The Woodcutter (19 page)

The Director had never made any attempt to pressurize her for confidential details of exchanges between herself and Hadda or any other prisoner, and nor did he now.

He asked, ‘Do you think he needs to be hospitalized?’

‘No,’ said Alva firmly. ‘It’s best if what’s going on inside him works itself out inside. If he becomes aware he is an object of concern, this will allow him to externalize his fears and doubts once more. As it is, I’m the sole external target for his redirection of blame. At the moment he is asserting vehemently that he never wants to see me again. Eventually his turmoil will come to a climax which he can only resolve by demanding to see me. But it is not an outcome that he will admit willingly, and it may be that, as he approaches it, he’ll look for a way of avoiding it.’

‘Suicide, you mean?’

‘I think he might see it as an attempt to re-enter the comatose state he existed in for nine months,’ said Alva slowly. ‘When he came out of it, the medical concentration was, quite naturally, on his physical condition. I wish there’d been more attention paid to what was actually going on in his mind, both before and after recovery. As far as I can make out from the records, the head trauma itself wasn’t serious enough to explain such a long period of unconsciousness.’

‘You think he might have somehow been seeking it out for himself?’

‘Perhaps. He certainly talked of feeling a kind of nostalgia for the coma period in the months after his recovery.’

‘If it was such a desirable state, why did he ever wake up?’ enquired Homewood.

‘Because there probably came a point where whatever element of choice was left to him had to opt between living and dying,’ said Alva.

‘And now you fear the decision might be reversed,’ said Homewood, frowning. ‘OK, I’ll put Hadda on suicide watch.’

‘With maximum discretion,’ said Alva. ‘It’s best if he isn’t aware he’s giving concern to anyone except me.’

As the Director picked up his phone and summoned George Proctor to make the arrangements, she glanced over her notes. When she looked up, she caught Homewood watching her. As their eyes met, he gave her a faintly embarrassed smile and looked away.

This was the only flaw in their otherwise excellent working relationship. At first she’d been slightly amused when she detected that she aroused him sexually. In her experience a dash of unreciprocated sexual attraction, openly acknowledged, could lead to a fruitful relationship like that between herself and Giles Nevinson. Now and then he would try to pounce, of course, and when rejected accuse her of being a common-or-garden prick teaser. ‘Are you saying you don’t like your prick teased?’ she’d respond. And they’d laugh and fall back into their easy friendship till next time.

There wasn’t going to be any of that with Homewood. His arousal was clearly a deep trouble to him. He was, she gathered, a highly moral man, happily married with a deep-rooted Christian faith. She guessed he probably rationalized these pangs of lust by treating them as a strengthening test of his beliefs.

It was clear he believed he’d successfully concealed all signs of their effect, and Alva in her turn was eternally vigilant not to let him see that she was aware of his feelings. The only person she’d mentioned it to was John Childs, whom she still met from time to time.
Their
relationship was completely asexual; indeed she found it hard to categorize it as friendship; yet she rarely refused his invitations to have lunch or occasionally go to a concert.

Their meetings all took place on such neutral territory until one evening after a concert she invited him back to her flat for coffee, she wasn’t sure why except that perhaps after more than a year she felt completely safe with him. The following Sunday, as if he felt the need for balance (or perhaps, she joked with herself, he now felt completely safe with
her
!), he invited her to his ‘little place’ for tea. This ‘little place’ turned out to be a three-storeyed house overlooking Regent’s Park. She found out later he’d inherited it from his grandmother. He seemed to live in it alone. She did not feel their relationship permitted her to ask any direct questions about his private life, but she did ask if she could take a look around while he was seeing to the tea. In his study on the top floor looking out on the park, one wall was lined with framed photographs. One showed a man in tropical kit glaring at the camera as if he did not care to be photographed. He had a look of Childs, as did the boy in the next one who stood smiling shyly alongside a dark-skinned youth in Arab dress who had a much wider smile on his face and his arm draped familiarly over the boy’s shoulders.

