Mystical Paths (14 page)

III

When I left, Marina, dead drunk, was lying unconscious on the massive double-bed which she would soon be sharing with Michael. So reminiscent was her marble-white body of the Venus de Milo that I was almost surprised by the sight of her arms.

I managed to get out of the house. Then I vomited into the gutter of Eaton Place.

A passer-by walking her poodle looked at me as if I were drunk, but I wasn’t. I’d stopped drinking in order to play the sexual colossus. Marina was the one who’d gone on, muddled, maimed Marina who had breathed that everything was truly, honestly fabulous – and had then put herself beyond pain by passing out. No wonder I’d just thrown up. The triumph of the sexual colossus had been to put her through hell and reinforce her revulsion towards the sexual act. God only knew what Michael would make of her, but at least he would have the brains to get her to a psychiatrist and keep her away from any psychic healer on an ego-trip. Yet I could hardly call myself a healer, not after that travesty. All I was fit for was the naked-ape cage at the zoo.

Recoiling with a shudder from all these harsh truths I tried to focus my mind on Christian, and at once I remembered Marina’s deduction that he had been no good in bed. I wondered how true that was – and if indeed it was true at all. Katie might normally be so frigid that even Casanova would have met his match. She hadn’t been normal when I’d done my copulating catastrophe act, of course. I’d pulled her out of the earlier hypnosis, but in the sexual act her will had soon buckled beneath mine because she had been too damaged to resist further psychic pressure. The truth was that I’d made love to a zombie and obtained a zombie’s mindless response. The orgasm had been a physical reflex signifying nothing. An impotent hypnotist could have produced the same effect without even touching her. So much for my ludicrous delusion that I was a sexual colossus.

Reaching my Mini-Cooper I slumped into the driver’s seat, slammed the door and tried to re-focus on Christian. Katie’s frigidity certainly seemed to reveal a marriage with sexual problems ... or did it? She could have been passionate and adoring in bed even though for some reason the orgasm had never quitehappened. After all, prostitutes made their living out of being first-class in bed, but in the vast majority of cases, so I’d read somewhere, they were much too bored and detached to achieve any orgasmic reaction. So it was quite possible that Katie had satisfied Christian in bed – and even though the apex of the physical response had been missing it was quite possible that she had been emotionally satisfied in return. What you never have you never miss. And women were different from men anyway.

Having concluded that I should guard against making facile deductions about the Aysgarths’ sex-life – and indeed that I should guard against making facile deductions about any aspect of the mystery which I now knew I’d been called to solve – I told myself I should stop thinking about sex and put myself in something that resembled working order. I said the Jesus prayer aloud, very slowly, until I stopped wanting to vomit in an orgy of self-hatred. Then I switched on the engine and drove south down Eaton Terrace in search of a phone-box.

IV I found a kiosk on the Pimlico Road and glanced at my watch. Six o’clock. I dialled Perry Palmer. No reply. Returning to the car I realised that there was a void in my stomach which required filling but all the day-time sandwich bars nearby were closed while the restaurants were too grand to offer a quick snack. I wished I was in America where there was a twenty-four-hour diner on every street-corner (or so it seemed in films.) Eventually I headed for Victoria, left the car in Carlisle Place and ate a simulated plastic sandwich in the station. Three cups of bad coffee later I felt less blitzed and more bullish. I decided it was no good continuing to agonise about the Marina mess. That was negative. What I had to do now was to devote myself to my mission. That was positive.

I called Perry again and this time he was at home.

‘It’s Nick Darrow,’ I said. ‘I’d really like to see you tonight – is it possible for me to drop in for about twenty minutes? I promise I won’t stay longer than half an hour.’

‘Why the rush?’ said Perry amused. ‘Stay and have some cold chicken and salad! Where are you phoning from?’

‘Victoria.’

‘Fine. I’ll have time to do the salad before you arrive,’ said Perry good-naturedly, and hung up before I could thank him.

I then wondered if I should telephone my fiancée, but I couldn’t find the right coins and it seemed ungentlemanly to reverse the charges, almost as ungentlemanly as betraying her with other women twice in forty-eight hours. So revolted did I feel by this particular summary of my activities that I nearly vomited in the nearest gutter again, but instead I bought a postcard of Buckingham Palace at a souvenir shop which was still open by the station and wrote: ‘Darling – Sorry I’ve temporarily dropped out of sight. On a mission in London but will resurface soon. All love, N.’

