Chapter 19

The pain in his back kept Mix awake. If he hadn't been so frightened of Christie's ghost he'd have gone down to old Chawcer's bathroom and looked to see if she had any sleeping pills. She was bound to, those old women always did. But the thought of opening his front door and seeing that sharpfeaturedt hough blank face, those eyes behind the glasses staring at him, was a dreadful deterrent. He took painkillers instead, the 500 milligram ones the pharmacist said were the strongest you could buy over the counter. They weren't strongenough and the burning and stabbing went on. The last time he had known pain like this was when Javy had beaten him upafter what he said he'd tried to do to Shannon.

At five in the morning, after a cup of coffee and a bit oftoast, he made himself start again. It was beginning to get light, the sky red and gray with sunrise, a white frost on the grass but not enough to harden the ground further. There was nothing, he had discovered, like knowing you've got to do something, you've no choice, to make you get on and do it. They surely couldn't bring old Chawcer back home beforemidday, could they? At any rate, they couldn't get in if they did. He already knew he was physically incapable of digging to a depth of six feet‑ inches more than his own height. It was impossible. Four feet would be enough, it would have to be enough.

The geese had been shut up for the night but now, when the Indian man in turban and camelhair dressing‑ gown opened their door, they came out, cackling. Mix had seen or read somewhere that geese make good watchdogs. He didn't want them watching him. Otto was nowhere to be seen. He dug on, accepting the pain, knowing he must, but still wondering from time to time if he was permanently injuring his back, if he was making himself an invalid for life. Again he asked himself how Reggie had done it, how, come to that, he had stayed so calm and steady, nerveless, when surprised by people arriving, by questioners, by his own wife. Maybe he was mad and I'm not, Mix thought. Or maybe I'm mad and he was sane, a brave strong man. At almost ten, he lifted out the last spadeful of earth and sat down on the cold damp stony ground to rest.

" I wish to go home, " said Gwendolen. " Now. "

" I suppose I could get you a taxi. "

Queenie Winthrop had been told by the ward sister that an ambulance would take Gwendolen home at four o'clock thatafternoon. " At the earliest. "

" Taxis are a wicked price, " said Gwendolen. " They costmore at weekends. "

" I'll pay for it. "

Gwendolen gave the humorless little laugh that was characteristic of her but which no one had heard for the past few days. " I've never taken charity from anyone and I'm not goingto start now. Surely you know someone with a car. "

" Olive used to drive, but she's let her license lapse. "

" Yes, very useful. What about her niece, Mrs. some‑ African‑ name? "

" Oh, I couldn't ask her, Gwendolen. "

" Why on earth not? She can only say no, but she'll be veryrude if she does. "

Hazel Akwaa and her daughter were drinking coffee in Hazel's house in Acton. Or, rather, Hazel was drinking coffee and Nerissa was drinking sparkling water with ice and a slice of lemon. Before the phone rang they had been discussing what Hazel was to wear to dinner at Darel Jones's that evening, and Nerissa was offering to lend her the only garment she possessed that her mother could get into, a heavy silk embroideredcaftan.

" Fetch Gwendolen Chawcer from the hospital? " Nerissah eard her mother say. " I couldn't before late this afternoon.

My husband's got the car. "

" Tell her I'll drive her, " said Nerissa.

So they went to Paddington together, the caftan fetched from Campden Hill Square and hanging in a garment bag across the backseat. Even Gwendolen could melt when confrontedby true kindness and when she realized what was being done to save her from staying longer than she need in hospital, she was very gracious to Nerissa. For once, in the company of a young woman, she refrained from remarking on the tightnessof her jeans, the color and length of her fingernails, the decolletageo f her shirt, and the height of her heels, but smiled and said how very thoughtful Nerissa was in giving up her Saturday morning to " transport an ancient creature like me. "

They reached St. Blaise House at exactly noon. Queenie Winthrop, who hadn't been invited to accompany them but had done so just the same, gave Gwendolen a very acerbic account, lasting for the entire journey, of how she had tried to get into the house to make final preparations for its owner's return. "

I had a key of course. Extraordinary as it seems, 1found thefront door bolted against me. Yes, bolted. You wouldn't believeit, would you? Perhaps that Mr. Cellini is nervous of being in the place alone. I'm sure I don't know but it was bolted top and bottom. I rang and rang and banged on the door and the letterbox. When it was all to no avail I looked up and caught aglimpse of him diving down out of sight: And which window do you think he wa at, Gwendolen? The one that faces the street in the middle on the first floor. Your bedroom window. I'm almost positive. What do you think of that? "

" I might think something if you were absolutely positive. But you're not, are you? "

Queenie didn't answer. Gwendolen was a bit much sometimes. Looking cool and offended, she helped her out of the car, but she wasn't surprised when Gwendolen shook off her arm as they approached the front door and inserted her key in the lock. In spite of treating Queenie's account of Mix Cellini's behavior with derision, she had quite expected to find her ownfront door bolted against her and, as the key turned, she was thinking of the vituperative invective she would direct against him, culminating in notice to quit. But the door slid openeasily.

