Deadheads

5

Ellie Pascoe was not in the best of tempers when the phone rang.

The previous evening she had been unpleasantly reminded that she was now theoretically back in full-time academic employment by the arrival on her doorstep of a cardboard box chock-full of examination scripts.

The middle-aged colleague who delivered them had wanted to do nothing but talk at great circular length about his future in the new institution that was being created. His name was Rothmann and he was a self-banished Johannesburg Jew of unimpeachable liberal credentials who embarrassed Ellie sorely by constantly cracking jokes whose racist content from another source would have made her scream with rage.

'The Principal says we will all be well looked after in the new Institute,' he now said anxiously. 'But, Ellie, I keep on hearing this voice saying you will now all der shower be taking; please to form der orderly line and into der shower be moving.'

Finally he left. At the door Ellie asked when the department would like the scripts returned.

'Oh, a couple of days,' he said vaguely. 'With all this time on your hands, it shouldn't take you long.'

She had closed the door with great force and made a rude gesture at the trembling woodwork. But the scripts had to be read and the sooner the better. The only firm commitment she had the following day was coffee with Daphne Aldermann again. They had met in the Chantry on Monday as arranged and she'd enjoyed it so much that she'd offered no resistance when Daphne, obviously thirsty for friendship, suggested Wednesday and insisted they should return to the Market Caff. It had been this gesture towards democracy which had persuaded Ellie that, scripts or no scripts, she shouldn't put the meeting off, and to find herself stood up had not pleased her, though she had no doubt there was a perfectly adequate explanation.

And when after an hour of yawning her way through the scripts as though her jaw were seeking a physical dislocation to match the logical and linguistic ones which abounded therein, she snatched up the phone and heard Daphne's voice, it was this perfectly adequate explanation she expected to receive.

Instead Daphne said abruptly, 'I want to see you.'

'You do? Now, if you'd been in the Market Caff at nine-thirty as arranged, you might just have managed it,' replied Ellie with spirit.

'I'll come round,' said Daphne. 'I just wanted to check you were home.'

'Yes, I'm at home. And I'm also extremely busy marking exam scripts,' said Ellie, feeling all her irritation welling up. 'Daphne, what is it. .'

The phone went dead.

Puzzled, Ellie replaced the receiver. Trouble was imminent, she felt sure of that. Daphne had sounded cold and hostile as only the well-brought-up English girl can sound cold and hostile. Ellie had read enough Marxist interpretation of history to know that the wrath of the bourgeoisie was not to be taken lightly.

She returned uneasily to her marking.

Half an hour later the doorbell rang.

'You found it then,' said Ellie inanely.

‘It wasn't easy,' said Daphne accusingly.

Ellie guessed that the taut fury which she had sensed behind the telephone call had slackened off to some extent during the drive, and now Daphne was seeking new devices to renew the tension. Ellie resolved to make things difficult for her.

'I'm so glad to see you,' she smiled. 'You've no idea what a hundred exam scripts with half an idea between them can do to the brain.'

'No, I wouldn't have, would I? Middle-class reactionaries with kids at private schools aren't intellectual enough to recognize even half an idea, are they?'

There was a fine high colour in her cheeks, the divided emblem of anger and embarrassment. It made her look extraordinarily attractive. If I caught a man thinking that, I'd call him a sexual fascist, Ellie thought.

She said, 'Daphne, something's upset you. .'

'Sharp!' mocked the other, now fast re-approaching the pole of her cold biting anger. 'Really keen! What I wouldn't give for such sensitivity! Well, I may be just a plain little pawn in the class war, but at least I'm not the kind of two-faced bitch who goes around spying on her friends!'

Ellie had retreated into the lounge where she was working, with Rose in her carrycot lying at the open french window and gurgling at the sparrows quarrelling over scraps on the bird table. She now subsided into an armchair so that Daphne towered over her.

'You don't look much like a plain little pawn from here,' she observed, still determined not to react. 'Daphne, please, forget the forensic fire and just tell me in plain words what you're talking about.'

'Oh, don't pretend you don't know,' said Daphne, attempting a sneer which came close to being a sob.