The other pictures were all of young men, one of whom she recognized as Simon Homewood. She presumed that these were the fortunate recipients of Childs’s friendship that Giles Nevinson had told her about. A gap in the line suggested that things did not always work out well. The last and newest, an unsmiling young man with a great mop of black hair blowing across and half obscuring his face, she guessed was his godson, Harry, the tyro psychiatrist who provided the topic for a great deal of their conversation. His ambitions, her expertise, these she’d decided explained Childs’s evident desire to keep their relationship going. Giles, however, insisted it was a strong masculine streak in her character, the one enabling her to resist his own advances, that formed the attraction.

‘I thought we might have our tea in here,’ said Childs, coming in with a tray. ‘For London, it’s a fine view.’

He set the tray down on the desk, nudging over a thick stack of manuscript sheets to make room.

‘You’re not writing a novel, are you?’ she said, smiling.

He looked at her blankly and for a moment she thought she might have gone a familiarity too far, then as her smile faded, his arrived and he said, ‘Oh, this stuff, you mean? No, just a little thing I’m trying to put together on the Phoenicians.’

‘Not so little, from the look of it,’ she said. ‘Why the Phoenicians?’

‘Perhaps because they were not unlike the British. Great traders, fine ship-builders, hugely ingenious in matters of practical technology. Same stubbornness too. When their principal city, Tyre, was taken by Alexander, none of the men under arms took advantage of Alexander’s offer of mercy to any who sought sanctuary in the temples. Rather they chose to die defending their own homes.’

‘And you think that’s what would happen here?’

‘Perhaps,’ he said, smiling. ‘But it does us good to seek help and refuge in the deep past sometimes, don’t you think?’

‘I think you’re right,’ she said. Then, encouraged by his easy reception of her inquisitiveness, she went on, ‘I was looking at your photos. Is the boy you?’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘And that’s Father.’

‘I can see the likeness,’ she said. ‘I notice Simon’s here, too. Looking very attractive. Still does, of course. Though I could wish that he wasn’t attracted to me.’

She wasn’t quite sure why she said it. Perhaps she was looking for advice. Or perhaps she simply wanted to test the continuing strength of the psychological links between the man and his protégés.

Childs did not respond straight away but regarded her seriously for a moment with those mild blue eyes.

He should have been a saint, thought Alva, beginning to feel a little guilty. Or a priest, maybe. Not one of your hellfire brigade, but one of those who sought to lead his flock to heaven through love, not drive them there by fear. Which was a strange judgment coming from a devout atheist who earned her crust digging for the roots of human evil!

Then he smiled and said, ‘Frankly, my dear, I don’t see a problem. Nice to know that Simon’s human. His one fault perhaps is that he can be a bit of a boy scout. But as Baden Powell was not unaware, even boy scouts can fall into temptation. BP’s remedy was cold showers, but I’m sure with your professional skills we won’t need to turn on the water! Now, let’s have tea.’

Alva didn’t feel this was the greatest compliment she’d ever received, but it did confirm her feeling that, unfair as it might seem, though the problem wasn’t hers, the solution had to be.

She made sure that her relationship with Homewood never became too informal; not always easy, as she liked him a lot. It was in some ways easier for her to deal with George Proctor, who now came into the office and performed his customary semi-military halt before the Director’s desk.

He then accepted an invitation to sit down, which he did, disapprovingly, perching himself right on the edge of his chair. For the next minute or so he listened carefully to Homewood’s detailed and comprehensively glossed instructions, at the end of which he nodded and said, ‘So, suicide watch but we don’t let him know we’re watching, right?’

Homewood, long used to Proctor’s reductionism, smiled and said, ‘I think that just about sums it up, George. Anything to add, Dr Ozigbo?’

‘Only that if ever Hadda asks to see me, please try to get in touch immediately, no matter what time of day.’

‘You think that time could be of the essence here?’ said Homewood.

‘The disturbed mind is constantly opening and closing windows. It’s important not to miss the opportunity when the right opening comes,’ she said.

‘I understand. You got that, George?’

‘Yes, sir. Buzz Dr Ozigbo’s pager any time of day or night. Best make sure you keep it switched on then, miss.’

‘Oh, I will, George. I will.’

Proctor got up to go and Alva rose too. Homewood hardly seemed to notice she was leaving, busying himself with some papers on his desk. A gentleman in the old-fashioned sense, he normally would have risen and escorted her to the door. But in the presence of Proctor or any of his officers, he had taken to making a conscious effort to show that he classified her simply as a staff member like any other.