They all went in and took off their jackets. As they walked across the hallway toward the drawing room door, Mix cameout from the direction of the kitchen. He was very disconcerted to see them so early, and both overjoyed and alarmed to see Nerissa, though he had completed his task half an hour before and had been back only to check that he had left no incriminating evidence behind. It was the sight of Nerissa that brought him to a standstill in front of Gwendolen. But for her, he would have made some perfunctory greeting, passed themand struggled upstairs, hand pressed to aching back. He was about to ignore the rest of them and find themost gracious words he could think of for Nerissa whenGwendolen spoke.

" What have you been doing in my kitchen? "

Mix had been using lies and subterfuge to get him out of trouble almost since he was a baby and he always had some defensive excuse ready. " I knew you'd be coming home today. Ithought I'd make you a cup of tea so I went to check on thekettle and the teacups. "

" Very thoughtful, " said Gwendolen who didn't believe him.

" One of my friends will do that. "

This was dismissal and Mix recognized it as such. He had to speak to Nerissa before he went back upstairs. She was looking at him, smiling a half‑ smile. " That was a great shot of you in last night's Standard, Miss Nash, " he said. " You wouldn't have a copy you could sign and let me have, would you? " It was a press photo, " she said and her voice soundedsmaller than it had before. " They just took it. They don't give you copies. "

" Pity. " Mix was determined to say his piece before partingfrom her. He had rehearsed it for just such an occasion. " Miss Nash, you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. You're just as beautiful in close‑ up as from far away. " He brought hisface near hers. " More beautiful, " he said and he staggered upstairs, desperate not to show the pain he was in.

Unwilling to listen to all this, Gwendolen went into the drawing room, attended but no longer physically supported by Queenie " Winthrop. Hazel Akwaa was furiously angry. She wanted to run after Mix and berate him but Nerissa held her arm and said, " No, Mum, don't. Leave it. "

" How dare he say things like that to you? " Hazel spoke loudly enough for Mix, by now on the first floor, to hear.

" I'm not the Queen, Mum. He doesn't have to get permission. I must be really stupid, as I didn't realize he actually lived here. I mean, I know we met him outside that time, but it never registered that he lived in this house. "

" I'm sorry you had to endure all that under my roof, " said, Gwendolen as Nerissa and Hazel went into the drawing room. Her tone was no longer kindly toward Nerissa, whom she blamed as much as Mix for his outburst.

Now she was home she wanted all these people to go. In an impatient way, she acknowledged Nerissa’s kindness in fetching her from the hospital, but there was nothing to stay for. She had her prescribed medicaents and vitamins, she wasn't hungry, and her paramount desire was to lie on the sofa andopen the post that Queenie had brought in from the hallway. There was bound to be a letter from Stephen Reeves. She wasvery tired and she wanted to read it before sleep overtook her. It was Nerissa who recognized how weary she was and took her mother and Queenie away, Queenie calling over her shoulder that Gwendolen must waste no time in seeing what she thoughtof the spring‑ cleaning she and Olive had done in the kitchen.

Before opening her book, Gwendolen reflected that today was the anniversary of the first time Stephen Reeves came to the house to attend her mother. He had come downstairs and said, " It's a sad sight to see the old folks come to this. "

She had offered him tea and, because he looked hungry, that day's batch of homemade cakes.

The compliments Mix had offered to Nerissa and the proximity of his face to hers had upset her more than she had showed at the time. She had made a great effort at self‑ control in order not to cause trouble the moment poor Miss Chawcer had come home after her stay in hospital, but once she had taken her mother and Mrs. Winthrop home and was in her own house, she began to cry. All the telling herself that the man had only said she was beautiful and come rather too close to her, that he was a harmless fool, had no effect and she gave way to a storm of tears.

Crying was a release, more salutary than attempting to pull herself together, and she was too young to be afraid of lastingmarks to her face. She phoned the beauty salon she used andbooked to have her hair done, a face massage, and a manicure. About to leave the house, she thought of him again and shelooked out of a front window to see if the blue car was parkeddown the hill. She knew the number by heart, had never had towrite it down, but there was no sign of him. Still, she went nervously to her car and remained jumpy and alert until she was in the salon and her hair was being washed. Speculation about him went around and around the inside of her head as warm water splashed on its outside. What did he want of her? That she should go out with him?

