What Lies Beneath

Chapter 10

Entries From an Undated Journal

We boarded the ship at Marseilles by darkness, and as we did so, I realized with panic and despair that my own darkness was starting to close around me.

I don’t think anyone noticed – I had become very good at hiding it by that time. Perhaps they thought I was tired from the long journey and I mumbled something about feeling a bit travel-sick. Fortunately it was quite a small ship, probably with no more than thirty passengers in all, and I was able to get to my cabin with minimal fuss.

The crushing pain was already wrenching my mind, but when the pain stopped, the deformity was in place. That was when I felt lighter, stronger, filled up with power as if it had been poured into me from a jug. I could conquer the world, do anything I wanted. Stevenson’s Mr Hyde, prowling the dim cobbled streets, had understood about that soaring exultancy, that deep strong wish to inflict violence, and I understood it too. During those darknesses, the longing to kill Crispian was almost overwhelming. But if I gave in to it, I knew I would not be sufficiently careful. I would not plan or bother to cover my tracks. I would simply slay him on the crest of that dark arrogance and glory in his death with no thought for the consequences. It could not be risked. Murdering Crispian could only be done when I was sane and in control.

So I spun the lie about feeling travel-sick and scuttled away to my cabin in the wake of a ship’s officer. He moved quickly, presumably because he was afraid I might vomit on the clean floor. I kept a hand clapped over my mouth to foster this impression; you get used to practising these small deceptions; they’re not praiseworthy, but they’re necessary.

Once in the cabin I thanked whatever gods might be appropriate that we were not to share sleeping quarters. My quarters for the voyage consisted of a narrow room with a built-in bed and cupboard, a washstand and chair. It was airless and cramped already, and by the time we reached the Italian coast it would probably have turned into an oven, but I would have suffered a worse fate than baking below decks for the benison of that privacy. There was no lock on the door but the small chair could be wedged under the handle. I was shaking so badly by that time I could scarcely hold the chair, but eventually I got it in place, then threw myself on the bed and lay there, ready to do battle with the pain. It would pass in time; all I had to do was remain strong. Here it came – the crunching-bone agony, then the scalding feeling of power. There was a small oblong mirror fastened to the wall over the washstand, but I did not dare look into it.

The pain passed after two hours – a mercifully short time – and light began to trickle back into my mind. I splashed cold water onto my face from the ewer left on the marble washstand. There were towels and soap as well. I’ll say many things against Crispian, but I have to admit he was never mean. The ship was small but the cabin was properly appointed and it looked as if passengers’ comfort would be well catered for.

Restored and refreshed, I removed the chair from the door and went out. There had been mention of a passengers’ lounge for meals, and the prospect of food and drink and the company of normal human beings was comforting.

1912

Crispian thought that considering the macabre nature of this journey, it was progressing reasonably well.

He hoped it would be uneventful, but they were only a few miles out into the Mediterranean when a storm blew up and most of the passengers were seasick. Crispian and Jamie managed to stagger up on deck, which was said to be the best place. Crispian did indeed feel better in the open, even with the rain lashing down, but Jamie hung over the side, retching and groaning, so Crispian left him to it, and made his way back downstairs to look in on his father.

Julius’s cabin was hot and gloomy, and there was a slightly sour smell. There was a basin and ewer in the washstand cupboard, and Crispian guessed his father had been sick, like most of the passengers.

Julius was half-lying on the narrow bed, his shoulders hunched, his face to the wall, but he turned when Crispian came in.

‘How are you feeling?’ said Crispian.

Julius peered at him uncertainly. ‘Crispian?’

His eyes were unfocused and his voice was blurred. He’s not sure who I am, thought Crispian with a twist of apprehension, but, speaking in as normal a tone as possible, he said, ‘I came to see if you were all right. Have you been seasick? Most people were.’

Julius frowned, then appeared to recollect his surroundings. ‘Sick,’ he said, as if trying out the word. ‘Yes, I was sick.’ He sat up a little straighter. ‘Wretched storm,’ he said. ‘Still, you can’t take to the sea without expecting a storm or two.’

This was so rational a remark, and Julius looked so much like his old self, Crispian relaxed.

‘Ring for the steward if you need anything,’ he said. ‘I’ll see you a little later on. We’ll have supper here together if you feel up to eating.’

Julius nodded, then said abruptly, ‘The Aegean Sea, that’s where we’re going, isn’t it?’

‘Yes.’ Crispian had explained this on the train from Waterloo. He had brought an atlas and traced the journey out for his father.

