‘There is no Mrs Ramskritt?’
‘No. Dead, I think. Strictly
entre nous
, Oswald’s completely smitten with Maisie, poor man, as only a middle-aged man can be, though I somehow doubt he’s declared undying love for her yet. The girl, on the other hand, is in awe of him.’
‘They seem to be a fascinating bunch of characters.’ Payne shot a glance at Antonia.
No servants, Antonia was thinking. That was a bit unusual. A house party on a minuscule island and no servants …
‘Who is Mrs Garrison-Gore?’ Antonia asked.
‘Oh, just a friend of a friend … I am afraid John has been making things a little awkward for everybody. What started as a mild neurosis has developed into what some may call a morbid obsession. He leaves his room
only
in the dead of night. He likes to walk about the island, even when there is a storm. He wears an oilskin and a slouch hat and carries a lantern and a gun. I’d better explain. A couple of years ago John was attacked by two seagulls and he’s been quite different since. Sometimes, in the morning, we find the little beach below the rocks littered with the bodies of the seagulls he has shot during the night.’
‘I assume he has a licence for his guns?’
‘He has, though in my opinion it should be taken away. He is
not
a responsible person and accidents do happen, don’t they? I loathe the idea of reporting him as that would make me a snitch, but the truth is that John and I can’t agree about a single thing. Strangers to matters of any importance, as they say.’
Payne looked at her. ‘This murder mystery of yours – is it perhaps something to do with your brother?’
She gave a sad smile. ‘You ask the kind of question I can’t possibly answer. Incidentally, no one must
ever
know that you are on any sort of urgent mission. When you arrive on Friday, you will be introduced as Lady Grylls’ nephew and niece-by-marriage, which of course is who you are.’ She lowered her voice. ‘I am sure you wouldn’t dream of giving the game away. Your aunt said you make a religion of being discreet in every case you undertake.’
‘I don’t think we are up to undertaking anything. I am not sure we’ll be able to come, really.’ Antonia spoke in sudden panic. ‘As it happens, we are extremely busy this weekend, aren’t we, Hugh? It’s rather a special kind of weekend for us, you see. An exclusive kind of celebration, you may say –’
‘How many people are there on the island altogether?’ Payne asked.
‘Let me see. Oh dear, I am so terribly bad at arithmetics! Seven – no, eight – that includes your aunt and Doctor Klein.’ Sybil de Coverley counted on her fingers. ‘When you join us, there will be ten of us … Ten, yes – that’s right, isn’t it?’
Doctor Klein’s hand went up to a point above his right eyebrow where it hovered for a second or two. It was a curious gesture. She had observed him do it before. He asked if she really wanted to hear the results of his assessment.
‘I do. I want to see whether you will tell me anything about Oswald which I don’t know already,’ Ella said. She was tall and attenuated and very fair. Her ash-blond hair was bobbed and she wore pearl earrings. She looked extremely elegant in a silk trouser suit with narrow trousers and tunic top in a subtle shade of a very pale greenish-gold. From a distance she looked no more than thirty. In fact she was fifty-nine.
‘You think you know him well?’
‘I believe I do, yes. Oswald enjoys talking about himself, doesn’t he?’
‘Yes. He is quite uninhibited. He believes I am one of the few people who understand him. He says he can trust me. I don’t know why he should think that. He is so pleased with my services, he promises to double my fees.’
‘Oswald is certainly generous to people he wants to impress.’
‘You realise, don’t you, that you are asking me to betray my patient?’ Doctor Klein’s lips twitched into what might have been a smile. He was a large shapeless man with white marsupial cheeks and he spoke in soft and uninflected tones, without a trace of any accent. He reached out for his notebook.
‘Is patient confidentiality part of the Hippocratic oath?’
‘I never took the oath, actually …
I hereby swear by Apollo Physician and Asclepius and Hydieia and Panaceia and all the gods and goddesses
– I have no idea how it goes on.’ He put on his rimless glasses, opened his notebook and started leafing though it.
They were in Ella’s room, sitting beside one of the long curved windows. It was a pleasantly furnished room. Off-white rugs on the gleaming parquet floor – fawn-painted walls – an oval mirror surrounded by lights – a dressing table with intricately shaped scent bottles and two hairbrushes with ivory handles. The only splash of colour was provided by a bowl containing blood-red roses.
