The Unhappy Medium, page 38
‘So your family has been waiting since 1510 for this La Senza chap to come back then?’ Ascot offered hopefully. Van Loop looked at him sternly.
‘Cardinal La Senza, Mr McCauley, please. You must call our leader by his correct name. Anything else is disrespectful.’
‘Cardinal, your worship, whatever,’ said Ascot, sneering dismissively. ‘Well, is he what you thought he’d be like?’
‘I have to confess he’s more annoying than I was expecting. I was prepared for him to be gloriously evil, but he seems a bit more adolescent than that, I fear.’
‘He certainly has his moments,’ said Ascot. ‘More Dick Dasterdly than Darth Vader.’
‘I just wish he’d say thank you once in a while, you know,’ said Van Loop sadly. ‘I mean, my family waited five centuries for him – from father to son we waited. Oh the endless centuries! And we kept his treasures intact. Even when the family hit the bad times, we never dug them up. We could have done, you know. Like at the end of the war, when I was hiding from those spiteful war-crimes people; life was really hard for me you know. I hated Argentina. The diet was all meat, nothing but meat!’ He looked wistfully out of the window. After a long sigh, he turned and looked at the now-somewhat-ruffled Ascot, fixing him with his dead watery eyes. ‘And you Mr McCauley, what do you believe in?’
‘Money,’ said Ascot standing. ‘Look, I’d love to chat, but I’m in need of some sleep. I’ll get to my cabin if it’s all the same to you. Can you remind me what number I’m in?’
‘Number 57,’ said Van Loop impassively. ‘Next to the Cardinal and Sister Wendy.’ Ascot, pained, closed his eyes, all hope of a quiet night in serious doubt.
‘Great, just great,’ he huffed, and draining his brandy, he left Van Loop staring out at the lights as the boat pushed forward through the swell.
******
As the ferry sailed slowly through the Bay of Biscay, Newton and Bennet hacked north along the French motorways like a Japanese bullet train.
Around Poitiers it began to rain heavily and a steady stream of water came pouring down through bullet holes in the roof, leaving both of them shivering. Bennet flicked on the ancient heating system but it merely propelled warmish air away through the back of the car where it heated the empty motorway behind them.
By Le Mans, Newton’s eyes felt like they had hornets in them. He blinked, then as he glanced in the rear-view mirror, he did a double take – the merest trace of Sixsmith’s ghost was sitting in the back seat.
‘Alex?’
‘Hello,’ said the ghost of Alex Sixsmith, his voice distant.
‘Why are you so faint?’ asked Newton, puzzled.
‘Too far ... from ... my ... relics,’ Sixsmith whispered, his voice fading in and out so much that Newton and Bennet were straining to hear him at all. ‘We’ve not ... heard from you. What’s ... happening?’
‘Well,’ said Newton, ‘the safe new job you got me has resulted in me being shot at, and I’m afraid my phone took the bullet. And sadly, the vicar here hasn’t got one of his own. Sorry. ’
‘Did ... you ... find ... anything?’
‘I’ll keep it brief,’ said Newton. ‘La Senza is getting help from the McCauleys. Let Jameson know. This bloody machine is on its way back to Portsmouth on the ferry – it’ll probably be there in a few hours.’
‘The McCauleys? Crikey! Are ... you ... sure, did you see them?’
‘Very sure, one of them was trying to kill me at the time,’ said Newton. ‘Look, I’ll make a full report when I get back to Newhaven and get my phone replaced.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Sixsmith. ‘I’m really ... struggling ... to hear all ... this. Can I ... suggest ... you send back a ... proper ... report from ... Newhaven? You ... can ... get a ... new phone ... there.’
‘That’s even better!’ said Newton to the space left as Sixsmith finally faded out completely. Exhausted, Newton begged the reluctant Reverend Bennet to do the driving and after swapping places, they headed back out onto the motorway towards Dieppe.
******
Newton awoke a few hours later frozen into a sodden ball by a near-fatal mix of wind chill, fatigue and damp clothes.
‘Are we there yet?’ he said, as he slowly sat back upright. He tried without success to defrost his hands in front of the car heater as if it were a warm brazier. ‘You’d think that if they go to the trouble of souping up the engine and the suspension, they could have had a pop at the heater!’