'I may have my suspicions, but I won't know till you tell me,' said Ellie. 'And if you could sit down first, I'd appreciate it.'

Daphne hesitated, then sat on the edge of a high, wing-chair. Rosie, momentarily attracted by the prospect of quarrelling adults, decided that size was no substitute for savagery and returned her attention to the sparrows.

'Just answer me one thing,' said Daphne. 'Yes or no. Did you know when you decided to take me under your little left wing that your husband was in charge of an investigation intomine!'

'Oh dear,' said Ellie, her worst fears confirmed.

'Yes or no!' insisted Daphne, latching on instantly to this hint of assent.

'It's not as simple as that,' protested Ellie. 'Any simple answer to that question accepts all the implications of the question, which I don't.'

'Oh come on!' said Daphne. 'Don't play the nit-picking academic with me. It's a simple question.'

'And don't you play the WI plate-cake and flower-arrangement dummy with me!' retorted Ellie, happy to let go now she knew what she was into, it's not a simple question and you know it. Let's get my reasons for making your acquaintance quite clear for a start. First, I gave you a lift because it was raining. Nothing more. I'd no idea who you were. All right, I did work out you were a St Helena parent and it did amuse me to see your reaction when you spotted the placard in the car, but my motive was simple humanity. Second, I didn't decide to take you under my little left wing, though I must say I quite admire the phrase. It was just that as I talked to you, well, I found I liked you.'

'Rather to your surprise, you mean?' said Daphne. 'What did you do? Watch three Party Political Broadcasts as a penance?'

'There, that's one of the reasons,' said Ellie, risking a grin. 'You're sharp! And, all right, if there was a touch of political condescension in it to start with — you know: Fancy little activist me liking someone like her! can you deny that there wasn't a bit of social condescension in your reaction? Hey, look at good old moderate tolerant me passing the time of day with an anarchist!Right?'

Daphne said sourly, 'You say I'm sharp. I'm sharp enough to see you're avoiding the main point of the question.'

But she had relaxed perceptibly in her chair.

'Clearing the decks, merely,' said Ellie. 'All right. When you told me your name and mentioned where your husband worked, yes, I realized that Peter had a professional interest. I didn't do anything about it because all I could have done was nip our acquaintance in the bud and I wasn't about to do that. Why not? You want yesses and noes and all I give you is a multiplicity of reasons! I'm sorry, but here's three more. One, because I don't let my husband's concerns affect my own freedom of choice; two, because what he'd told me about his interest in your husband made it all sound like a bit of a joke anyway; and three, because I'd taken a fancy to you. Liberty, equality and human rights you can fight for, but friends are much harder to come by and you've got to grab them fast when they come along.'

'Now, that's very moving,' said Daphne in a hard clear tone, then she paused and when she resumed her voice had softened and become more hesitant. 'I'm sorry, I meant that to be sarcastic, but really it's not, I don't think. It is very moving what you've said, about friends and everything. You know, I haven't sat and talked about being friends with anyone since I was a schoolgirl and all those awful childish loyalties and loves and feuds meant such a lot! What I don't understand is how, if you're my friend, you could sit and listen to your husband talking about Patrick and. . and. .'

'And what?' said Ellie.

'I don't know what, do I?' burst out Daphne. 'You tell me. Just precisely what did you do when Patrick's name came up again? His name did come up again, didn't it?'

'Yes, it was mentioned,' said Ellie. 'Perhaps it shouldn't have been, but look, Peter trusts me. He talks about his work, I want him to. Sometimes I think it's a pretty shitty and disgusting trade but he's not a shitty and disgusting person and I know that a police force with Peter and a few more like him in it is going to be a damn sight better than one without him. So yes, he has mentioned your husband, and yes, I have mentioned you. I can't really tell you what was said about your husband, can I? Except that nothing's been said to me which has seemed to put our relationship in any difficulty, please believe me. As for what I said about you, I talked about you as a new friend and one I hoped would grow into an old friend.'

'And nothing more?' persisted Daphne, undiverted by this sentimental flourish. 'You mean nothing of what I told you about myself has been passed on in detail?'

