Clearly I wasn't going to be able to think of anything else until I had the answer, but equally clearly I would have to think of something else if I was ever going to get the answer. How to break this circle? Ask me how.'
'How?' said Miss Pearce obediently, but without enthusiasm.
'By writing down what the answer is!' exclaimed Dirk. 'And here it is!' He slapped the piece of paper triumphantly and sat back with a satisfied smile.
Miss Pearce looked at it dumbly.
'With the result,' continued Dirk, 'that I am now able to turn my mind to fresh and intriguing problems, like, for instance…'
He took the piece of paper, covered with its aimless squiggles and doodlings, and held it up to her.
'What language,' he said in a low, dark voice, 'is this written in?'
Miss Pearce continued to look at it dumbly.
Dirk flung the piece of paper down, put his feet up on the table, and threw his head back with his hands behind it.
'You see what I have done?' he asked the ceiling, which seemed to flinch slightly at being yanked so suddenly into the conversation. 'I have transformed the problem from an intractably difficult and possibly quite insoluble conundrum into a mere linguistic puzzle. Albeit,' he muttered, after a long moment of silent pondering, 'an intractably difficult and possibly insoluble one.'
He swung back to gaze intently at Janice Pearce.
'Go on,' he urged, 'say that it's insane - but it might just work!'
Janice Pearce cleared her throat.
'It's insane,' she said, 'trust me.'
Dirk turned away and sagged sideways off his chair, much as the sitter for The Thinker probably did when Rodin went off to be excused.
He suddenly looked profoundly tired and depressed.
'I know,' he said in a low, dispirited voice, 'that there is something profoundly wrong somewhere. And I know that I must go to Cambridge to put it right. But I would feel less fearful if I knew what it was…'
'Can I get on now, please, then?' said Miss Pearce.
Dirk looked up at her glumly.
'Yes,' he said with a sigh, 'but just - just tell me -' he flicked at the piece of paper with his fingertips - 'what do you think of this, then?'
'Well, I think it's childish,' said Janice Pearce, frankly.
'But - but - but!' said Dirk thumping the table in frustration.
'Don't you understand that we need to be childish in order to understand? Only a child sees things with perfect clarity, because it hasn't developed all those filters which prevent us from seeing things that we don't expect to see?'
'Then why don't you go and ask one?'
'Thank you, Miss Pearce,' said Dirk reaching for his hat, 'once again you have rendered me an inestimable service for which I am profoundly grateful.'
He swept out.
CHAPTER 24
The weather began to bleaken as Richard made his way to Susan's flat. The sky which had started out with such verve and spirit in the morning was beginning to lose its concentration and slip back into its normal English condition, that of a damp and rancid dish cloth. Richard took a taxi, which got him there in a few minutes.
'They should all be deported,' said the taxi driver as they drew to a halt.
'Er, who should?' said Richard, who realised he hadn't been listening to a word the driver said.
'Er -'said the driver, who suddenly realised he hadn't been listening either, 'er, the whole lot of them. Get rid of the whole bloody lot, that's what I say. And their bloody newts,' he added for good measure.
'Expect you're right,' said Richard, and hurried into the house.
Arriving at the front door of her flat he could hear from within the sounds of Susan's cello playing a slow, stately melody. He was glad of that, that she was playing. She had an amazing emotional self sufficiency and control provided she could play her cello. He had noticed an odd and extraordinary thing about her relationship with the music she played. If ever she was feeling emotional or upset she could sit and play some music with utter concentration and emerge seeming fresh and calm.
The next time she played the same music, however, it would all burst from her and she would go completely to pieces.
He let himself in as quietly as possible so as not to disturb her concentration.
He tiptoed past the small room she practised in, but the door was open so he paused and looked at her, with the slightest of signals that she shouldn't stop. She was looking pale and drawn but gave him a flicker of a smile and continued bowing with a sudden intensity.
With an impeccable timing of which it is very rarely capable the sun chose that moment to burst briefly through the gathering rainclouds, and as she played her cello a stormy light played on her and on the deep old brown of the wood of the instrument. Richard stood transfixed.
The turmoil of the day stood still for a moment and kept a respectful distance.
He didn't know the music, but it sounded like Mozart and he remembered her saying she had some Mozart to learn. He walked quietly on and sat down to wait and listen.
Eventually she finished the piece, and there was about a minute of silence before she came through. She blinked and smiled and gave him a long, trembling hug, then released herself and put the phone back on the hook. It usually got taken off when she was practising.
'Sorry,' she said, 'I didn't want to stop.' She briskly brushed away a tear as if it was a slight irritation. 'How are you Richard?'
He shrugged and gave her a bewildered look. That seemed about to cover it.
'And I'm going to have to carry on, I'm afraid,' said Susan with a sigh 'I'm sorry. I've just been…' She shook her head. 'Who would do it?'
'I don't know. Some madman. I'm not sure that it matters who.'
'No,' she said. 'Look, er, have you had any lunch?'
'No. Susan, you keep playing and I'll see what's in the fridge. We can talk about it all over some lunch.'
Susan nodded.
'All right,' she said, 'except…'
'Yes?'
'Well, just for the moment I don't really want to talk about Gordon.
Just till it sinks in. I feel sort of caught out. It would be easier if I'd been closer to him, but I wasn't and I'm sort of embarrassed by not having a reaction ready. Talking about it would be all right except that you have to use the past tense and that's what's…'
She clung to him for a moment and then quieted herself with a sigh.
'There's not much in the fridge at the moment,' she said, 'some yoghurt, I think, and a jar of roll-mop herrings you could open. I'm sure you'll be able to muck it up if you try, but it's actually quite straightforward. The main trick is not to throw them all over the floor or get jam on them.'
She gave him a hug, a kiss and a glum smile and then retreated back to her music room.
The phone rang and Richard answered it.
'Hello?' he said. There was nothing, just a faint sort of windy noise on the line.
'Hello?' he said again, waited, shrugged and put the phone back down.