‘Cheer up,’ said the vicar, yawning, a thin layer of frost upon his shoulders like severe dandruff. ‘We’re nearly at Dieppe. We’ll find you a nice warm bench on the ferry.’
‘Luxury,’ said Newton, who despite the thrill of the chase was getting a tad frayed around the edges. It was nearly daylight now, and all the road signs were pointing to the Channel. With everything depending on keeping up the pace and catching the ferry, Newton and the Reverend Bennet streaked like F1 champions around Rouen and on to Dieppe.
******
The alarm clock enraged Gabby for a good minute before she remembered that it heralded a fun day out. She yawned and stretched then got up briskly as Viv clattered out a basic breakfast. It was still dark when they piled into the old Vauxhall and set off for distant Dorset.
‘Boy, you can really yawn!’ said Viv laughing, trying to stifle an infectious yawn of her own.
‘Yawwwwwwwwww ... sorry,’ said Gabby, fiddling with the heating. ‘Sheeet, it’s cold.’
‘Sure is,’ said Viv. ‘We can warm up with a coffee once we get onto the M3.’
‘Good plan,’ said Gabby, yawning again.
‘Stop that, you’re making me do it too!’ said Viv, as the pair yawned and laughed in good spirits. ‘Anything from your dad on your phone?’
‘Not a bean,’ said Gabby. ‘Probably busy,’ she added from beneath a curled lip. ‘He’ll be gutted when he finds out where we’re going.’
‘He will!’ said Viv. ‘In fact, let’s not answer if he calls. We can just send him a shot from the phone. Surprise him.’
‘Yeah – radio silence!’ said Gabby, as they swung west towards Heathrow and onto the M3.
******
For Newton and the Reverend Bennet, the queue for the Dieppe ferry had been interminable. They froze in the soggy squalor of the semi-derelict Citroën as the boat’s ramp came down. Finally, the front cars in the queues were given the thumbs up and Bennet eagerly started the engine. As soon as they were parked up, the two half-frozen men hunted the boat for comfortable seats with full access to a hot pipe. With an out-of-order public phone finalising their isolation from the organisation back in Britain, they sat shivering until, utterly exhausted, they fell asleep. Not even the cacophony from the children’s play area could have woken them.
Under a leaden sky, the ferry slipped its moorings. Despite the delays and La Senza’s head start, the good guys and the bad guys were bound for an almost simultaneous landfall.
A long day was beginning.
CHAPTER 32 – Funnel s
Viv and Gabby bounced the fringes of Bournemouth, circled the expanse of Poole Harbour then swung down into the Purbecks. The landscape became noticeably more scrubby as farmland gave way to scraggly heathlands. With nothing but the occasional clump of pine trees, it took on a romantic windblown flavour, the winter sun finding hidden colours in the heather and gorse.
As they reached Langton Hadlow, a large dump truck pulled out in front of them, its bulk somewhat out-of-keeping with the village’s sleepy ambience. Viv slowed to let it out. Around them, everything seemed strangely quiet. The windows of the shops and houses were dark, their neglected paintwork layered in dust.
‘Hardly a jumping joint!’ said Viv, frowning. ‘Looks half dead.’
‘Everything’s been sold – seems a bit odd,’ said Gabby. They carried on behind the truck to the village square, where Viv did a circuit around the war memorial, then pulled up and parked in the shadow of the old tank.
‘Wow, a real ghost town!’ said Gabby as they climbed out and stretched. ‘All the pubs and shops are shut. Weird!’
‘Hello ladies,’ came a voice from above them. Looking up, they saw a door in the side of the tank creaking open. A man was looking down at them, a cheery smile on his face. ‘Are you looking for something in particular?’ He swung himself out from the hatch and climbed down, wiping his oily hands on a rag.
‘Err ... yes,’ said Viv. ‘We’ve got an appointment with the curator at the museum. Not till later though. We’re wondering if you can get some lunch here? All the pubs are shut down.’
‘Yes, sadly they are,’ said the mechanic, with a mixture of melancholy and resignation.
‘Is that a real tank?’ asked Gabby.
‘It is indeed young lady,’ said the mechanic. ‘A real World War One tank. She saw action too – Cambrai 1917,’ he said, pointing up at the machine guns poking menacingly out from the side cupolas. ‘Guns are dummies, of course, the real ones are kept under lock and key, but other than that she’s 100 per cent authentic. And she’s a runner.’
