once more I ask you to wish me
luck.

Dear
God, how soon fate exacts payment! Truly no man can call himself
happy till he takes his happiness to the grave with him. My visit to
Fichtenburg, so successful in many ways, now looks like it might end
as badly as it began.

Let me put my thoughts in order.

I went up the castle, as
explained above.

On my way there I met Jacques
returning to the chalet. We took our farewells as, with a two-day
drive ahead of him, he wanted to be off as soon as he could.

In the castle I found no such
haste, however. There seemed to be a general reluctance to break up
such a successful house party.

Linda expressed what seemed like
genuine disappointment when I said I'd have to skip Strasbourg this
time round, but it was balanced with huge delight at my news from
America. Mouse came in as we were talking and listened with apparent
indifference as her mother relayed my news, but I was perfectly
content with indifference. Things move on. Perhaps defloration isn't
the big thing in a girl's life it used to be!

Finally I said goodbye to Linda,
promising to keep in close touch. Incidentally, her parting kiss,
much to my relief, had nothing of strenuous tongue in it but was back
to full-blooded Henry Cooper hook mode.

Mouse shook my hand. No
significant pressure, nor anything in her tone as she said, 'Goodbye,
Franny. I'm pleased things are going so well. I do hope you can keep
it up.' Then she winked at me! And suddenly it felt like I was the
late virgin being encouraged on his way by the voice of old
experience.

Perhaps that's
what gave me the stimulus to work out what I'm sure your
professionally incisive mind spotted instantly, my dear Chief
Inspector, to wit, the significance of Mouse's strange cry as I
penetrated.
One hundred and eighty!
The triumphal cry a darts
scorer sends up as the third dart enters the treble twenty.

'What are you two grinning at?'
asked Linda. But her tone was indulgent.

So, nothing to fear from Mouse.
Which only left Dierick, who, I thought with relief, was probably on
his way north with Jacques by now.

Then Jacques came into the room
and asked impatiently if anyone had seen him.