As they walked together down the corridor, Proctor said, ‘Fancy a cuppa, miss?’

This was a first. She knew Proctor had a little office of his own next to the warders’ common room, but she’d never been inside it.

Intrigued by the motives for this sudden attack of sociability, she said, ‘That would be nice.’

The room was small and functional. Its furnishings consisted of a desk, two hard chairs and a filing cabinet on top of which stood a portable radio.

Proctor said, ‘Have a seat, miss, while I pop next door. Milk and sugar?’

‘Just milk,’ she said.

‘Right. Won’t be a sec. Like some music while I’m gone?’

Without waiting for an answer he turned the radio on. It was tuned to a non-stop music station that seemed to specialize in hard rock. The music bounced off the walls at a level just short of painful but she didn’t want to risk marring this moment of rapprochement by turning it down.

Proctor returned from the common room carrying two mugs of tea. He placed one in front of her and took his seat at the other side of the table.

‘Cheers,’ he said.

‘Cheers.’

They both drank. The tea was extremely strong. Alva was glad she’d asked for milk.

‘You and Mr Homewood seem to get on well,’ said Proctor.

Alva had to lean across the table to catch his words above the noise of the radio but long usage had presumably inured the Chief Officer to the din.

‘Yes, I’d say we have a good working relationship,’ said Alva carefully. She sensed that Proctor was not just making casual conversation, so care seemed a good policy till she knew where he was leading. Her first guess was that he’d detected Homewood’s feelings for her and for some reason felt it incumbent on him to warn her not to lead him on. Which, if the case, was a bloody cheek!

‘Funny places, prisons,’ he resumed. ‘Ups and downs, lots of atmosphere, easy to get funny ideas.’

Was he perhaps a nonconformist preacher in his spare time, lumbering towards a stern moral reproof?

She said, ‘Yes, I suppose it is, George. You should know that better than anyone. Because of your long service, I mean.’

‘Very true,’ he said. ‘Bound to be the odd disagreement, though. Between you and the Director, I mean.’

‘Not really,’ she said firmly. ‘I think we’re very much on the same wavelength.’

‘That’s good. Mind you, Dr Ruskin and the Director were like that too, until they fell out.’

There had of course been various references made to her predecessor during Alva’s time in the post, but this was the first mention of a dispute.

‘I didn’t know they’d fallen out,’ she said.

‘Oh yes. I mean, that’s why the job came vacant.’

This was even more of a surprise.

‘No, surely it was because of the car accident?’ she said.

‘Yeah, well, him dying like that meant they didn’t have to say he’d resigned. Best to keep quiet about that, Mr Homewood said.’

‘Why did he need to say that to you, George?’ said Alva.

‘Because I was waiting outside his office with my daily report when they had the row. Couldn’t help noticing, there was a deal of shouting, Dr Ruskin mainly. Then he came through the door yelling, “You’ll have my resignation in writing by the end of the day.” I gave it five minutes before I went in, but the Director knew I was there. That’s why two days later, when Dr Ruskin had his accident, he brought it up with me. Said best to keep quiet about Dr Ruskin wanting to resign. That way it would make things straightforward with Dr Ruskin’s widow for the pension and such.’

Alva digested this, then said, ‘So why aren’t you keeping quiet about this now, George?’

‘Oh, you don’t count, miss. You’re one of the family. No secrets in a family, or it just leads to bother, eh? How’s your tea, miss? Like a top-up?’

‘No thanks, George. I’ll have to be on my way now,’ said Alva, recognizing that the significant part of the conversation was at an end.

But what did it signify?
she asked herself as she walked away.

She felt she’d received a warning, but Proctor’s motive in offering it was obscure. Could be kindness, so her sense of being on the same wavelength as Homewood wouldn’t lead her into dangerous areas of over-presumption. Or maybe it was just a malicious need to insert a small wedge in what he saw as a wrongheaded liberal alliance.

Time would probably reveal all. It usually did. She focused her attention instead on the delicate stage she had reached in her treatment of Wolf Hadda. She had a feeling that something was going to happen in the next couple of weeks. At least it seemed likely that George Proctor’s new friendliness meant he would live up to his promise of giving her a buzz as soon as it happened.