‘As long as it doesn’t turn out to be the Styx,’ said Julius, a glint in his eyes. Crispian’s heart gave a thump of apprehension. ‘Or even,’ said Julius, regarding Crispian with his head on one side, ‘the River of Jordan?’ His eyes were no longer fogged, they were sharp and clear, and for a moment he was again the strong, powerful man of Crispian’s childhood: the man who had headed Cadences Bank for so many years and wielded authority over so many people. ‘Did you think I didn’t know what was going on?’ he said. ‘Let’s have honesty between us at least, Crispian.’

‘We’re being perfectly honest,’ said Crispian. ‘Jamie and I want to study foreign banking procedures. You’ve been working too hard and this is a recuperative trip for your health. Dr Martlet suggested it. I explained all that to you.’

‘You always were a damn good liar,’ said Julius, turning away.

Gil’s cabin was on the same corridor, a little further along. Crispian hesitated, then knocked lightly on the door. His heart was beating a little too fast, which would be the result of that brief disconcerting interview with his father or even the seasickness earlier. He was just thinking Gil was not going to answer – or perhaps was asleep – when Gil called out to come in.

He was lying on his bunk, a book propped up, and he was wearing a silk dressing gown in dark red. His hair was disordered and the robe was slightly open at the chest. There was a faint scent of pine on the air, as if he might just have washed.

‘I’m only looking in to see how you’re feeling,’ said Crispian.

‘Never better,’ said Gil, although he was pale and there was a faint beading of moisture on his brow. ‘I’ve asked the steward to bring some chilled champagne, as a matter of fact. Finest thing in the world for seasickness, chilled champagne. It’ll be here in a minute.’ He considered Crispian. ‘You could stay and drink it with me,’ he said softly, and although he did not quite move over on the narrow bed as if to make room for Crispian, he somehow gave the impression of doing so.

‘Champagne gives me indigestion,’ said Crispian. But as he went out he was aware of Gil smiling the narrow-eyed smile he remembered from the train.

When they reached Nice, Gil proposed they dine at one of the restaurants on the famous Promenade des Anglais.

‘At my father’s expense, I suppose,’ said Crispian caustically.

‘Yes, of course. I certainly can’t afford it, dear boy,’ said Gil. ‘But I do think we should sample some of the local delicacies while we’re here.’

Crispian, who was writing a letter home, glanced up at him suspiciously. ‘What had you in mind?’

‘Bouillabaisse and salade niçoise,’ said Gil, meeting Crispian’s eyes guilelessly. ‘Both famous dishes of this area.’

Jamie, however, requested to be omitted from the party. One had, of course, to eat, he said, but there were a number of famous works of art to be seen, and he would very much like to study them. ‘I thought you two wouldn’t be very interested in the museum,’ he said, ‘and I don’t really want to explore the nightlife, so I thought I’d hire the services of one of the guides for the afternoon. The captain says they’re always around the quayside, and providing one’s careful they’re generally trustworthy. There’s an art gallery I want to see. I’ll go out there with a guide on my own and have supper here with the captain and your father when I return.’

‘In that case,’ said Gil, ‘Crispian and I will dine out. Give our regards to the paintings and the statues.’

Gil had been right about the bouillabaisse, which was delicious, and the Chablis they drank with it was excellent. Almost despite himself, Crispian found he was relaxing and enjoying Gil’s flippant conversation.

‘Here’s to you, Crispian,’ said Gil at one point, lifting his glass. His eyes were dark and glowing in the candlelit restaurant, and Crispian thought he was not completely sober. Then he thought he himself was not completely sober, either.

As if guessing his thoughts, Gil said, ‘I’m fairly tipsy, dear boy. You’ll have to take my arm to get me back to the ship.’ He appeared to be perfectly serious, and when they left the restaurant and Crispian did take his arm, he was acutely aware of the muscles beneath the cloth of Gil’s lightweight jacket.

They reached the ship around eleven and, as Crispian opened the door of his cabin, Gil leaned against the wall, watching him. It was infuriating to find this disturbing.

‘Am I to be asked in for a nightcap?’ said Gil. ‘Because I’ve got a bottle of brandy in my cabin I could fetch.’

Crispian hesitated, intending to say he would have an early night, but heard himself say, ‘Yes, we’ll have a nightcap. Shall we call Jamie in as well?’

‘Let’s keep it just to the two of us.’

Gil poured the brandy and when he passed Crispian the glass his fingers brushed Crispian’s hand, then lay against his palm for a moment. Crispian felt as if a thousand red-hot needles had slid under his skin. Oh God, he thought, I don’t have these kinds of feelings for another man, I don’t… He’s teasing me, that’s all.

