The Tightrope Men

Twenty-One

‘It looks like an organ,’ said Lyn judiciously. ‘If it had a keyboard you could play it. A bit funny, that, come to think of it. Sibelius was an orchestra man, wasn’t he?’

‘I think so,’ said Denison. He consulted his guide book. ‘It weighs twenty-eight tons and was made by a woman. I suppose you could call it an early example of Women’s Lib — the hand that rocks the cradle can also wield the welding torch. Let’s sit and watch the passing parade.’

They sat on a bench and watched a tour group debark from a bus; transatlantic accents twanged the air. Denison saw Armstrong stroll along the path below the monument, then he lifted his eyes to look at the sea. The white sails of yachts dotted the deep blue which echoed the lighter blue of the cloudless sky. He wondered when Carey was going to make his move.

Lyn sighed comfortably. ‘Isn’t this beautiful? I didn’t think Finland would be like this — it’s more like the Mediterranean, like Ibiza. Remember when we went there?’

‘Mmm,’ said Denison neutrally.

Lyn laughed. ‘That funny little hotel where there was no hot water and you couldn’t have a hot bath. I’ve never heard you complain so angrily. What was the name of the owner — that little fat man?’

‘I don’t remember,’ said Denison. That was safe enough; a man was not expected to remember every casual encounter. ‘And then the seafood was bad and they took you off to hospital and pumped out your stomach.’

‘I always had a delicate stomach,’ said Denison. He pointed out to sea. ‘I think they’re racing out there.’ He wanted to divert her mind to the present.

‘Yes, they are,’ she said. ‘That reminds me — I suppose Hesperia is still laid up if you’ve not been sailing her this summer. The reason I ask is that if you’re not going to sail her I’d like to. I sort of half promised Janice and Kitty — friends of mine — that we’d sail together.’

Denison was silent, not knowing what to say.

Lyn said, ‘Don’t be a spoilsport. Billy Brooks will put her in the water and I can rig her myself.’

‘All right,’ he said. ‘But don’t get into trouble. English waters aren’t as calm as the Baltic. When are you intending going back?’

‘I haven’t made up my mind yet. I have to write to the girls and make plans, then I’ll drop a line to Billy at the yard. You were going to get a new suit of sails two years ago — did you?’

‘Yes.’ He stood up quickly. ‘Let’s press on — it’s quite late and I have to see someone at the hotel’

‘All very mysterious,’ she said. ‘What’s the sudden appointment?’ She grinned at him. ‘It sounds rather like Wilde’s excuse — “I must decline your invitation owing to a subsequent engagement.”’

Had he been as transparent as that? He forced a smile and said, ‘It’s just that I promised to have a drink before dinner with the Kidders, that’s all.’

‘Oh,’ she said lightly. ‘Then let’s go. We mustn’t keep the Kidders waiting.’

As they walked away Denison saw Armstrong rise from his bench and follow them. What’s the use of a bodyguard? he thought. The enemy is by my side and stabs with a sharp tongue. More and more he was conscious of the injustice of the fraud he was perpetrating on Lyn Meyrick and he determined to see Carey and ask him to find a way of separation.

They got back to the hotel, and Lyn said, ‘Do you mind if I come to your room?’ She looked about the hotel lobby. ‘There’s something I want to talk to you about.’

‘What?’

She pointed to the hotel entrance. ‘Him, for one thing.’ Denison looked around and saw Armstrong just coming in. ‘He’s been following us for the last two days.’

‘He’s supposed to,’ said Denison. ‘You might call him a bodyguard. If I go into the sauna again — which God forbid — he’ll be in there with me.’

She said quietly, ‘I think you’d better tell me what it’s all about. There’s a lot you’re keeping from me. In your room?’

‘All right,’ he said resignedly. They went up in the lift with three other people and Denison used the time to sort out what he was going to tell her — no lies but withholding most of the truth. He decided that a lot could be hidden behind the Official Secrets Act.

He unlocked the door and followed her in. ‘What do you want to know, Lyn?’

‘There’s a big secret, isn’t there?’ She sat on the bed.