There was no need for me to send a postcard to Tracy. I had already decided I was in no mood to see her that weekend, and before my journey to London I had posted her a note cancelling our Burgy-binge on Saturday night. The note had read: ‘NO CAN DO SAT BUT STAY COOL COZ I LOVE-YA.’ Tracy was under strict instructions never to phone me at home but I thought she might get restive if I failed to turn up at her bed-sit as arranged.

I dropped Rosalind’s card in the nearest pillar-box. Then I retrieved my car from Carlisle Place and drove to Albany.

V When Perry opened the front door he immediately put a finger to his lips and whispered: ‘Sorry. Trying to get rid of him. Hang on.’ Then he exclaimed in a normal voice: ‘Nick – how nice to see you again! Come in.’

Warily I crossed the threshold.

‘Norman’s just dropped in for a drink,’ said Perry cheerfully.

‘He’s a grass widower at the moment and feeling a bit low.’ In the drawing-room I found Norman Aysgarth, the second of Dean Aysgarth’s four sons by his first marriage, slumped on the sofa. He was dead drunk but not, unfortunately, unconscious. Although he was formally dressed, his grey suit was creased, his shirt was crumpled and his tie was stained. The strong physical resemblance to Christian was unnerving. Norman was a fraction shorter, a fraction narrower and a fraction plainer, but at a quick glance one received the eerie impression of a doppelgänger.

‘Christ!’ said Norman before I could open my mouth. ‘It’s Marina’s pet charlatan! Or do I mean Venetia’s pet talisman? Why does Venetia call you her talisman, you bloody psychotic – I mean psychic – hell, I can’t get my words out, give me another drink, Perry, you bastard, I’ve got to have another drink before I can face this creep – or do I mean crook? What do I mean, for Christ’s sake, what do I mean?’

‘Don’t let it bother you, old chap,’ said Perry, deftly filling the empty glass with soda-water. ‘And don’t wallop Nick too hard – we may need him to help you into a taxi.’

‘What do you mean a bloody taxi? Are you trying to boot me out? You wouldn’t have booted out bloody Christian!’

‘Christian wouldn’t have been so bloody drunk. Rose’s lime juice, Nick?’

‘Great. Thanks, Perry.’

‘That’s a bloody pansy thing to drink,’ said Norman, ‘and Perry, why have you only given me fucking soda-water? Where’s the fucking whisky, for God’s sake?’

‘Okay, I give up. Here you are, here’s the decanter. Now drink up and shut up and let’s hope you pass out pretty damn quick.’

‘Why, you –’ He tried to get up but crashed back on the sofa.

‘How’s Cynthia, Norman?’ I said, hoping to create a diversion by asking after his wife.

‘Wrong question,’ breathed Perry, passing me a glass of Rose’s lime juice on ice.

‘Cynthia’s in the bloody loony-bin,’ said Norman. ‘Oh yes? Which one?’

‘What the hell’s that got to do with you?’

This sort of conversation endured for five minutes during which I gathered that his wife had suffered a nervous breakdown after the committal of their elder child, an autistic boy, to an institution. ‘He’s destroyed our marriage,’ said Norman, ‘bloody destroyed our marriage. My God, when I think of all we’ve been through, and it all started out so well, I was so pleased to get her because I was going one better than Christian — he only married an earl’s grand-daughter but Cynthia’s the daughter of a duke — and then I found out she’d wanted Christian all the time but Katie had pipped her at the post — which meant Cynthia had taken me as second-best — always bloody second-best — second-bloody-best I always come to that
shit
Christian —’

‘I’m afraid this looks like going on for some time,’ said Perry to me, ‘but do please stick around if you can stand it.’

‘— and then I thought: aha! I’ve got a son and he’s only got a daughter — I’m one up on him at last! But damn it, damn it, damn it, we find the little bugger isn’t right in the head —’

‘This sounds really rough,’ I said, sitting down cautiously beside him on the sofa. ‘I did know about Billy’s illness, but I never realised —’

‘Shut up, you creepy freak, you freaky creep, what do you know about marriage and fatherhood, nothing, absolutely bloody nothing — well, how could you know anything, you’re going to be a clergyman and what do clergymen know — bloody nothing, and what’s more they don’t
want
to know anything, it’s too uncomfortable, they just want life to be a Bible story rewritten for children — my God! When I think of all I went through with my father, all the times I put up a front and pretended nothing was wrong just so that his personal fairy-tale shouldn’t be spoilt - Cynthia and I even pretended Billy was okay, Father was the last to know he had a mad grandchild, but of course Dido told him in the end, THAT BLOODY DIDO, all step-mothers should be burnt at the stake — my poormother, dying young like that, but why do I grieve for my mother, why bother, she only cared about Christian —’

‘How old were you when she died, Norman?’ I said, making another attempt to put out a sympathetic feeler. ‘My mother died when I was fourteen.’