He took the glass without speaking and went to sit on the narrow window seat beneath the porthole.

Gil’s next words surprised him. He said, ‘You’re a good liar, Crispian.’

This was such a clear echo of what Crispian’s father had said, that Crispian turned to stare at him.

‘What do you mean?’ he said at last.

‘My father told me the reason for this trip was recuperative,’ said Gil. ‘He said Sir Julius had suffered some kind of “brain fever”. That doesn’t mean a thing. It could be a cover for anything from epilepsy to plain old-fashioned dementia.’ He frowned, then in a more serious voice than Crispian had yet heard him use, said, ‘But I’ve watched Julius since we left England and I don’t much like what I’ve seen.’ He regarded Crispian over the rim of his brandy glass. ‘I’ve surprised you, haven’t I?’ he said. ‘Did you forget I’ve studied medicine for four years?’

‘I had forgotten for the moment,’ said Crispian. ‘But never mind. What is it you’ve seen?’

‘For one thing, your father has episodes of gaze palsy – an inability of the eyes to move in the same direction at the same time. At times the upper eyelids are retracted – creating a fixed downward gaze as if he’s constantly trying to examine his own lower lids. There’s also photophobia – extreme sensitivity to light. He shies from almost all forms of light, doesn’t he?’

‘Yes.’

‘There could be any number of reasons for those symptoms,’ said Gil. ‘I haven’t the experience to know. It could simply be poor eyesight. He’s perfectly rational for a large part of the time, but then a mental confusion seems to come down. Almost as if a curtain’s lowered. Time seems to blur for him, as well – as if he loses whole segments of it.’ He paused to sip his brandy. ‘What’s really wrong with him? And don’t ask for my opinion, because I’m a disgraced, three-quarters trained medical student so I’m not venturing a diagnosis.’

Crispian paused, then in an expressionless voice said, ‘He’s in the final stages of syphilis.’

Syphilis. The word came out softly but it was almost as if something in the small, too-warm cabin recoiled.

‘Dear God,’ said Gil, staring at him. ‘Syphilis. The roué’s disease. I should have thought of it – I always heard he was a bit of a rip in his younger days, your father.’

‘Apparently it can end in destroying the brain as much as the body – that’s what’s happening to him now,’ said Crispian. ‘Your father thinks he probably contracted it years ago and that it’s been undiagnosed until now.’

‘He’s kept it hidden?’

‘Yes. Your father also said it’s a disease that can lie dormant for years, but that it nearly always comes back.’

‘It does. I saw quite a number of cases when I was working on the wards at Guy’s. We used to get a lot of sailors coming in for treatment so I learned quite a bit about it. And I remember a lecture – some German scientist came up with a drug a few years ago. If I hadn’t drunk so much tonight I’d remember his name.’ He frowned, clearly searching his memory. ‘Ehrlich, that’s it. Paul Ehrlich. He called his drug— I’ll remember that in a minute, as well. Why does alcohol fog the brain? I know it was hailed as a miracle cure at the time – a “magic bullet”, they called it. Salvarsan, that’s the name. I don’t think it’s been very widely used. The mercury cure is still what most doctors try.’ A glint of flippancy showed. ‘A night with Venus and a lifetime with Mercury,’ he said. ‘That’s the old saying. But even mercury’s only a temporary cure.’

‘Your father said the mercury cure wasn’t worth trying,’ said Crispian. ‘He said the disease has progressed too far, and it’s a painful cure anyway.’

‘God, yes, it is. Even those hardened old sailors used to scream and beg the nurses to stop. But, Crispian, if my father said mercury wasn’t worth trying, you can trust his judgement. He’s a dry old stick, but he does know medicine.’ He paused again. ‘Not everyone dies from syphilis, but once it does get its claws in, it eats its way through flesh and nerve and brain tissue and… Julius is definitely in the final stage? The tertiary stage?’

‘Yes.’ Crispian remembered Gil’s father using this term. ‘He said it’s progressed to neurosyphilis.’

‘Dear God,’ said Gil. ‘Did he explain what that entailed?’

‘It affects the brain,’ said Crispian in an expressionless voice. ‘There might be personality changes. But whatever happens, he’ll end as a helpless maniac, probably more or less paralysed.’

‘General paralysis of the insane,’ said Gil, staring at him. ‘Oh, Crispian, I’m so very sorry. The poor sod. Has he got chancres? The sores?’

