The Meddlers (28 page)

The man on the stage moved forward to the dais, stood with his head held upward, his hands on each side of the desk, and then he held them up, his arms spread wide, and immediately, as though a switch had been thrown, the chanting stopped, and the audience stopped swaying, and a silence fell, so thick that Hilary heard it filling her ears with a high ringing note.

“My dearly beloved brethren, my sisters, my brothers, my beloved in God …”

It was a low voice, but so clear that there was no echo; every minute sound could be heard, the crisp consonants, the gentle hiss of the sibilants, and Hilary felt a shiver move through her as she stared at the figure on the stage before her. Even from her distance she could see his eyes, a clear pellucid green with the pupils so large that she could see the darkness of them, and he seemed to be looking directly at her, and she wanted to look away, embarrassed, but she couldn’t. The face was so strong in its square handsomeness,
the white hair above it so thick and springing in the bright lights, the eyes so compellingly wide and green and—what was it?
Knowing
. It was as though he knew why she was here, knew how horrible the party from which she had fled had been, as though he were whispering to her, “It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter.”

And then he was speaking again, his gentle low voice filling the great space of the arena, filling her own body with a warmth she found deeply soothing.

“I speak to you of God, I speak to you from God, I speak to you through God. God that lies within me speaking to God within you. Open your hearts and fear no more. Let God move within you and answer me. Open yourselves to the greater good that lies above and below and about us all. Merge with me and love, the love that is God, and hear the words He has bid me speak unto you. Open thou thine ears to the voice that yearns to cry from you to me, to the small still voice that cries deep within your own hearts, ye beloved children of the great and loving and awesome Truth that is the everliving God.”

As she stared at him, at the white head thrown up, the line of the jaw below the moving lips, her surroundings seemed to dwindle into nothingness, until she was aware of only the figure before her, dwarfed by distance yet filling her total viewpoint. She felt the warmth grow within her, felt as though she too were bathed in the nimbus of light that seemed to surround him.

With a part of her mind she recognized that the lighting had changed, that the illumination that had filled the arena had dimmed to darkness, that only a single glowing amber spotlight was still burning, outlining the figure of the man before her, and she realized that it was this as much as what he was saying that made her feel so removed from herself, as though she were there in the amber pool with him, just the two of them together. But even though she knew why she felt so, it made no difference. She was part of him, part of his voice, as well as part of the whole great crowd about her.

“The evil that is in some men, the free will that is the gift and the burden that God has laid upon His beloved children, that evil must be fought by us for God. We shall not take unto ourselves
the giving of life. God forbids us to take life, for only God can create life. God forbids us to change life, forbids forward men from creating man in man’s image, for God made man, God made us in His own image, and the evil men are the instruments of the evil one that is Satan. They seek to destroy mankind by creating men in Satan’s image, and we must fight the good fight against the evil of Satan with all the strength that God has given unto us.”

She stared at him, feeling herself pulled toward him, leaning forward with an eagerness that tensed every muscle, and the light about his head lightened, changed from amber to a warm rose-colored glow that gave his body a new halo that seemed to sparkle.

“O my beloved ones, beware, beware the sin of man, the depths of evil that lie in men’s hearts! As we are one with God, so are we one with all mankind. The evil that lies in the scientists’ laboratories lies in our own homes, at our own hearths. Think not that you can escape it by turning your backs upon it. Remember the truth that a man of God has told us: No man is an island unto himself; the bell that rings of everlasting death rings for thee, for me, for all of us. We must fight the evils of the man Briant, the Antichrist who so hates man that he takes to himself the right to destroy God’s greatest creation, mankind itself. In those sinful hands lies a little child, a little child created in evil, for evil purposes. Fight the blackness of that sin, fight the wickedness of the destroyers, join me in the struggle to bring God’s love back to the world that has spurned it.”

The coldness had come back, had stripped away the comfort of the crowd, and she felt herself shivering, could hear her own teeth chattering, felt fear rising in her. The words were running in her head, over and over again: the evils of the man Briant, the evils of the man Briant.