The window was open. The sea outside was liquid sapphires that sparkled in the sun. Ella watched the waves rise up and move apart – ‘in planes of blatant impossibility’. She shaded her eyes. There was something magical about an island; the mere word suggested fantasy. But the sea would be truly terrifying if there ever was a storm. None of the mainland was visible. Ella had the strange feeling that all contact with the world had been lost. An island was a world of its own – a world, perhaps, from which you might never return?
Doctor Klein was speaking.
‘Oswald has an overweening sense of his own infallibility and his confidence in his own talents and powers is quite alarmingly exalted. He has a grandiose self-image and is reluctant to concede the possibility that he might ever become the subject of valid criticism. He compares himself to Rommel and Napoleon. Even if infinitesimally challenged, he becomes offended. He has difficulty masking his indignation and when his voice rises, it is –’
‘Staccato with outrage?’
‘Yes.’ Doctor Klein looked up from his notes. ‘You certainly know him well. He sees no need to justify himself or his actions on any count, regarding it as self-evident that he is right, in spite of all the evidence to the contrary. His capacity for self-analysis is limited.’
‘Non-existent, surely?’
‘A typical response to a question he doesn’t want to answer is to deflect it with a question of his own. He demonstrates a marked reluctance to examine his behaviour or the consequences of his actions. He lacks insight and the concept of a wider responsibility is completely alien to him –’
Ella had the peculiar feeling that she had known Doctor Klein a very long time, well before he had joined Oswald’s entourage – that perhaps he and she had met in some other life, that they had some shared destiny. In his company she found peace. She had chosen to turn to him for solace the way some people turned to open spaces, to a forest in spring, or to the sea. There was something mythical about him … Something
mystical
… A figure out of some strange dream … The gentle ogre … The benevolent behemoth …
It occurred to her that Doctor Klein must hate Oswald as much as she did. He had never said so, but he wouldn’t be sitting here with her, betraying his patient’s confidences otherwise …
‘You are lost in a brown study, Ella,’ she heard Doctor Klein say, as though from far away. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes. Sorry. Please go on. I know it is terribly perverse of me, but I find it extremely comforting listening to you dissecting him so mercilessly.’
‘Oswald has mastered the appearance of affect, but it is unlikely that this is more than a convenient mask. He is insensitive, overbearing and emotionally immature –’
‘He is a tyrant and a bully,’ she whispered. ‘Does he say anything about me? Does he ever try to justify the way he treats me?’
‘He mentions you from time to time, yes.’
‘What does he say? Please, tell me. I want to know.’ She prepared for the blow by clenching her hands into fists and half-closing her eyes.
‘He says you “provoke” him, sometimes by design, sometimes unintentionally. He admits he was in love with you once, deeply and passionately, but that was “aeons ago”. He still has an overriding need for physical love, though he is no longer attracted to you. In his opinion, you have never been able to understand the way he “operates”. You have no idea what makes him “tick”. He describes you as “clinging”. He catches you looking at him “with distaste and scorn”. Is that true?’
‘I suppose it is true.’
‘You are the “grudge-bearing type”. You tend to “live in the past”. You seem incapable of “cutting your losses”. You don’t smile enough. You don’t know the meaning of “letting go”. He refers to you alternately as “saintly Ella” and “that masochistic martyr”. He is annoyed by what he perceives to be your self-righteousness.’
‘Am I self-righteous?’
‘Not in the least. Oswald hates your “passivity”. He resents the way you refuse to get angry with him and have a “proper fight” … He admits you are extremely competent in most things you undertake. No, he doesn’t seem to see anything wrong with the way he treats you. He regards himself as your benefactor. He believes you should be grateful to him –’
‘He actually said that?’ Ella was aware of her senses becoming preternaturally acute. Her ears throbbed with the crash of the sea and the wild shrieks of seagulls. Her nostrils twitched at the reek of something loathsome, some detestable putrescence that came from the direction of the little beach below the rocks.
‘He said you were consumed by sexual jealousy because of his affectionate interest in Maisie. He suspects you of wanting to harm him – or her.’