‘A runner?’ asked Gabby.
‘Yes, she still drives. Once a year we back her off this plinth and take her up the road to the tank museum at Bovington for their big display.’
‘So where’s the village museum?’ said Viv.
‘Well ladies,’ said the mechanic, pointing down the once-picturesque street. ‘The museum is just up there by the castle wall. It’s easy to spot, it’s the only building without one of those ghastly estate agent signboards.’ He sighed. ‘Poor old sod is still hanging on, bless him. Those developer bastards – they’re hounding him round the clock. Same with us.’
‘Developers? What ... in a place like this ?’ said Viv.
‘Sadly yes,’ said the mechanic. ‘But that’s the modern world for you. Anyway, I’d better get on. We might have to move this dear old warhorse soon and she needs a bit of prepping. Much as we’d love to hang on and fight the bastards, a garage with no vehicles to fix and no petrol tanks to fill is hardly a good business proposition. If we aren’t here, who’ll keep this old dear going? We’ll just have to hand her over to the tank museum.’ He patted the slab-sided monster as if it was a Grand National winner. ‘Sad really. She’s still got some fight left in her, even if we haven’t.’ He climbed back up and clambered through the hatch before popping his head back out: ‘Have a good day ladies.’
******
The Reverend Bennet nudged Newton awake and handed him a coffee.
‘Wake up Dr Barlow. We’ll be docking in about thirty minutes.’ Newton, who was dry on one side and still damp, be it warm damp, on the other, reluctantly grabbed the coffee and sat upright, blinking.
‘OK ... hold on ... where am I?’
‘On a car ferry. Wakey wakey!’
‘Ah ... yes, I remember now,’ said Newton, blearily. ‘Funny, these days I find the lines between dreams and reality increasingly hard to discern. I was having a dream that was actually less surreal than real life. And it felt good.’
‘I concur,’ said Bennet, sipping from his cup. ‘It’s a funny old world to be sure, but then, that’s what makes it interesting. ’
‘Spose,’ said Newton. ‘But I have to say there was something quite comforting about being completely and utterly wrong. Tell me Reverend,’ said Newton changing tack, ‘I’ve been meaning to ask you something. You’re a man of God right?’
‘I am.’
‘So how does all this fit in with your beliefs? Not one of these ghosts or spirit guides has mentioned God. Not once. Not even obliquely. Doesn’t that kind of throw your whole religion thing out of the stained-glass window?’
‘Well,’ replied Bennet after a thoughtful pause, ‘it may be true that they haven’t confirmed the almighty. But they haven’t confirmed the non-existence of God either. It’s much the same as here in the land of the living isn’t it? It’s still all about faith at the end of the day.’
‘But the afterlife they describe hasn’t got a God in it at all. It must mean he doesn’t exist.’
‘Prove it,’ said Bennet calmly.
‘I can’t,’ said Newton. ‘You can’t prove a negative.’
‘But don’t you see, in a way nothing has changed,’ continued the vicar, clearly confident in his conclusions. ‘There is no proof for or against God, and as many of the dead seem to be just as prone to belief systems as the living, well then, it’s business as normal.’
‘Don’t you find it infuriating, though, that they won’t tell you everything?’ said Newton. ‘I mean, they know something we don’t, something massive and frankly it’s driving me nuts.’
‘My dear boy,’ continued Bennet. ‘Like most clergymen, I’ve spent my whole career encouraging people to be happy with faith in the unknown. I can hardly get impatient myself. I’m sure I’ll find out eventually.’
‘I’m a scientist, though,’ said Newton. ‘I need answers now. I don’t do faith.’
‘As I see it, they simply won’t bend the rules. I’m afraid you’ll have to just wait and see what happens when you croak, just like the rest of us.’
‘Well as much as I’d like quick answers, I’d rather forgo the death bit for the moment,’ said Newton resignedly.
Bennet stood up. ‘Well Dr Barlow, I guess we’d better get organised. We’ll have to hit the ground running.’
The coast was a grey smudge ahead of them and after looking briefly out from the passenger deck windows at the brightening day, they set off for the car deck. As the ferry docked at Newhaven, far away to the west Cardinal La Senza and his party were making good time. They’d left Portsmouth some twenty minutes earlier and were already skirting Southampton. The convoy was entering the New Forest when Hadlow Grange called in.