It was as though the sound of her own name had been a trigger. Just as seeing it written on the posters outside had made her feel better, now hearing it spoken in those soft low tones made her feel frightened. What was he saying, this beautiful man with the green eyes and the rose-colored nimbus around him? Was it her father he was speaking of? The scientists, were they Barbara and her father?

Was it herself he was saying was evil and wicked, a destroyer?

She hardly realized she was moving until she reached the end of the row and had plunged past startled people to stand shaking in the aisle, and then the young man with the wide smile was standing there, holding out a dish toward her.

She stared at it, stupidly, heard the words coming from the amplifiers around her: “It will be a long fight, a hard fight, and we must fight it with all the weapons of the age. We must publish the word of God, in books, in leaflets, in newspapers and on television. And for this we need the money that opens the doors to these pulpits from which the word of God can be spread. Give of your hearts, my brethren, and give also of your wealth, however small, however great. Sacrifice must be made if the war against evil is to be waged.”

She looked away, staring around her, and saw other young men, all holding wooden dishes, moving down the aisles and along the front, and money was tinkling into the bowls as people reached for the dishes, passed them along eagerly from hand to hand, and the young man in front of her moved closer, held his dish nearer to her invitingly, and she shook her head and shouted, “No! No, it isn’t true. No!” And she pushed past him to run along the aisle to the big doorway, running until she reached the street, to stand there gulping in an effort to catch her breath.

She was still shaking, and for a moment she didn’t know what to do, so bewildered was she by the tumult of confused feeling that filled her, and then she saw the row of taxis standing on the far side of the road and plunged across toward it. She’d go back, tell her father, tell Barbara, make them do something to stop that white-headed green-eyed man in there.

“ ’Ere, watch it, ducks! You’ll get to ’eaven a sight sooner ’n you expected, you go running through the traffic like that.”

She blinked, staring at the man who was leaning out of the driver’s seat of the first taxi in the row, and said stupidly, “What? What did you say?”

“I said—’ere, you look rough, ducky. You all right? Someone been gettin’ at you? What’s the matter?”

She shook her head. “I—nothing. Nothing. I’ve just got to get, got to go back, right away.”

“You sure you don’t want no ’elp? If someone’s been trying to get at you…” The driver got out of the taxi and took her arm. “Want me to call the law for you?”

“No, no, it’s all right. Just take me to—”

“Where, ducks? Home? Just tell me where, and we’ll get you there in no time.”

She blinked at him again and stopped. Barbara. It was Barbara she had to tell first. Barbara who would understand best. Daddy might—no, it had to be Barbara.

“Mildmay, Mildmay House, Concord Street. Yes, that’s the address. Top flat, Mildmay House in Concord Street.”

“Off the ’Olloway Road? I know, ducky. OK, then, ’op in. Soon ’ave you back with your mum.”

By the time the taxi drew up at the door of the narrow block of flats, she had the money ready in her hand, three half-crowns, and she thrust it at the driver, who called after her, “Want me to wait till you get in, ducks?” But she ignored him and pushed against the main door, and then she was running up the two flights of linoleum-covered stairs, past the heavy closed doors of other flats, until she reached the top floor.

“Barbara. Barbara.” She banged the knocker hard and then, unable to wait, banged it again, leaning against the wall breathlessly, and then knocked yet again, feeling tears on her face, and still shaking, reached once more for the knocker over the narrow flap of the letter box.

The door opened sharply, and when she saw Barbara’s face peering around it, she pushed against the panels and said breathlessly, “Oh, thank God you’re here. Thank God. I’ve got to tell you—please, I’ve got to tell you.”

She hardly looked at Barbara until she was inside and leaning against the wall of the narrow foyer, and then as she took a deep shuddering breath, saw that Barbara was clutching a thin dressing gown around her, that her hair was rumpled, and her face set in a sort of furious rigidity.

“What the hell?” Barbara said, and Hilary felt her own face crumple and the tears fill her nose so that she had to swallow.

“Oh, Barbara, I’m so sorry. I had to come and tell you. It was awful, I just had to, and I never thought you’d have gone to bed. Oh, I’m sorry, Barbara.”