She told herself not to be elitist, nearly sure she'd got the difficult word right. Perhaps not to be a snob. God knows, she had no right to be snobbish about anyone, her family wasn't anything much, even though Grandma claimed to be the daughter of a chief. This guy‑ she realized she didn't know hisname‑ was probably better educated than she was and had a real job. He hadn't done her any harm, so why was she so afraid of him? A man had once told her she had a true woman's intuitive powers and perhaps she had, for she sensed something ugly about him, something almost evil. This had been particularly apparent when he brought his face close to hers. His eyes had seemed dead and his expression utterly blank, even while he was saying those things about her being beautiful. If onlys he could think of a way to get rid of him, make sure he never came near her again.

Nico was approaching her with his drier and his brush. Shet urned her head and gave him her glorious heart‑ melting smile.

Mix sat in his flat reading Killer Extraordinary. He quickly came upon an illustration, a full‑ face photograph, and that reminded him of the ghost. He laid the book down. Before he started reading he had heard the departure of Nerissa‑ how nice she had been, how gentle and sweet‑ with Ma Winthrop and that old bitch of a mother. How did a woman like that come tohave such a wonderful daughter? It was unimaginable. The way she'd spoken about him when he went upstairs! Once he and Nerissa were going out together, better than that, once they were married, he'd have his revenge. He' d make his wife forbid her from the house. And their marriage would happen. He was sure of it now. He'd brought his face up to hers near enough to kiss her and she hadn't moved away. She liked being told she was beautiful, of course she did. Tomorrow he'd go upt here on foot and stand outside and wait for her. If only he could sing he'd serenade her.

Mix recognized how much his self‑ confidence had improved since he had so successfully disposed of that girl's body. It was as if, having done that in the face of such difficulty, he could do anything. Of course he hadn't committed deliberate murder, it wasn't murder or even manslaughter at all but " unlawfulkilling. " They called it that when they realized you couldn't help it. But if he had to he'd kill again. It wasn't that much of a big deal. He knew he'd have a really good night's sleep tonight. His worries were over and now, looking back, he wondered why they had seemed so overwhelming. He had surmountedt hem, he had dealt with them and they had dissolved like smoke.

His back was better. Two more ibuprofen and putting his feet up helped enormously. As for the ghost, it never came inhere. If he was careful never to look down those passages or going to that room the chances were he wouldn't see it again. Of course he must move. It was a pity after what he had spent on the flat, he would simply be making a present of a nice little earner to old Chawcer, but there was no help for it. She might not find it so profitable when the next tenant saw things up here he or she didn't expect.

The water diviners, filing down a side street in Kilburn toward a mews under which they were told an ancient stream still flowed, chatted pleasantly to each other on such familiar subjects as astrology, cartomancy, exorcism, numerology, theTarot, ailurophilia, hypnotism, the cult of Ashtaroth, and leprechauns. It was too early to get out their divining rods. Shoshana usually secured for herself a female companion on these walks, a witch or a fortune‑ teller, but today she walked alone, thinking of the Mix Cellini dilemma. After about ten minutes of this she decided she needed advice and she lingered until the end of the crocodile where the witch caught up with her.

The witch was an old crony and Shoshana, while naming no names, had no hesitation in presenting the problem to her.

" What do you think I should do, Hecate? "

The witch wasn't really called Hecate. The name in which her Catholic parents had had her baptized was Helena. But Hecate had a more magical and sinister sound, and it always impressed her better‑ educated clients who understood its derivations.

" I could make you up a spell, " she said, " at a discount, of course. I've got a new one that gives the object psoriasis. "

" That sounds nice but since I've got these two leads sort of ready‑ made I don't like to waste them. I mean, I don't like to waste both of them. "

" I see what you mean, " said Hecate. " Look, we'll be over the underground stream in a minute. Why don't you leave it with me and I'll give you my answer by Monday. "

" Well, don't be any longer than you can help. I don't want the trail going cold. "

" I'll e‑ mail it by Monday morning without fail, " said Hecate.

The flat was bigger than Nerissa had expected and very tidy. Her own house could sometimes look like those interiors picturedi n the magazines she read at the dentist's, but only after Lynette had been there for three or four hours and then not for long. Through the open dining room door she glimpsed a carefully laid table, set with eight places, of course, but withf lowers too and candles. No boyfriend of hers had ever entertainedin his own home in this fashion. They had all been well off, some of them very rich, but when she had gone back with them their houses or flats had been as messy as hers, and though there was an abundance of drink, cigarettes, and other aids to changing consciousness, she had never seen a laid table or even food on a tray. But Darel, she reminded herself sadly, wasn't her boyfriend or likely to be.

