Marty tried to locate Whitehead’s eyes, but the light behind the chair dazzled him. All he could do was listen to the even modulation of the voice, and try to dig out the implications beneath the flow.
“She’s been taken away, Marty. At my request. Somewhere where her problems can be dealt with in a proper manner.”
“The drugs?”
“You must have realized her addiction has worsened considerably in the last few weeks. I had hoped to contain it by giving her enough to keep her content, while slowly reducing her supply. It was working too, until recently.” He sighed; a hand went up to his face. “I’ve been stupid. I should have conceded defeat a long time ago, and sent her to a clinic. But I didn’t want to have her taken from me; it was as simple as that. Then last night-our visitors, the slaughter of the dogs-I realized how selfish I was, subjecting her to such pressures. It’s too late in the day for possessiveness or pride. If people find out my daughter’s a junkie, then so be it.”
“I see.”
“You were fond of her.”
“Yes.”
“She’s a beautiful girl; and you’re lonely. She spoke warmly of you. In time we’ll have her back amongst us, I’m sure.”
“I’d like to visit her.”
“Again, in time. I’m told they demand isolation in the first few weeks. of treatment. But rest assured, she’s in good hands.”
It was all so persuasive. But lies. Surely, lies. Carys’ room had been stripped: was that in anticipation of her being “amongst them again” in a few weeks? This was all another fiction. Before Marty could protest, however, Whitehead was speaking again, a measured cadence.
“You’re so close to me now, Marty. The way Bill used to be. In fact, I really think you should be welcomed into the inner circle, don’t you? I’m having a dinner party next Sunday. I’d like you to be there. Our guest of honor.” This was fine, flattering talk. Effortlessly, the old man had gained the upper hand. “In the week I think you should go down to London and buy yourself something decent to wear. I’m afraid my dinner parties are rather formal.”
He reached for the paperback again and opened it.
“Here’s a check.” It lay in the fold of the book, already signed, ready for Marty. “It should cover the price of a good suit, shirts, shoes. Whatever else you want to treat yourself to.” The check was proffered between fore and middle finger. “Take it, please.”
Marty stepped forward and took the check.
“Thank you.”
“It can be cashed at my bank in the Strand. They’ll be expecting you. Whatever you don’t spend, I want you to gamble.”
“Sir?” Marty wasn’t certain he was hearing the invitation properly.
“I insist you gamble it, Marty. Horses, cards, whatever you like. Enjoy it. Would you do that for me? And when you come back you can make an old man envious with tales of your adventures.”
So it was bribery after all. The fact of the check made Marty more certain than ever that the old man was lying about Carys, but he lacked the courage to press the issue. It wasn’t just cowardice, however, that made him hold back: it was burgeoning excitement. He had been bribed twice. Once with the money; again with the invitation to gamble it. It was years since he’d had a chance like this. Money in abundance, and time on his hands. The day might come when he’d hate Papa for waking the virus in his system: but before then a fortune could be won and lost and won again. He stood in front of the old man with the fever already on him.
“You’re a good man, Strauss.” Whitehead’s words rose from the shadowed chair like a prophet’s from a cleft rock. Though he couldn’t see the potentate’s face, Marty knew he was smiling.
42
Despite her years on the sunshine island, Carys had a healthy sense of reality. Or had, until they took her to that cold, bare house on Caliban Street. There, nothing was certain anymore. It was Mamoulian’s doing. That, perhaps, was the only thing that was certain. Houses weren’t haunted, only human minds. Whatever moved in the air there, or flitted along the bare boards with the dust balls and the cockroaches, whatever scintillated, like light on water, at the corners of her eyes, it was all of Mamoulian’s manufacture.