Snatched (12 page)

Beresford tried to get the figure propped up safely against a big piece of tree trunk that was there as its chair, but all balance and poise seemed to have gone, and it slumped forward into Lepage's arms like a drunk. Its own arm still pointed forwards in what could be mistaken for a warm and moving attempt to embrace George.

‘We'll just have to leave it, Angus. Say it was vandals, or the room temperature too high, causing selective meltdown.'

Hand-brushing his tails, Beresford said doggedly: ‘Director, I don't regard myself as blameworthy. Why, almost any man with the Hulliborn's interests at heart might have done the same. I still mean to catch up with Falldew.'

Lepage had been so frequently in contact with the patriarch lately that he'd begun to develop a terrible feeling of nearness, as if their lives were unbreakably bound together, like Héloïse and Abelard. Now, while Beresford took the body of the old, beaten-up peasant and went to lay it out as neatly and humanely as possible on the mock-hovel floor, Lepage moved towards the door, ready to leave. As he neared it, though, it suddenly started to open gently and he caught sight of the skirt of a beautiful turquoise, silver and white evening dress. Kate looked happily around the door's edge at him.

‘Darling,' she said, ‘somehow I knew you'd come here and wait for me, despite that silly spat we had about the invitation. Oh, George, love, this is our own special place.'

‘No, Kate, there's someone else here,' Lepage whispered. He stepped out from the room past her and pulled the door more or less closed In the passageway he spoke very
sotto
to Kate. ‘There have been developments.'

‘Someone else?' Thank God she whispered, too. ‘Who? Who've you brought here now, you insatiable swine? That Japanese slag in black? You want everything in sight! So, where is she? She going to give you a bit of geisha? This your regular lech venue, is it, no matter who with?'

‘A minor crisis,' Lepage replied.

‘What?'

‘The old father peasant was misunderstood, and some violence resulted.'

‘Misunderstood? He's wax. How could he be misunderstood?'

‘Misunderstood in the sense that his waxness wasn't recognized – not until too late. It's the opposite of what happened to you.'

‘Damage?'

‘Some.'

‘Oh dear. I must see.'

‘Well, all right.' Lepage pushed the door open. Beresford was still on the other side of the room with the peasant family, crouched very low over the dad, like someone giving the kiss of life, apparently trying to do some cosmetic repairs on its face with his thumb. He looked up as Kate and Lepage came further into the room.

‘Good God, don't I know you?' he asked Kate. ‘You're the affronted woman, surely. I saw you in the mêlée on that appalling day, didn't I?'

‘What's the matter with that dummy?' Kate replied.

‘It can all be put right,' Lepage said.

‘Why are you here?' Beresford asked her.

‘I believe Miss Avis has a fixation on this room, following the incident,' Lepage said. ‘Something that compels her. It's sad, yet, perhaps, understandable.'

‘And dressed up for it so beautifully,' Beresford said. ‘I don't get it. You were invited, Miss Avis?'

‘It seemed the decent thing to do,' Lepage said. ‘A sort of apologetic gesture for what happened on these premises under different circumstances.'

‘That bastard Falldew has done lasting psychological injury to her,' Beresford said.

‘I felt an obligation to counter that,' Lepage said.

‘You've been very wise and considerate, George,' Beresford said.

Kate crossed the room and stared down at the peasant. As far as Lepage could tell, Beresford's attempts to reconstruct a face for the model had not worked, and its nose had more or less disappeared. ‘What's happened to him?' Kate asked. ‘I hadn't realized he was damaged when he fell the other—'

‘He's very fragile,' Lepage said.

‘You mustn't be upset, Miss Avis,' Beresford said. ‘I see that he might be of special significance to you, in however dark a fashion.'

‘No, not dark,' she said. ‘Not any longer. Not in his authentic form. I feel very fond of him, as a matter of fact.'

‘Oh, that's rather beyond me. I'm only a Keeper of Entomology, not a psychologist.'

‘We share certain memories, as it were, he and I,' she said.

Beresford considered this for a few moments. ‘Ah!' Suddenly, he nodded in recognition. ‘I see – think I see. You mean in the deepest sense: that of folk memories? You feel a link across the ages, perhaps. Our common humanity. He – it – can only
represent
humanity, being simply a model, but it works, just the same. Very fine. That's what museums are about in large measure, of course.'

