Jackson's Dilemma (20 page)

After twenty minutes the door bell rang. Tuan got up hastily and went to the door. He let Rosalind in and closed the door. She stood beside him, leaning back against the door. He put his fingers to his lips, then said softly, ‘Marian.’ Rosalind nodded. She murmured, ‘I thought so.’ He pointed towards the drawing room door. Rosalind went towards it, went through it, and it closed behind her. Tuan went out of the front door, shut it softly, and walked down to the river. He saw a telephone box and could not resist trying again to contact Jackson, this time with success.

 

‘I thought I might find you here.’

The speaker was Jackson, the hearer was Tuan.

Tuan had reckoned on staying away from the house, though keeping it carefully under observation, for about half an hour. He had just turned back and was leaving the river when he encountered Jackson.

A curious partly silent friendship between these two had existed from the start, from their first meeting with Tim and Benet. In company their eyes fleetingly met, one the junior guest, the other the servant. They talked too sometimes, but as accidental encounter, not as any mutual invitation. Tuan was shy, and instinctively took Jackson for some sort of wise father figure, but of course this was a silent invention of his own. He didn’t like it when others teased Jackson, or when Benet chided him.

They stood together in the street looking at each other. It was late evening, the sun was below the buildings on the other side of the Thames. Jackson stretched out a hand which Tuan seized with two hands. They began to walk back together.

‘I stopped outside the door,’ said Jackson, ‘I could hear the girls talking inside.’

‘Thank heavens you’ve come. No one else knows - I hope.’

They reached the door and Tuan opened it with his key.

The sound which had been audible now ceased as the two men came in. The drawing room door was open and Marian was now sitting on the sofa with Rosalind kneeling before her. Both girls were crying. Now they leapt up. Rosalind came forward to greet Jackson. She put out a hand, then embraced him. Marian simply disappeared, taking refuge in one of the bedrooms.

Jackson, who had had difficulty in finding a taxi and had then decided to dispense with one, had walked through the eerie brief darkness of the city, meeting with other such strange solitary walkers, he knew such creatures, he was one himself, they gazed at each other as they passed. And he found himself remembering his past and thinking about his future - was his future, some entirely new and different future totally unknown to him, about to begin?
Had
he a future?

Jackson now recalled the more immanent events of the evening. Marian had locked herself into her bedroom, and had refused to open the door except to Jackson. They sat on the bed together and Marian kissed Jackson’s hands. Jackson, who had in his time performed the duties of a priest, felt his own familiar pain. She promised - she would not kill herself. She shed more tears. After that she said she was so terribly tired that she must now go to sleep, and of course she trusted Jackson ‘not to tell’. She was indeed so exhausted that she then lay down and fell asleep before him. Jackson had then quietly retired. Meanwhile Tuan and Rosalind had been trying to compose an anonymous communication to be sent to Benet to say that Marian was alive and well! However this was discouraged by Jackson as being too dangerous, and they in any case bowed to his wisdom. After this Jackson set off walking and thinking.

When he reached Tara the dawn had by now become the day, it was indeed nearly nine o’clock. He observed the garage and then went into the house. It was clear that Benet was still away. What a wonderful relief that at last Marian had been found, and was now in such excellent hands, for the present at any rate! He felt very tired, and was about to set off for the Lodge when he suddenly remembered, how could he have forgotten her, Mrs
Bell
! She who had so kindly given him that address and telephone number, since he was after all that person’s brother! He must see to that too even if it were now just a matter of curiosity.

 

 

Jackson had given the driver the address by memory. He had written it down carefully as Mrs Bell had pronounced it, but had now somehow left the instructions behind. However, recalling what he had so carefully recollected, he was sure he was right. The region was north London, ‘near to Lord’s’ as the driver had remarked. St John’s Wood, Lisson Grove. The taxi stopped near a church. Having paid the taxi he walked along the road upon the other side. The address was a large Victorian house, verging upon the pavement, which had been turned into flats. The flat in question, he remembered, was number three, perhaps a first-floor flat. He looked up at the windows. He thought, what’s the point of all this, now that Marian’s back. She won’t run. They’ll soon persuade her to come back to some sort of ordinary life. Why should I want to dig up some stuff which she evidently regards with fear and horror? He crossed the road and walked up two steps to the door. He surveyed the small number of bells and pressed number three. Silence. With a sense of relief he pressed it again, preparing to depart down the steps. Then a male voice said, ‘Yes?’