And she put her arms out toward her, and Barbara pulled back, and then a door at the end of the foyer opened, and Hilary turned her head.

Her father was standing there, his hair as rumpled as Barbara’s and his bare feet thrust into his unlaced shoes. He was wearing a skimpy green bathrobe, his naked legs emerging from it ludicrously, and Hilary stood very still, staring at him with her mouth slightly open, her face blank with surprise.

They spoke together, and she turned her head from one to the other, trying to understand.

“My dear child, what on earth?”

“Really, Hilary, we had no idea. Why aren’t you with Andrew? I—we—your father, er, we were— Oh, Christ!”

“Hilary, what’s happened? Why are you here? I—”

Hilary was looking now at Barbara, and the other woman’s eyes slid away, and she smoothed her hand over her hair uncertainly and tried to smile, and then Hilary was backing away, shaking her head from side to side.

“No. I didn’t—It really doesn’t matter. I wanted—it isn’t important. I’m sorry—I—”

And she tugged at the door knob, fumbling for the catch, and then it was open, and she was running down the stairs as fast as she had run up them, as above her Barbara cried out, “Hilary, Hilary, come back! I want to explain.”

She almost fell over the taxi driver at the foot of the last flight, for he was standing peering upward as she came hurtling downward, and he stepped back and said protestingly, “Go easy, ducks. Don’t want to send me flyin’, do you? Is your mum there, all right? Thought I’d better stop and make sure you was all right.”

She stared at him and then looked back over her shoulder and saw Barbara poised at the top of the flight. She turned back to the
taxi driver and said breathlessly, “No, no. She’s not here—not here.”

“You sure you don’t want me to get the law for you, ducks? You look in a right state—”

“No, no.” She looked back up the stairs, but Barbara had stepped back into the shadows, pulling her flimsy dressing gown close to her. Hilary ran past the driver to the door, and he followed her worriedly.

“Please!” Hilary said and ran across the pavement to the cab. “Please, take me home to my mother. Sev—seventeen Briar Avenue, North Finchley. She’ll be there. Please, take me home to my mother…”

“I wouldn’t have intruded on you if I hadn’t felt it absolutely necessary,” Miriam said stiltedly, not looking at George. “I know how busy you are, but—” She closed her eyes for a moment. “There’s really no one else. I did go to a GP, but she—well, I can’t go back to her. She knows me, you see. So I—well that’s why I’m here.”

He’s not really listening to me, she thought suddenly. I’m not being sufficiently explicit. I’ll have to be more direct. Somehow.

“It’s difficult to explain.” She looked down at her hands tightly clasped on her lap. “But since… since the birth, I haven’t been quite myself.”

George was trying very hard to concentrate. When she had appeared this morning, just walking into the Unit, insisting she must see him at once, he had been irritated, wanting to tell her to go away, wanting to deal with this matter of Hilary and the way she had fled to Marjorie. But then he had become aware of the way she looked, and he had been shocked. She was so thin, her face so
shadowed under the cheekbones and around her eyes that she looked incredibly tired. So he had swallowed his impatience and now sat trying to keep his mind on her and free of the nagging anxiety about last night’s episode.

But it was difficult. How could he have been so stupid? Even if Hilary hadn’t turned up in that melodramatic fashion, it would have been stupid, bound to cause repercussions. But Barbara had made it so clear that she was aware of his need, and had seemed to offer at the same time a simple solution to an irritating problem— oh, Christ, what was the use of trying to analyze it? He had needed a woman, had been relaxed by good food and wine and this heady new freedom from money worry, and she had been available. More than available, he now realized with some bitterness. Inviting. With hindsight, he saw she had planned the whole episode. And far from relieving him of his problem, it had compounded it. He had to recognize that his sexual appetite, far from being slaked, had been thoroughly aroused. When he had woken that morning from his uneasy night’s sleep, his first thoughts had been not of Hilary and what she might have told Marjorie, but of Barbara, his first unguarded feeling a wish that she was there with him.