‘Most of the time, I think of him as “he” not “it”.'

‘Arthur will be gratified,' Beresford said.

‘Who's Arthur?' she said.

‘Hugh Arthur is Folk,' Lepage said.

‘“Is folk”? I don't understand. Aren't we all folk?'

‘That's what Angus means,' Lepage said. ‘Linkage across the centuries: you, me, Angus and what the wax man stands for. Look, I think we should leave now and say nothing of this. It doesn't really fit in with the occasion.'

‘Agreed,' Beresford said.

‘But what did happen to his face?' Kate asked, bending over the patriarch, which lay on its back near the piece of tree trunk. ‘This isn't the result of just a fall. It's as if he's been struck with something. What kind of loony would thump a waxwork, though?' She raised the figure a little by its shoulders, so she could examine the damage more closely. It was a bit like a tango movement, Lepage thought, when the man swings the woman towards the ground and pulls her up, though now Kate had the man's role, like Daphne with Osgood Fielding in
Some Like It Hot
.

Her remarks had made Beresford ratty. ‘I'm not certain how one judges the cause of injuries in a dummy. Perhaps we should send for a medieval medic.'

‘What did you say you were Keeper of?' Kate replied. ‘Wit? You certainly keep all that to yourself.'

The door opened, fairly abruptly this time, and a youngish man unknown to Lepage stood there, his tails grand. ‘Kate!' he cried. ‘I've been looking all over. Saw the light under the door. Listen: there's something very strange going on in the ballroom. You
must
come and see. But why are you holding that ghastly thing?'

‘Strange? “Very strange”?' Lepage asked, full of alarm. ‘Strange how?'

‘This rather bizarre looking guy out there.'

‘“Bizarre”? So, the archbishop? The BBC Head of Programmes? The place is full of them.'

‘But really bizarre. His head.'

‘What about it? Who are you, anyway?'

‘He's my escort,' Kate said. ‘Adrian. From the agency. We hit it off at once, didn't we, Adrian?'

‘His head?' Lepage said.

‘So narrow,' Adrian replied. ‘Like a fox's.'

‘Falldew,' Angus Beresford said. ‘What's he doing?'

‘Now, wait a minute,' Lepage said. ‘Let's be sure of our moves. Close the door, please, Adrian.' He found himself deliberately working for delay, scared of discovering more trouble.

‘But what's going on in here?' Adrian replied. ‘You ask who am I, and I ask who are you?' He did not shut the door, as if determined to have an exit available. ‘Why is she holding that dreadful thing? I don't want to get involved in any … well, in any far-out behaviour, three men one girl, that sort of agenda, and all these bloody dolls. Is this some annual Founder's Day carry-on? People often expect too much from a hired escort. These tails belong to the agency, and I must keep them in good order; they stressed that. I'm new on their books. Can't risk any … well, unsavouriness. They're so keen on reputation. They very specifically told me, “We are not Rentaknob.”'

‘I have to go to Central Hall immediately,' Lepage said. He led the way swiftly from the tableau room and back towards the dancing. Kate hurried to keep up with him. Beresford and Adrian followed a little way behind. ‘You were there for me, George, weren't you, and only because of me?'

‘Of course, darling,' he said. ‘But let's be circumspect.'

‘Perhaps the peasant room later?' she replied.

‘What about Adrian?'

‘Look at the swine,' Beresford said as they came to the edge of the dance floor. He pointed up at the balcony.

‘Yes, that's the one,' Adrian said. ‘He's been there a while, capering about.'

‘I think he's going to make a speech,' Beresford said.

‘Yes,' Lepage said. ‘Oh God.'

Dr Itagaki and Dr Kanda were still where Lepage had left them on the balcony, talking now to one of the newspaper editors and his wife. All watched Falldew with sickening, amused interest as he came to the balcony rail and signalled to the band to stop playing, so he could be heard. He looked wonderfully serene.

‘But I know this man,' Kate said. ‘The glassy blue eyes.'

‘You had more of his body bits to go on previously,' Beresford said.

‘I might be able to get to him in time and limit the disaster,' Lepage said.

‘I'll come,' Beresford said. ‘We can pitch him over the rail if we're lucky. But he'll probably float down like a paper dart.'

