hammering on the front door with their fists. Mix crept to his door and cameout onto the landing at the top of the tiled flight. His firstthought was that it was the police. The Asian man had told them someone was digging a grave in Miss Chawcer's garden and they had come to check. They had targets to meet thesedays and they'd jump at the chance of discovering a crime. Mixc ouldn't see the front garden or the street from his flat. He went down a flight, then another, into old Chawcer's bedroom and looked out of the window.
By now it was getting dark. By the light of street lamps he saw there were no police cars, none of that crime tape he hadso much feared earlier. Abruptly the noise ceased. A beam of light appeared on the path, followed by Queenie Winthrop holding a flashlight in her hand. Mix ducked down as shet urned round and looked up at the windows. Checking up on him, he supposed, making sure he'd done the shopping. Well, she'd have to remain in ignorance. He wasn't unbolting that front door for anyone or anything until he'd completed the burial. He began the weary climb back.
Last night he had seen the ghost up there, in that bedroom, really seen it. There was no longer any question of its existing only in his imagination. Steph and Shoshana were right. It wasn't just that he had been in a bad nervous state, the stresses of the job had got to him, all the pressures of Ed, his worryover and longing for Nerissa, childhood memories. He had really seen the ghost.
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
'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