Jackson, taken aback, said ‘Oh - hello -’

Silence. Then the voice said again, ‘Who are you, who is there?’

Jackson replied, ‘Your brother.’ He thought what an idiot I am, now he’ll put the phone down!

But he did not put the phone down. He said after a brief silence, ‘Come up,’ and then put it down.

Jackson entered, closing the door behind him. He paused in the hall, then heard a door opening on the floor above. He mounted the stairs, saw the open door and went through it, closing it behind him. He saw another open door before him and entered a room.

Sitting behind a table covered with papers was a young man with thick long dark hair and large wide open staring brown eyes. The young man was looking at Jackson with intense annoyance, but also with curiosity, his full lips pouted. His long legs were stretched out under the table. Jackson thought at once, Spanish, like a sailor, looks Greek too. And tough.

‘What is the joke?’ said the young man in a cool smooth voice.

Jackson thought, Australian? He replied, ‘I do apologise - I just want to talk to you.’ Do I? he then wondered. What have I got to say? I’m feeling terribly tired!

‘Why did you say you were my brother? How did you know I had a brother?’

‘Someone said I looked like you.’

‘Who said that? Who do you know who knows me?’

Now I come to think of it, thought Jackson, no one really said I looked like him, oh yes, the chap from the stables said so, after I’d suggested it. He said, ‘Someone who had seen you said I looked like you.’

‘Who was it
who said that?’

‘I don’t know, he was just a chap at the door, and when I said I was your brother — ’ I’m going to faint soon with exhaustion, Jackson thought, I ought to have waited, but then -

‘So you go round telling people whom you don’t know that you’re my brother? But how the hell have you heard of me?’

‘You’re famous,’ said Jackson.

‘I’m not as it happens, and as it happens you don’t resemble me. You are a liar. What are you up to? Are you queer?’

‘No.’

‘You’re drunk, or else you’re out of an asylum. What’s your name?’

‘Jackson.’

‘Jackson. What Jackson?’

‘Just Jackson.’

‘I suggest you
get out,
Jackson. You’re lying. This is just a game you play with people’s bells. You say I’m famous. Do you know my name?’

‘Well -’ said Jackson, ‘it is true that I do not know your name -’

‘So you are a filthy liar. Will you get out pronto, Mr Jackson, or shall I kick you down the stairs? I know your sort, you’re looking for money, you try to frighten people by saying you know something about them. Well, you won’t frighten me, you’re just a mean pernicious creep, now get out — ’

The man rose suddenly and came round the table and before Jackson could move he had seized hold of Jackson’s arm, twisted it behind his back, and was frogmarching him towards the door. Jackson had not expected this. Yet why not? He was a damn fool, he had got it all wrong, he should have waited and
thought
and put things in order, he should have had something
sensible
to say and said it at once. As it was - he kicked his adversary in the shins and as he felt the grip on his arm relaxing turned using his free hand to seize a handful of his adversary’s shirt and with his other now free hand to deliver a push upon his shoulder making him stagger back. It was all over in a moment. They stood looking at each other - the other man made a savage spitting sound like a cat. He bared his teeth, then adjusted his shirt. Jackson adjusted his. He thought, this is just luck, since I’m so tired - I simply don’t know what to do, I don’t know now what to do or what to say.

He said, ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean this. Don’t let’s fight. I want to talk to you.’

The other said, ‘Get out, Jackson. I could
kill
you, you know.’

Jackson thought, I must keep him talking, I’ve got to give him some sort of
signal,
I ought to have done that at the beginning!

He said again, ‘I’m so sorry, forgive me. It’s strange that I don’t even know your name. All I know is that you went riding with her -’ His body was hurting somewhere, he looked round for a chair.

The man moved back behind his desk. He sat down, putting his hand up to his throat. ‘Are you her husband?’