‘I was twelve. 1942, that was, and then Father starts chasing that arch-bitch Dido and eventually marries her — Christ, what a mess! That bloody woman — do you know, she even made a pass at Christian? She didn’t make a pass at me, of course. I didn’t count, I was just second-best as usual, second-bloodybest to —’

‘You mean she made a pass at Christian after she’d married your father?’

‘You bet she did, but it was long ago, Christian was only twenty-one — which takes us back to 1948 when Dido was still in her early thirties. Yes, she fell in love with him, all women did, he was compulsive, addictive, worse than heroin —’

‘How did your father react?’

‘Oh, he never knew, we kept it from him, we all have to be perfect for Father, we all have to keep up a front, clerical families always have to be happy, happy, happy, all clean and bright and shining — why are you shaking your head like that, Perry? You visited us so often, you saw how it was!’

‘I know all about being a member of a clerical family,’ I said. ‘I know how tough the pressures can be.’

‘Pressures! Don’t talk to me about pressures! Christ, I can’t tell you what life’s been like — years and years of godawful torment with that child! "You’d better put Billy in an institution," says Christian. "Can’t you see it’s driving Cynthia crazy? She’s sleeping with every man in sight just to escape from the hell of it all." My God, that
shit
Christian —’

‘Count your blessings,’ said Perry crisply. ‘Christian’s dead. You’re still alive.’

‘Yes, but everyone looks at me and thinks: "Why couldn’t he have died instead of Christian?"
You
look at me and think: "Why couldn’t he have died instead of Christian?" But you’ve all got it wrong because
I
’
m
the one who’s dead and
he
’
s
the one who’s alive, smashing me to pieces, driving me to drink —’ ‘Talking of drink,’ said Perry, ‘have another scotch while Nick and I get something to eat.’

‘He hates me being here,’ said Norman to me. ‘He hates me for not being Christian — oh God, I can’t get away from Christian, I can’t shake him off, he’s clinging to me —
clinging
to me, I tell you — I can even feel his fingernails —’

‘Wait a moment, Norman,’ I said. ‘Couldn’t that be an illusion caused by your present unhappiness? Maybe you’re the one who’s doing the clinging — raiding your memories of him to fuel your anger that life’s currently so rough for you. But if you could stop the memory-raiding and focus on yourself — not the second-rate Christian but the first-rate Norman, the man God’s designed you to be —’

‘Sod God,’ said Norman, and passed out.

"For this relief,"‘ quoted Perry neatly, "much thanks."‘ Norman’s body started to slide to the floor but we heaved him back on the sofa.

‘Does this happen often?’ I said to Perry as we straightened our backs.

‘This is the first time he’s actually passed out, but of course he’s worse today because of Cynthia’s breakdown. I don’t know why he’s suddenly started calling on me. This is the fourth visit in six weeks.’

‘How do you stand it?’

Perry sighed before answering: ‘I’ve known Norman since he was a child. I can’t just wash my hands of him because he’s going through a bad patch, and besides ... being kind to Norman is something I can do for Christian. They were fond of each other. They got on.’

‘
Got on?
But how do you explain —’

‘Oh, Norman’s crazy now — absolutely gone to pieces. In fact that whole family’s gone to pieces since Christian died. It’s as if he’s haunting the lot of them.’ He moved towards the door. ‘Come on, let’s have some dinner. I’m damned hungry.’

Mesmerised by this new evidence of Christian as a malign discarnate shred, I followed Perry downstairs to the kitchen.

VI

The kitchen was still a unique monument to a past age, but the ancient gas refrigerator had expired. In its place stood a humming white slab. As I drifted past the ornamental range, still flanked by its classic fire-irons, Perry opened the door of the slab and pulled out the salad ingredients which he had had no time to mix before Norman’s arrival.

Did Mrs Aysgarth — Dido — really make a pass at Christian back in the ‘forties?’ I said. ‘Or was that just something Norman dreamed up when he was stoned?’

‘No, that bit was true. It was everything else which was out of focus, a typical alcoholic distortion ... I say, would you mind carving the chicken? Then I can devote myself to the salad.’

‘Sure.’ I took the cooked bird he passed me before I added: ‘You’re saying Norman’s an alcoholic?’