He was a gracious host. Nerissa was used to men singling her out and being particularly nice to her, but she had always wondered about this, knowing that if she had been plain and unknown she would have been largely ignored. And the fact that Darel treated her and her mother and his mother and Andrew's wife in exactly the same way, politely and attentively, farf rom irritating her made her feel that this was how things ought to be in society in general. But she did notice that when he was on the other side of the room, replenishing drinks or checking on the dinner it appeared he was cooking himself, he caught her eye rather often and always smiled at her. When she arrived too, although he had paid her no compliments, she wasconscious as he took her coat that the look he gave her was unmistakably admiring of her appearance, her piled‑ up hair and the sleek red‑ gold dress she wore. She resolved that tonight she would forget her stringent discipline in the matter of diet and eat everything she was offered. She would do justice to his cooking.

Music was playing, but very softly. It was the classical kind that she always said she didn't understand, but she liked this. Itwas gentle and sweet with no underlying harsh beat. Apartfrom gatherings at her parents' house, this was the first partyshe had ever been to where no one drank too much, no one disappeared into a bedroom with a stranger, the conversation wasn't smart and malicious, and the language never degenerated into obscenity. It should therefore have been dull, but itwasn't. Nor did the subjects discussed center on domesticity and the property market. Her brother and sister‑ in‑ law were both lawyers and they talked about cases that had recently come up in court. They moved on to the stock market, which Darel was as happy to talk about as he was about politics. Everyone had varying, but not ill‑ tempered, views on the Iraq war. Mr. Jones was a head teacher with informed radical opinions on education. If Nerissa missed the gossip, she liked being asked what she thought, and she very much liked not being treated as the empty‑ headed model with only her looks and her money to recommend her. Just once she felt awkward and that was when Andrew mentioned a case in which he had been prosecuting and the defendant was a fortune‑ teller. Everyone present, though in a measured and civilized fashion, condemned fortune‑ telling as rubbish and astrology along with it. Darel was particularly scathing. Nerissa said nothing, unwilling to appear as the only one there who knew the names of the cards in the Tarot and had actually had her future told.

But she was puzzled as to why Darel had invited her. Shecouldn't think of a reason but she could see her visit as a prelude to something else. At the end of the evening there would surely be a follow‑ up. And then she'd try to make herself more into the sort of woman he'd like. She'd learn to be tidier and more methodical, she'd read more so that she could better understand what people like the Joneses were talking about and talk like they did herself. She'd buy some classical CDs and stop playing hip‑ hop and that song about the prettiest girli n town.

Her parents were the first to leave and Darel accompanied them to the front door. Nerissa had noticed that when the door was shut, nothing of what was said in the hallway could be heard by those in the living room. Only the sounds of Darel's calling good‑ bye and the closing the front door wereaudible.

She let her brother and sister‑ in‑ law go, knowing she mustn't be the last to leave. Yet, oh how much she would have liked to be! She was in love with Darel Jones, knowing this quite clearly because she had never been in love before. He had never kissed her, never done more than shake hands with her, but she knew she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him. She was doomed, she thought, to thinking about him at every waking moment with no hope of her love being returned. But surely a little hope still remained?

Five minutes after her brother's departure, she got up to go, said a polite but not at all obsequious good‑ bye to Mr. andMrs. Jones, and preceded Darel out of the room. His closing ofthe living room door behind him sent a shiver of anticipationdown her spine. He fetched her coat, held it up for her, said, when she thought utter silence was to be maintained until their farewells, " Have you had any more trouble from that guy who was following you? "

" Not really, " she said, and thought, why lie to him of all people? " Well, yes, I have. Today. I won't go into it, it's a long story, but he spoke to me. Put his face up to mine actually, right up, and said things. Oh, nothing horrible, just compliments. "

" I see. " He was silent, thoughtful. " Next time that happens, next time anything happens, will you call me? Here's my card with my mobile number. Will you do that? "

" But you're such a long way away. "

" Not that far and I'm a fast driver. Just call me. Especially at night. Don't hesitate after dark. "

" All right, " she said. " Good‑ bye. Thank you for asking me, I've had a nice time. You're a very good cook. "

" Good night, Nerissa. "

Shoshana looked at her e‑ mails before going to bed on Sundaynight. Only one had come. It read:

Shoshana: On mature consideration I have decided phoning his chief executive your wisest course. Teratomancy has revealed to me that this individual's name is Desmond Pearson. I have also made you up a spell which I am not risking on line but sending by snail mail. It is a very effective one that cramps the object's spinal column and lasts up to one week, though it is renewable. Yours, in the shadows, Hecate.

Very satisfactory. First thing tomorrow morning‑ that is, at ten, the late hour at which these sort of people got in towork‑ she would phone Desmond Pearson and tell him MixC ellini was breaking the rules by instituting a private contract with her, and as soon as the spell arrived she would think of ways of administering it. She could always think of something, it was a gift she had.