Ellie recalled uneasily her late-night vinous discussion of Daphne's background, courtship, character and finances, crossed her fingers mentally, and said 'Nothing I wouldn't have said about any close friend.'

It was a Jesuitically vague response but it seemed to have substance enough to blunt the keen sceptical edge of Daphne's questioning. Or perhaps the frowning introspective silence she now fell into was merely a mustering of resources for a second assault.

Ellie decided a quick counter was the best tactic.

'Daphne, I'm sorry. I've let myself get into a situation where I'm bound to be wrong, and I admit it, and I'm sorry. But what's brought all this on? Something must have happened to bring you round here breathing fire. How did you find out about Peter's interest in your husband for a start?'

'Can't you guess?' said Daphne bitterly. 'After all, my private life must be an open book to you.'

'I've no idea,' said Ellie. 'Honestly. I'll cross my heart if you like. I can't think of any other way of convincing you I'm honest!'

Daphne looked at her doubtfully, then said, 'I wonder if I could have a drink? I know it's a bit early, but I feel rather shaky. I'm not very good at quarrels. I wasn't brought up to it.'

'Sure. Scotch OK?'

Ellie took her time preparing the drinks, going to the kitchen in search of ice and polishing the glasses on a clean towel before pouring the Scotch. Her intuition was proved right when she heard Daphne begin to talk even though her back was still to her.

'I heard from Dick Elgood. I mentioned your name to him, making a joke about your being a policeman's wife. And that's when he told me.'

'About what?' said Ellie, pouring the whisky drop by drop as though adding olive oil to a mayonnaise.

'About that stupid complaint he made to the police. And about your husband being in charge of the investigation. He also said that after I told him about that odd-looking CID sergeant coming round to the house to ask questions about my car, he'd let your husband know he'd made a silly mistake and didn't want things to go any further. But they have gone further, haven't they? Haven't they?'

Now Ellie turned.

'Yes,' she said, 'I believe they have. But why or how far I've no idea, believe me.'

She handed over the drink. She'd poured one for herself, well-diluted, to be companionable. She didn't want it — once this trying scene was over, the rest of those scripts would still require a clear head and a sharp eye to glean the wheat out of the chaff.

'You keep on asking me to believe you,' said Daphne, sipping at her Scotch.

'I realize I'm not very credit-worthy at the moment,' said Ellie. 'But I'm puzzled. Why did Dick Elgood tell you this? Or, going further back, why should you have told Dick Elgood the police had visited you about your car?'

'You don't know? You really don't know?' said Daphne.

'No!' said Ellie with sufficient emphasis to turn the baby's head again. 'I've said so!'

'Well, I'll tell you. Because after I parked my car that day, the day it was vandalized, I got into Dick's car and we spent the day together at his cottage, that's why!'

'Oh, I see,' said Ellie blankly.

'So I told him about the car being vandalized, and I told him about that sergeant visiting the house. I recall he seemed very interested in what he'd said, but I didn't know why.'

'No, no, of course not,' said Ellie, now feeling herself completely at sea. 'Daphne, you went to Elgood's cottage to. .'

Untypically she found the sentence difficult to finish.

Daphne said in her loud, clear, confident, privately educated voice, 'Screw is, I think, the word you're looking for. So you didn't know? That's interesting. Which means either that your husband hasn't told you. Which is also interesting. Or that he doesn't know either, and you’ve got to make up your mind whether your deep friendship for me permits you to tell him. Which is perhaps the most interesting thing of all.'

She rose, set down her glass and made for the door.

'Daphne!' cried Ellie. 'Please, let's talk some more.'

'All right, if that's what you want, but not now,' said Daphne, very cool and Noel Cowardish. 'Let's meet tomorrow morning. In the Chantry. I was going to come along to the Market Caff this morning and tell you what I thought of you, but I funked it. But I'll feel more confident in the Chantry, won't I? And you can let me know what you decided, can't you?'

It was too good an exit to spoil by pursuit and expostulation. Ellie remained fast in her seat, like a spellbound princess, hearing the front door close and the Polo start up and draw away.

She imagined she sat quite still during this time but when she finally stirred and looked down at her glass of unwanted Scotch, she discovered it had somehow become completely empty and she felt more than ready for another.