‘Some. He covers them up with scarves and gloves. His face was marked a while ago – blisters and sores – but they seem to have healed. For the moment, at any rate.’

‘Does Jamie know the truth?’ said Gil, suddenly.

‘I used your father’s term, “brain fever”, to Jamie,’ said Crispian. ‘He doesn’t know the truth, but he knows my father might be dangerous; that he has to be watched at all times. I had to tell him that much, because I needed an ally.’

‘And as well as Jamie you got an ally you didn’t bargain for with me,’ said Gil. ‘Well, even with an incomplete medical training I might be of some use.’

‘I wonder if that’s what your father had in mind,’ said Crispian, and Gil grinned.

‘More likely he wanted me out of England because of the hasty exit I had to make from Guy’s.’

‘Why did you have to make a hasty exit?’

‘Do I have to say?’

‘Perhaps better not,’ said Crispian, a bit too quickly.

‘How much does Julius himself know?’

‘He hasn’t been told he’s got syphilis. But he’s no fool.’

‘Does he know he’s dying?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘And so,’ said Gil thoughtfully, ‘you’ve brought him all these thousands of miles to die. Is that in case it gets out that the head of Cadences Bank is gradually becoming helplessly insane?’

‘Yes. If it becomes known, investors might take their money out. I don’t suppose Cadences would actually crash, but it could be seriously harmed. That would mean people’s lives would be affected – not just employees but people with small life savings.’

‘Always that touch of noblesse oblige,’ said Gil, lightly.

‘Don’t be so cynical.’

‘But Cadences is strong enough to survive a few lost investors, surely? It’s been going long enough.’

‘It’s not an easy time for any banking organization,’ said Crispian.

‘Ah. The Germans trying to corner everything they can,’ said Gil. ‘Aided by Austro-Hungary half the time.’ He grinned. ‘I’ve surprised you again, haven’t I? You’re thinking I’m not altogether the irresponsible shallow wastrel you thought me, and you’re wondering if you should revise your opinion.’ Before Crispian could think how to respond to this, he said, ‘Is Julius likely to die while we’re at sea?’

‘Your father thought he probably only had a few weeks left. He said the deterioration had become rapid over the last six months. And I suppose once it reaches the brain—’

‘So,’ said Gil, his eyes bright and a faint flush across his cheekbones, ‘for a few hours of pleasure with a handful of women, he’s ended up with a filthy bone-nibbling, flesh-destroying disease that sends its victims scuttling into the shadows so no one will see its repulsive pawmarks. God, it’s enough to make a man give up fucking for life. And don’t make that prudish face, Crispian, because I know damn well there’s nothing prudish about you.’ In the glow from the cabin’s lamp his eyes had a curious luminous quality like a cat’s: Crispian could see the tiny golden flecks in the deeper brown. Neither of them spoke, then Gil put out a hand to Crispian.

Crispian’s heart was beating like a steam-hammer, but after a moment, he moved away, ignoring the hand, not even looking at Gil. He managed to say, ‘Gil, you do know I’m not—’

‘Aren’t you?’ said Gil harshly. They looked at one another, then Gil said very quietly, ‘Do you know, I believe I’m drunker than I thought. I’ll go to my cabin and try to sleep it off.’ He turned away and went quickly out.

Crispian listened to his footsteps dying away. His mind was in turmoil and he had to make a massive effort not to go after Gil. But somehow he forced away the desire to do so. This journey was for his father, who was going to die. It was for keeping Julius as safe and comfortable as they could manage, and it was also to protect Cadences and all its staff and investors. Nothing else should matter. Hell, thought Crispian, nothing else does matter.

But his emotions were still scalding through his entire body, and they were so strong they frightened him. I can’t feel like this about another man, he thought, I simply can’t. He forced his mind to recall girls he had known at Oxford – nice girls who were the sisters or cousins of friends and could be taken to lunch and with whom one might venture a daring kiss on the cheek. And there had been other girls who took it as a matter of course that things would go well beyond a chaste kiss or a respectful guiding arm. They worked in bars or clubs, those girls, and thought it ever so exciting to be smuggled into an undergraduate’s room. They giggled a good deal, and although they did not precisely expect to be paid hard cash for the liberties they allowed, it was usually understood that some kind of generous gift would be forthcoming. Crispian had known several such girls and he had enjoyed his experiences with them very much. That was how it should be. It should not be this dangerous excitement, this pulsating desire because another man’s hand had lain against your own for a few moments, or because glowing dark brown eyes, filled with secret promise, had stared into yours.