The Tightrope Men / The Enemy

A blazing thought struck him, an illumination of the mind so clear that he knew certainly it was the truth. He cried aloud, ‘But I’ve never played golf in my life!’

There was a whirling spiral of darkness in his mind and, mercifully, he slept.

NINE (#ulink_c2157b90-a023-5133-b1c5-a8ba4eca44fd)

Denison walked into the bar at a quarter to eight and saw the woman who called herself Diana Hansen sitting at a table. He walked over and said, ‘Sorry I’m late.’

She smiled and said lightly, ‘I was beginning to think I was being stood up again.’

He sat down. ‘I fell asleep.’

‘You look pale. Are you all right?’

‘I’m fine.’ There was a vague memory at the back of his mind which disturbed him; something had happened just before he had fallen asleep. He was reluctant to probe into it because he caught a hint of terror and madness which frightened him. He shivered.

‘Cold?’ Her voice was sympathetic.

‘Nothing that a stiff drink won’t cure.’ He beckoned to a passing waiter, and raised his eyebrows at her.

‘A dry Martini, please.’

He turned to the hovering waiter. ‘A dry martini and … do you have a scotch malt?’ Normally he bought the cheapest blend he could buy in the cut-price supermarkets but with Meyrick’s finances behind him he could afford the best.

‘Yes, sir. Glenfiddich?’

‘That will do fine. Thank you.’

Diana Hansen said, ‘Food may be better than drink. Have you eaten today?’

‘Not much.’ Just the meal in the police station at Drammen, taken for fuel rather than pleasure.

‘You men!’ she said with scorn. ‘No better than children when left on your own. You’ll feel better after dinner.’

He leaned back in his chair. ‘Let’s see – how long have we known each other, Diana?’

She smiled. ‘Counting the days, Harry? Nearly three weeks.’

So he had met her in Oslo – or, rather, Meyrick had. ‘I was just trying to find out how long it takes a woman to become maternal. Less than three weeks, I see.’

‘Is that the scientific mind at work?’

‘One aspect of it.’ Could that mean anything? Was Dr Meyrick a scientist – a government boffin?

She looked across the room and a shadow seemed to darken her face momentarily. ‘There’s Jack Kidder and his wife.’

Denison paused before he turned round. ‘Oh! Where?’

‘Just coming in.’ She put out her hand and covered his. ‘Do you want to be bothered by them, darling? He’s a bit of a bore, really.’

Denison looked at the tall, fleshy man who was escorting a petite woman. Jack Kidder was the name Diana Hansen had mentioned when he had bumped into her outside the bookshop. If she did not want to mix with the Kidders it was all right with him; he had enough to cope with already. He said, ‘You’re right. I don’t think I could cope with a bore tonight.’

She laughed. ‘Thanks for the compliment – hidden though it was. I’ll put him off tactfully if he comes across.’ She sighed theatrically. ‘But if he says that damned slogan of his again I’ll scream.’

‘What’s that?’

‘You must have heard it. It’s when he pulls off one of his dreadful jokes.’ She burlesqued an American accent. ‘“You know me – Kidder by name and kidder by nature.”’

‘Jack was always the life and soul of the party,’ said Denison drily.

‘I don’t know how Lucy puts up with him,’ said Diana. ‘If you can talk about a hen-pecked husband, can you refer to a cock-pecked wife?’

Denison grinned. ‘It sounds rude.’ Diana Hansen was making things easy for him. She had just given him a thumbnail sketch of the Kidders, including names and temperaments. It could not have been done better if done deliberately.

The waiter put the drinks on the table and Denison found he had a scotch on the rocks, a desecration of good malt. He did not feel like making a fuss about it so he raised his glass. ‘Skal!’ He sipped the whisky and reflected that this was the first real drink he had had since his transformation into Meyrick.

The familiar taste bit at his tongue and somehow released a wave of memories which washed through him tumultuously, tantalizingly close to the surface of his mind. And with the memories, unrealized though they were, came the fear and the terror which set his heart thumping in his chest. Hastily he set down the glass, knowing he was close to panic.

Diana Hansen looked at his shaking fingers. ‘What’s the matter, Harry?’

Denison covered up. ‘I don’t think a drink is a good idea, after all. I’ve just remembered I’m stuffed full of pills.’ He managed a smile. ‘If you shook me I’d rattle. I don’t think they’d mix with alcohol.’

She put down her glass. Then let’s have dinner before the Kidders catch up with us.’ She stood up and took her handbag from the table. Denison arose and they moved towards the entrance, but then she turned her head and murmured, Too late, I’m afraid.’

Kidder was also standing up, his big body blocking the way. ‘Hey, Lucy, look who’s here. It’s Diana and Harry.’

‘Hallo, Jack,’ said Denison. ‘Had a good day?’

‘We’ve been up to Holmenkollen; you know – the big ski-jump you can see from all over the city. It’s quite a thing when you get up to it close. Can you imagine, it’s only used once a year?’

‘I can’t imagine,’ said Denison blandly.

Lucy Kidder said, ‘And we went to the Henie-Onstad Art Centre, too.’

‘Yeah, modern art,’ said Kidder disparagingly. ‘Harry, can you make any sense out of Jackson Pollock?’

‘Not much,’ said Denison.

Kidder turned on his wife. ‘Anyway, why the hell do we have to come to Norway to see an American artist?’

‘But he’s internationally famous, Jack. Aren’t you proud of that?’

‘I guess so,’ he said gloomily. ‘But the locals aren’t much better. Take the guy with the name like a breakfast food.’ Everyone looked at Kidder with blank faces and he snapped his fingers impatiently. ‘You know who I mean – the local Scowegian we saw yesterday.’

Lucy Kidder sighed. ‘Edvard Munch,’ she said resignedly.

‘That’s the guy. Too gloomy for me even if you can see the people in his pictures,’ said Kidder.

Diana cut in quickly. ‘Harry’s not been feeling too well lately. I’m taking him in to an early dinner and sending him right to bed.’