‘I'll go alone,' Lepage said. ‘Dealing with this kind of thing is my sole responsibility as Director.'

‘Which kind?' Beresford replied. ‘You come up against such situations regularly – ex-Keepers going ape? There's a laid-down procedure?'

Lepage said: ‘Well, the scale, the implications. Angus, I feel I have to take—'

But as he spoke the music came to a natural break, and at once Nev's waving grew more imperious and urgent. Except for Falldew's build, it reminded Lepage of Mussolini, also on a balcony, declaring the capture of Rome by his mob, or something similar. People below gazed up wonderingly, many waving back, a few shouting encouragement or rough, jolly insults. His smiling self-confidence shone even brighter, and soon he began to address the crowd on the dance floor and around the perimeter. ‘Friends,' he said, ‘yes, it is indeed I, Neville York Falldew, recently a part and a proud part of this famed institution, so rich in achievement and distinction: someone who, I believe, may reasonably claim to have added a quantum through scholarship, loyalty and diligence to that Hulliborn achievement and distinction.' For one so slight looking, his voice was remarkably big, hypnotic and commanding, and Lepage found himself compelled for the moment to stand and listen.

‘I bring great news,' Falldew said. ‘Yes, news that could transform all our lives. I'm sure you'll all remember that epigraph from Dante at the start of T.S. Eliot's
Prufrock
about Lazarus returning from the dead, with unprecedented wonders to describe. Well, Neville York Falldew does not pretend to have returned from the dead, but he can say he is the custodian of a marvellous revelation.'

‘Oversell if it's going to be just another flash,' Beresford snarled.

Nev leaned forward on the balcony rail, thin face glowing like an illuminated address. ‘Rest assured, this will be no disappointment, no anti-climax.' He seemed to hear something shouted from the crowd. ‘No, not Mrs Cray or the haversack straps. Infinitely more important. Matters transcendental.' His eyes swept the audience, searching. ‘But, first, I want to invite the lovely Lady Butler-Minton to join me on the balcony,' he continued, ‘noble widow of our former world-renowned Director. For what I have to tell you concerns her more than anyone. Penelope, where are you? You must be part of this triumphal moment.'

‘What the hell's he on about?' Beresford asked. Lepage had waited with him and the others, at first transfixed by the rhetoric and then reluctant to try to silence the sod in full view of this fascinated ground-floor gang. He saw Lady Butler-Minton, wearing yellow, begin to climb the marble stairs towards Falldew.

Julia joined Lepage and took his arm. ‘Where've you been, George? You're the fucking host, yet you drop out of sight for an age.' Some harshnesses had invaded her language since she started the Spud-O'-My-Life kiosk and learned how to choke off troublesome late-night riff-raff.

‘One or two problems, love,' he said. ‘Nothing epic.'

‘And who is the forever-panting piece in turquoise, white and silver you reappeared with?'

‘Which is that?'

‘The bird behind you who looks as if butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, but who'd prefer to get to work on something harder.'

‘Oh, yes, she's here with Adrian.'

‘Who's Adrian?'

‘They're very much an item.'

‘She gazes at you non-stop, George.'

‘I want to catch what Neville says,' he replied.

‘I think he's been driven half mad – or more than half – by what's happened to him. He'll talk nonsense.'

‘Let's see, shall we?' Lepage said.

Falldew beamed to all sides. When his eyes reached the Japanese, Kanda gave a small, very understanding bow. Penny Butler-Minton was standing close to Falldew, and he reached out and put an arm around her shoulders, after the way the patriarch had seemed to embrace Lepage on the cottage floor. That look of contentment in Falldew's face had been definitely replaced by something more intense: he still seemed happy, but it was a radiant, throbbing happiness now. Again it was Il Duce that Lepage thought of – if only Falldew had more to his lips. ‘I have been very downcast,' he told the crowd. ‘Despite years of devoted service, despite the contributions I feel I might still have made to the Hulliborn, I was rejected by the institution I lived for. I am not alone in being spurned. Nor is the Hulliborn, and museums generally, the only area where this kind of Philistine brutality has been exercised. Nonetheless, it hurt me. There was even a time – I admit it, ladies and gentlemen, when I considered taking some form of revenge for my heinous treatment.'