‘Which I can’t tell,’ he answered. ‘It’s part of my work. Somebody had a go at me the other day so the Embassy sent that young fellow — he’s called Armstrong, incidentally — to look after me. That’s all.’

‘No more?’

‘Nothing you’re entitled to know, Lyn. I’m sorry.’ He spread his hands. ‘I’m bound by the Official Secrets Act.’

Her face was drawn. ‘I’m sorry, too, because it isn’t enough.’

‘My God, I can’t tell you anything more. If I tattle about what I’m doing they’ll assume I’m a bad security risk.’ He laughed shortly. ‘I’d never be allowed into my own factories — and that’s the best that could happen. At the worst I could go to prison.’ He sat on the bed next to her. ‘It isn’t that I don’t trust you, Lyn; it’s that if you knew what I know you’d be vulnerable. I don’t want to put you in danger.’

She was silent for a while. Her face was troubled and her fingers plucked at the coverlet. She moistened her lips. ‘I’ve been worried.’

‘I know you have, but there’s nothing to worry about. It’s over, and Armstrong will see that it doesn’t happen again.’

‘It’s not that I’ve been worrying about.’

‘What, then?’

‘Me,’ she said. ‘And you — principally you. There’s something wrong somewhere.’

Denison felt his stomach churn. He said, ‘There’s nothing wrong with me. It’s your imagination.’

It was as though she had not heard him. ‘Nothing big — the big things were all right. It’s the little things. Thread-Bear, for instance; how could you have forgotten Thread-Bear? And then there are the Kidders.’

‘What about the Kidders?’

‘Two years ago you’d have cut a man like that down to size in five words.’ She looked at him steadily. ‘You’ve changed. You’ve changed too much.’

‘For the better, I hope,’ said Denison, fighting a valiant rearguard action.

‘I’d say so.’ There was a slight waver in her voice. ‘You’re not nearly as hard to get on with.’

‘I’m sorry if I gave you a bad time in the past,’ said Denison soberly. ‘As I said before: perhaps as I grow older I grow wiser.’

‘It confused me,’ she said. ‘And I’m no different from anyone else; I don’t like being confused. And I had a crazy idea — it was so crazy I thought I must be losing my mind.’

Denison opened his mouth but she covered it with her hand. ‘No, don’t speak. Let me sort it out myself. I don’t want to be confused again.’

She took her hand away, and Denison said quietly, ‘Go on, Lyn.’

‘I found myself having strange thoughts about you.’ She swallowed. The kind of thoughts a girl shouldn’t have about her own father, and I felt ashamed. You were so different, you see; not like my father at all — and the change was too much. I tried to see how you’d changed and the only conclusion I could come to was that suddenly you’d become human.’

‘Thanks,’ said Denison.

‘There’s a bit of my old daddy come back,’ she said vehemently. ‘Oh, you could use irony and sarcasm like knife blades.’

‘No irony intended,’ said Denison sincerely.

‘Then I saw the other things like Thread-Bear and the Kidders and the fact that you’ve stopped smoking. Look at your hands now — no nicotine at all. Then I got this wild idea.’

Denison stood up. ‘Lyn, I think we’d better stop this now,’ he said coldly. ‘You’re becoming hysterical.’

‘No, we won’t stop,’ she shouted, and stood to face him. ‘You knew all the works of Sibelius backwards and sideways, and why wouldn’t you? You’re a Finn! But this morning you only thought his work was for the orchestra. And I don’t know about you — we’ve been parted for many years — but I’ve never been to Ibiza in my life and, to the best of my knowledge, you’ve never been to hospital with food poisoning.’

Denison was appalled. ‘Lyn!’

She was merciless. ‘There is no yacht called Hesperia. You always said that sailing is the most inefficient means of locomotion known to man, and everyone knows that efficiency is your god. And Billy Brooks doesn’t exist — I invented him. And you said you’d bought a suit of sails for a non-existent yacht.’

Her face was white and her eyes brimmed with tears and Denison knew she was deathly frightened. ‘You can’t be my father,’ she whispered. ‘You’re not my father. Who are you?’