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If that’s possible, notWe’ll see that done. ‘Right. Uh, I think the porter last night took my stained clothes?’
‘They’ll be brought to your room, MrKite. And I hope we won’t see any more accidents.’
TWENTY
Jem needed time alone. Nicky had used to do that; he’d suddenly announce, ‘I must have solitude,’ and head off for long walks up to Port Meadow or along the Cherwell. Sometimes Jem had seen him striding along while he’d been in the boats. Jem would have liked to do that himself, but there was a steady dull ache in his foot, and the full pea-souper had closed in at last, muffling sight and sound in its greasy blanket. Front Quad was wreathed in grey, and Broad Street a dim and bleak prospect outside.
He went to Blackwell’s and picked up a new notebook and pencil, as well as cheap editions of books he’d wanted,The Club of Queer TradesandThe Four Just Men. It was an unjustifiable indulgence and he winced as he fished out the coins, but he needed not to think for a while.
So he didn’t. He lay on the bed in his ground-floor room and readThe Four Just Menthrough, held by the drama and letting the mystery pass him by. He did not stop to reflect that its heroes were vigilantes, imposing justice in the teeth of inadequate law, or try to guess the solution to the locked-room mystery. He just wanted space not to think about the shadows closing around him, and, when he came to the end ofThe Four Just Men, he moved straight on to the Chesterton. Anything but his own company.
He’d read a couple of the stories when there was a knock on the door. He rolled out of bed to unlock it, and saw Hugo.
‘Hello, old man. Lounging around?’
‘Last night was tiring. Do sit down.’
Hugo looked around the small, bare room. There wasn’t even a kettle. ‘Would you care to come out for a cup of coffee?’
‘My foot hurts,’ Jem said. Hugo blinked, startled, and it occurred to Jem that he might never have said such a thing before. He’d been so desperate not to be limping Tiny Tim among the splendid physical presence of his friends. ‘If you don’t mind?—’
‘Of course, old man.’ Hugo took the straight-backed chair, while Jem sat on the bed. ‘So, what were you up to last night? You didn’t look fit for adventures, I must say.’
‘I wasn’t. Unfortunately, while I was out, someone ragged my room and booby-trapped the stairs.’ He gave Hugo a brief, unemotional account. He felt anything but unemotional, yet somehow his feelings seemed to be tidied away, hidden in a wardrobe under a blanket.
‘GoodLord, Jem. Well. You wanted to stir things up and look what you’ve provoked. For heaven’s sake. Will you please listen?—’
‘I know, you want me to stop. It’s a bit late. Everyone’s in Oxford now, did you know? All of us except Prue, and I can hardly blame her for not wanting to come back under the circumstances.’
Hugo’s eyes widened. ‘Circumstances?’
Jem felt an urge to shake him. Tall, privileged, wealthy Hugo, sailing through life without noticing the people frantically paddling to keep afloat. ‘It ruined her life—this place, this group of so-called friends. Was it you who told me I’d regret digging all this up? Well, I don’t. And the reason I don’t is that I’ve spent ten years in mourning for a wonderful thing that was ripped away from me, and now I know it never existed. I thought we trusted each other, that we cared for each other, but I was wrong, wasn’t I? All this time I’ve been weeping at a grave, and the coffin was empty.’
‘Jem—’
‘I’m tired, Hugo, and, honestly, I’m sickened,’ Jem said over him. ‘I believed in you all. And now this.’
‘What do you mean by that?’ Hugo demanded. ‘Are you accusing me of something?’
Jem couldn’t bring himself to say no. He wanted to hurt Hugo, in all his confidence and privilege and superiority, to find a weak point in the gleaming, expensive armour, to stick the knife in and twist. ‘What are you doing here, when everyone expects your party to be in power by Monday?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘You rushed down to see me when you had that letter. Why aren’t you in Westminster now?’
‘I can attend to my own career, thank you. If you must know, I was deeply concerned by your letter, and clearly I was right to be.’
‘Toby was blackmailing people,’ Jem said. ‘He was using things he knew to make people do things he wanted, and it seems he knew a lot. Why did you propose to Ella?’
‘What? Jem, why are you being like this?’
‘Because I’m fed up to the back teeth. I’m tempted to take everything I know to the police, and suggest they do their job.’
‘What’s stopping you?’ Hugo demanded. ‘A lingering regard for people for whom you once cared, perhaps?’
‘For Prue, at least. I don’t want to drag her into this mire; I think she’s suffered enough already.’
‘Then you should stop this, because she will not emerge from any examination of her behaviour with credit. For God’s sake, man, listen to yourself.Lookat yourself. You are underfed and in clear physical distress, and all this talk of murder and police and past crimes sounds frankly unhealthy. Obsessive. You need a long rest.’