‘Hello Epsom,’ said Ascot wearily, La Senza’s dribbling head weighing sleepily on his blazer shoulder.
‘I’ve been on the internet,’ said his brother smugly. ‘You’ll never guess what I’ve found.’
******
Viv and Gabby walked in the bright winter sunshine up to the Langton Hadlow village museum, its old-world charm defiant amongst the estate agent signboards. The door wobbled on its aged hinges, a rusted metal bell rattling and jangling above them as they made their way inside.
‘I’ll be right there,’ the curator called from the back room. Gabby and Viv looked around them at the eccentric objects along the walls and exchanged looks combining amusement and confusion.
‘Blimey,’ said Viv. ‘Nothing like a well-thought-out public space, eh? Looks like Tutankhamen’s tomb!’ The curator was bustling his way out to the counter and he peered over his spectacles at the two of them.
‘Aha, you must be the young ladies I was expecting. You’ve come a long way.’
‘That’s right, from London.’ said Viv. ‘We’ve come about the antique thing ... the figure on the box.’
‘Ah yes. So tell me. What do you know about it?’ he said hopefully.
‘Us ... well nothing, I’m afraid,’ said Viv.
‘It’s for my dad,’ said Gabby, filling the awkward silence that followed. ‘He’s been looking for it, but cos he’s away we thought we’d find it for him.’
‘That’s right,’ continued Viv. ‘We found your post online and thought ... hey that’s it! So here we are.’
‘Ah that’s a pity,’ said the curator. ‘I was rather hoping someone would tell me something about the beastly thing. It’s a bit odd, you see. ’
‘It’s not just odd,’ said Gabby. ‘It’s pig ugly!’
‘Ugly, yes,’ said the curator. ‘But I’m afraid its looks are not the only problem. Do you know why your father is interested in it?’
‘Not really,’ said Gabby. ‘He works for a place that does telescopes and stuff. Must be something to do with that.’
‘Well,’ he continued, ‘I guess we’d better go and have a look at it then.’ They followed him into the rear room.
The carved box sat alone in its cabinet. Viv and Gabby approached the case and peered cautiously inside. Unexpectedly they felt something uncomfortable wash over them like the breeze from an open refrigerator.
‘Well there it is,’ said the curator. ‘Horrible, isn’t it?’
‘Isn’t it just!’ said Viv, shuddering. ‘What do you know about it? Is there a story? I mean, why is it all covered in tape and wire?’
‘Oh just a precaution,’ the curator said without elaborating. ‘It’s got something in it.’
‘Sorry, what do you mean?’
‘Well that’s just it, I’m not really sure,’ he replied. ‘However, regarding its origins, well ... all I know is that my grandfather picked it up in Germany after the First World War.’
Gabby took out her phone and aimed for a photo, but Viv nudged her. ‘Do you mind if we take a picture?’ Viv said.
‘Not at all. Please, feel free,’ said the curator. ‘You said your father knows something about it – perhaps he can shed some light upon its history. Personally though, I’d be pleased to see the back of it.’ Gabby held up her mobile phone and after she was happy with one of the shots, she forwarded it to her father.
‘That’s great,’ said Viv. ‘Hopefully Gabby’s dad can help you clear it up.’
‘Actually, yours is not the only enquiry I’ve had,’ said the curator. ‘Funnily enough, I had another email this morning. Someone local, as it happens. They’ll be over sometime today to have a look.’ Even as the curator spoke, there was a rumble outside. The daylight that had poured brightly through the old window was suddenly blocked by a slab of white as a large lorry pulled up to the museum’s exterior. The old metal bell above the door clanged again.
‘Oh,’ said the curator. ‘I wonder if that’s him?’
***** *
In Newhaven, Newton ripped open the excessive packaging of his new phone and slotted in his old sim card. The phone immediately began chirruping and jangling with annoying ringtones. ‘World and his wife have been after us,’ said Newton, scrolling. ‘Jameson, Sixsmith, Jameson, Sixsmith ... oh ... and there’s one from my kid and my girlfriend ... whoops, I forgot about them!’ Newton rang Jameson.
