‘Look properly,’ Dougal said, ‘up there. And don’t look away because Mr Druce is watching us from behind the pavilion.’
She looked at Dougal.
‘Keep looking up,’ he said, ‘at the trees with red tassels in the sky. Look, where I’m pointing.’
Several people who were crossing the Rye stopped to look up at where Dougal was pointing. Dougal said to them. ‘A new idea. Did you see it in the papers? Planting trees and shrubs in the sky. Look there – it’s a tip of a pine.’
‘I think I
Most of the crowd moved sceptically away, still glancing upward now and then. Dougal brought Merle to her feet and drifted along with the others.
‘Is he still there?’ Merle said.
‘Yes. He must be getting tired of going up and down in lifts.’
‘Oh, he only does that on Saturday mornings. He usually stays at home in the afternoons. He comes to me in the evenings. I’ve got a rotten life. Sometimes I think I’ll swallow a bottle of aspirins.’
‘That doesn’t work.’ Dougal said. ‘It only makes you ill. And the very thought of illness is abhorrent to me.’
‘He’s keen on you,’ Merle said. ‘I know he is, but
‘He must do if he’s keen -‘Not at all. I’m his first waking experience of an attractive man.’
‘You fancy yourself.’
‘No, Mr Druce does that.’
‘With your crooked shoulder,’ she said, ‘you’re not all that much cop.’
‘Advise Druce on those lines,’ he said. ‘He doesn’t take my advice any more. ‘‘How long would you give him with the firm?’
‘Well. since he’s started to slip, I’ve debated that question a lot. The business is on the decline. It’s a worry, I mean about my flat, if Mr Druce loses his job.’
‘I’d give him three months,’ Dougal said.
Merle started to cry again, walking towards the streets with Dougal. ‘Is he still there?’ she said. Dougal did a dancer’s pirouette, round and round, and stopped once more by Merle’s side.
‘He’s walking away in the other direction.’
‘Oh, I wonder where he’s going?’
‘Home to Dulwich, I expect.’
‘It’s immoral,’ Merle said, ‘the way he goes back to that woman in that house. They never say a word to each other.’
‘Stop girning. You look awful with your red eyes. It detracts from the Okapi look But all the same, what a long neck you’ve got.’
She put her hand up to her throat and moved it up her long neck. ‘Mr Druce squeezed it tight the other day,’ she said, ‘for fun, but I got a fright.’
‘It looks like a maniac’s delight, your neck,’ Dougal said.
‘Well, you’ve not got much of one, with your shoulder up round your ear.
‘A short neck denotes a good mind,’ Dougal said. ‘You see, the messages go quicker to the brain because they’ve shorter to go.’ He bent and touched his toes. ‘Suppose the message starts down here. Well, it comes up here -‘
‘Watch out, people are looking.
They were in the middle of Rye Lane, flowing with shopping women and prams. A pram bumped into Dougal as he stood upright, causing him to barge forward into two women who stood talking. Dougal embraced them with wide arms. ‘Darlings, watch where you’re going,’ he said. They beamed at each other and at him.
‘Charming, aren’t you?’ Merle said. ‘There’s a man leaning out of that car parked outside Higgins and Jones, seems to be watching you.’
Dougal looked across the road. ‘Mr Willis is watching me,’ he said. ‘Come and meet Mr Willis.’ He took her arm to cross the road.
‘I’m not dressed for an introduction,’ Merle said.
‘You are only an object of human research,’ Dougal said, guiding her obliquely through the traffic towards Mr Willis.
‘I’m just waiting for my wife. She’s shopping in there, Mr Willis explained. Now that Dougal had approached him he seemed rather embarrassed. ‘I wasn’t sure it was you, Mr Dougal,’ he explained. ‘I was just looking to see. A bit short-sighted.’
‘Miss Merle Coverdale, one of my unofficial helpers,’ Dougal said uppishly. ‘Interesting,’ he said, ‘to see what Peckham does on its Saturday afternoons.’
‘Yes, quite.’ Mr Willis pinkly took Merle’s hand and glanced towards the shop door.
Dougal gave a reserved nod and, as dismissing Mr Willis from his thoughts, led Merle away.
‘Why did he call you Mr Dougal?’ Merle said. ‘Because he’s my social inferior. Formerly a footman in our family.’
‘What’s he now?’
‘One of my secret agents.’
‘You’ll send me mad if I let you. Look what you’ve done to Weedin. You’re driving Mr Druce up the wall.’
‘I have powers of exorcism,’ Dougal said, ‘that’s all.’
‘What’s that?’
‘The ability to drive devils out of people.’
‘I thought you said you were a devil yourself.’
‘The two states are not incompatible. Come to the police station.’
‘Where are we going, Dougal?’
‘The police station. I want to see the excavation.’ He took her into the station yard where he had already made himself known as an interested archaeologist. By the coal-heap was a wooden construction above a cavity already some feet deep. Work had stopped for the weekend. They peered inside.
‘The tunnel leads up to Nunhead,’ Dougal said, ‘the nuns used to use it. They packed up one night over a hundred years ago, and did a flit, and left a lot of debts behind them.’
A policeman came up to them with quiet steps and, pointing to the coal-heap, said, ‘The penitential cell stood in that corner. Afternoon, sir.’
‘Goodness, you gave me a fright,’ Merle said. There’s bodies of nuns down there, miss,’ the policeman said.
Merle had gone home to await Mr Druce. Dougal walked up to Costa’s Cafe in the cool of the evening. Eight people were inside, among them Humphrey and Dixie, seated at a separate table eating the remains of sausage and egg. Humphrey kicked out a chair at their table for Dougal to sit down upon. Dixie touched the corners of her mouth with a paper napkin, and carefully picking up her knife and fork, continued eating, turning her head a little obliquely to receive each small mouthful. Humphrey had just finished. He set down his knife and fork on the plate and pushed the plate away. He rubbed the palms of his hands together twice and said to Dougal,
‘How’s life?’
‘It exists,’ Dougal said, and looked about him.
‘You had a distinguished visitor this afternoon. But you’d just gone out. The old lady was out and I answered to him. He wouldn’t leave his name. But of course I knew it. Mr Druce of Meadows Meade. Dixie pointed him out to me once, didn’t you, Dixie?’
‘Yes,’ Dixie said.
‘He followed me all over the Rye, so greatly did Mr Druce wish to see me,’ Dougal said.
‘If I was you,’ Humphrey said, ‘I’d keep to normal working hours. Then he wouldn’t have any call on you Saturday afternoons – would he, Dixie?’
‘I suppose not,’ Dixie said.
‘Coffee for three,’ Dougal said to the waiter.
‘You had another visitor, about four o’clock,’ Humphrey said. ‘I’ll give you a clue. She had a pot of flowers and a big parcel.’
‘Elaine,’ Dougal said.