Jackson found a chair against the wall and sat on it. He thought, we are now in a different game. How am I to play it?

‘No, I’m not, I’m just a servant, a messenger. She isn’t married to anybody -’

‘What’s the man like she was going to marry? Has she run back to him?’

‘No, she hasn’t. Look I’m sorry, I’m just making confusion around here - ’

‘You know, I helped her write a note saying she didn’t want to marry him. I took it down the motorway at night by car while she was asleep.’

So that was what happened, thought Jackson. Anyway I must go. He stood up.

‘Don’t go,’ said the man. ‘Just sit down.’

Jackson sat down with half his eye on the door.

‘Listen,’ said the man, ‘I don’t know what sort of fellow you are. I’ve just been in hell. You said you were a messenger — ’

‘Did I? Well, yes -’

‘Would you take a message to her from me? My name is Cantor.’

Jackson had seen all this coming in the last few seconds. He felt sorry for the man, but rather dazed by the situation he had got himself into. He said, ‘What sort of message?’

‘That I love her and want her to forgive me and marry me.’

Jackson said, he had now already thought this out, ‘Give me the message. I shall do what I can.’ Cantor had opened a drawer in the table and was hastily writing. He put the paper into an unsealed envelope and passed it to Jackson. They stared at each other. Jackson rose again, put the envelope in his pocket and turned towards the door. Suddenly Cantor rose and moved around the table. Jackson stopped. Cantor strode towards him. Then reaching out he thrust something else into Jackson’s hand. Jackson glanced down and saw that it was a hundred pound note. He stared at it. He smiled, dropping it upon the floor, then sidled out of the door, closing it after him. As he hurried down the stairs he heard no sound behind him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tuan had not imagined that after spending part of the night talking to Jackson, he would be quite unable to go to sleep. In fact after Jackson had left, Tuan walked about the flat softly, in bedroom slippers, excited, upset, sometimes pausing, gasping, ready to cry. He had carefully checked all the windows, already closely secured against burglars, and locked and bolted the front door and placed the key in a pocket of his jacket. How perfectly extraordinary, unimaginable, unforeseen, to have suddenly both the Berran girls under his roof, and under his
protection
! He had to stop and breathe deeply. Of course he had known them through Uncle Tim and then through Benet, but he had never been, or expected to be, really close to them. He had even at times felt closer to their mother, who had occasionally turned up, and had made a special game of teasing Tuan! He did not mind her teasing, which made him feel older. Now what was he to do? He wished he could have kept Jackson. One thing was certain, he had done right in summoning Rosalind. Rosalind had commonsense and could carry responsibility. He would in some way be able to ‘hand Marian over’ to her sister. She had already begun to calm Marian down, and had even brought sleeping pills for Marian to take. But why should Marian come to me, he wondered - perhaps indeed she would hot want to go to Benet - but would she not have been better running to Mildred, or Elizabeth, or some girlfriend or friends unknown, somewhere else in London, who would shield her? Why me? He felt perturbed, but also a little proud. Yet what was he being proud of? He thought, she has come to me because I am a sort of nobody, a strange half-and-half being, without any strong or terrible emotions - like a fawn who finds a sleeping princess in a forest. It was all chaos, accident - would she stay with him, perhaps for a long time? But how could he and Rosalind go on deceiving the others, who would continue to be so intensely anxious? Softly treading, at last Tuan began to turn off the lights in the drawing room. He took off his jacket. A soft light shone in the corridor, and the doors of the two rooms where the girls were sleeping were slightly ajar, separated from his own larger bedroom. He peered round the door, slightly moving it, into the first room, where Marian was. He could not see her, only a bundle of bed-clothes pulled over her head. She was asleep. He moved to the next door, which was a little more open. Rosalind was lying half undressed upon her bed, she had evidently been too tired to get herself into bed. One long leg was showing, one distraught arm stretched out across the pillow, her head thrown back, her soft golden hair spread upon the pillow. He heard her soft breathing. He moved quickly back. He thought, I’ll just rest on my bed for a while, I’ll be sentinel. He was wakened in the morning light by Rosalind’s terrible cry.