Although the day was very warm, Doctor Klein wore a black suit and a black tie. He always wore a black suit and a black tie. It was impossible to imagine him dressed in any other way. Ella believed he had three or four identical-looking black suits hanging in his wardrobe.
As she watched him, he started melting –
She was crying. It happened often these days. Silent tears ran down her cheeks. She didn’t make a sound.
‘I am sorry,’ she said, pressing her handkerchief against her lips. ‘Please go on.’
‘Are you sure you want me to?’
‘Yes.’
‘You are upset.’
‘I am not. I am fine, really.’ She dabbed at her eyes. ‘Please go on.’
‘Oswald sees himself as a Julius Caesar kind of figure. Unappreciated, tragically misunderstood, threatened, betrayed, doomed. He suspects that members of his staff in the city are in the pay of some of his big business rivals. He’s got it into his head that they are plotting his assassination. He has a recurrent dream about it.’ Doctor Klein paused. ‘Oswald believes he will be safer living on an island, but is afraid that he is going to die a violent death.’
Ella said slowly, ‘Sometimes when people believe strongly enough that they are going to die, they do die …’
Oswald was the nicest man she had ever met. Kind-hearted and natural and always cheerful. He was very informal and even called his mother by her Christian name. He was supremely intelligent. He was an extremely important man. He was the owner and manager of Spectron Futures, did Lady Grylls know that? He was considerate and thoughtful and very,
very
generous. He liked nothing better than giving presents –
A large amethyst-and-gold bracelet slid down her slender tanned arm.
Oswald said
such
clever things, Maisie Lettering went on; only the other day he told her he wasn’t really vain,
simply conscious of his own genius
. He had also said he was not the kind of man who ever became oppressed by a sense of general unworthiness.
‘I don’t know many people who are conscious of their own genius. In fact, I know no one,’ Lady Grylls said. ‘But perhaps he was joking?’
‘Maybe he was. I do think Oswald
is
a genius.’ Maisie’s eyes were very bright. She said she considered herself extremely fortunate. Working for Oswald had been an honour and a privilege.
‘I understand he’s interested in buying this house as well as the island on which it stands.’
‘Yes! Oswald has a lot of ideas. It’s like a – like a never-ending spring! Sometimes his ideas come to him in the middle of the night and he has to turn on the light and write them down for fear of forgetting them.’
‘Is that so? How very interesting. In the middle of the night? Fancy!’ Lady Grylls chided herself for assuming the girl had witnessed Oswald Ramskritt’s nocturnal inspirations at first hand. He had probably
told
her about it.
She had first entered Mr Ramskritt’s employment as a nurse for Martita, Mr Ramskritt’s invalid wife, Maisie explained. Martita had been extremely difficult, she’d had terrible bouts of temper, but then she’d died, which everybody thought very sad but it was also a merciful release, really. Oswald had then asked her to stay on and be his secretary!
‘At first I thought I’d misunderstood. I raised a number of objections, but Oswald insisted I was the right person for the job. He was adamant. He said no one else would do.’
‘You are awfully pretty, my dear,’ Lady Grylls said.
‘I am certainly very healthy. I am never ill,’ Maisie said thoughtfully. ‘I can’t remember the last time I had the flu. I haven’t had a headache in my life and I don’t know what a nosebleed is. Mr Ramskritt told me he had every confidence in me. He said the work wouldn’t be difficult. Just obtaining certain data from the internet, listening to him whenever he needed to air his views on some subject as it brought clarity to his thoughts, making phone calls, sending emails, preparing his cocoa and – well that’s it, really!’
‘Cocoa? I thought he drank nothing but champers.’
‘He has a cup of cocoa before turning in.’
‘But how perfectly extraordinary!’ Lady Grylls might have unearthed a wondrous fragment of Attic pottery. ‘
Tea, although an Oriental, is a gentleman at least
… Chesterton, I think … Must ask my nephew … Cocoa in the poem was a vulgarian. A cad or a bounder, which, my dear, I am sure, your employer is not.’
‘Is that the nephew whose wedding anniversary it is on Saturday?’
‘The very same, my dear. My nephew and my niece-by-marriage.’