‘Oh, they’re all alcoholics in that family — no, I’m sorry, let’s be charitable and call them heavy drinkers. God knows I put away quite a bit myself occasionally.’

‘So what was the reality behind Norman’s drunken distortions?’

‘You mean what was the real relationship between Christian and Norman?’ Perry thrust a lettuce under the tap and ruffled the leaves. Then he said: ‘They really did like each other, but that family has always had one very big problem.’

‘Which is?’

‘They go in for suppressing emotion on a scale exceptional even for the British middle-classes. Of course there was a degree of friction and jealousy between those two oldest boys, and in a normal family this discord would have been worked off in a few healthy fights, but fighting just wasn’t the done thing in the Aysgarth family so inevitably a volcanic situation started to develop.’

‘All calm on the surface but explosive forces building up underneath?’

‘Exactly. The affection on the surface was actually genuine, but the trouble was they could find no way of defusing the explosive forces except by resorting to alcohol. The result was that when they were drunk they always sounded as if they loathed each other, but they didn’t. They were just letting off steam.’

‘You mean Christian could be as unpleasant as Norman?’

‘Yes, but Christian had much better control over his drinking because he had an alternative method of letting off steam: he used to sound off to me, and our friendship was such that he didn’t have to get drunk in order to sound off.’

‘You must be some kind of saint, Perry, patiently soaking up all these Aysgarth ravings!’

Perry laughed and said: ‘As a matter of fact, Christian used to call me his blotting-paper. I became rather adept at mopping up bad feelings – in fact that was what I was trying to do with Norman tonight, but I made a hash of it when I lost my temper at the end.’

‘You probably lost it because I was there and you felt you were being put in an awkward position. But Perry, if Norman and Christian had an acceptable fraternal relationship, how do you explain Christian crashing around in Norman’s marriage and telling him Cynthia was sleeping with everyone in sight?’

Well, of course he didn’t and she wasn’t. You’ve cited a prime example of Norman’s alcoholic distortions.’

‘I thought that story didn’t ring true! Cynthia was always so possessive with Norman – it’s hard to imagine her looking seriously at anyone else.’

‘She did look at someone else, but she certainly didn’t sleep with everyone in sight. And she only looked at someone else because Norman had got temporarily mixed up with Dinkie.’

The carving knife slipped in my hand. I nearly cut off the top of my thumb.

‘Nothing very startling about that, of course,’ mused Perry, too busy shredding the lettuce to notice my reaction. ‘Almost everyone I know has been temporarily mixed up with Dinkie.’ When did you say all this happened?’

‘I didn’t, but it was in the early spring of ‘sixty-four, just over a year before Christian died. Anyway, when Cynthia found out about Dinkie she decided to indulge in a spot of adultery to pay Norman back.’

‘Who – no, don’t tell me, I can guess –’

‘Yes, she did try Christian, but he was loyal to Norman and fobbed her off. Then she made the big mistake of tangling with Katie’s brother Simon –’

‘Bad news.’

‘– who by that time was in his terminal drug phase. It wasn’t long afterwards that he drowned in that swimming-pool after drugging himself to the eyeballs. How he consummated the affair with Cynthia I’ve no idea, since pot’s death to an active sex-life, but –’

‘Cynthia’s very sexy.’

‘She’d need to be, to get a rise out of poor Simon at that stage. However, no sooner had he made it with her than he was unable to resist boasting about his conquest to Katie – who told Christian – who decided action was called for. "Leave
well
alone," I said, but he couldn’t. He was too involved with his brother and he felt Norman ought to know the truth so that he could take the right steps to save his marriage.’

‘Good intentions paving the road to hell?’

‘I’m afraid so, yes. "Cynthia’s messing around with Simon," Christian said to Norman in my presence. "For God’s sake by off Dinkie before Cynthia sleeps with everyone in sight." Norman, who’d known nothing about the affair with Simon, was very shocked. Then he said that if the marriage was on the rocks it was all Cynthia’s fault because she’d neglected him – little Billy had been taking up all her time and energy. That was when Christian told him to institutionalise the child in order to save the marriage.’

‘What do you reckon the prognosis is?’

‘For the child? Zero.’

‘No, for the parents.’

‘God knows. It all depends if Norman can get off the booze.

Cynthia will probably crawl back eventually from the breakdown. She’s at that rather chic place near Banbury.’ ‘So’s Katie.’

Perry froze, his knife poised above the last tomato.
‘
Katie?
’
It was time I took the initiative in the conversation. Having carved the final slice of chicken I sat down at the kitchen table and gave him a heavily-censored résumé of my meeting with Katie and Marina.