Twisted Agendas Read online

  The possibility that Katie might decide to leave her husband and move into Chumley Street with her children now that Julia and she had reconciled worried Danny. Worried him that is until, asking matter-of-factly if she ever wanted to have children, Julia informed him ‘absolutely not’ because they’d destroy her lifestyle.

  “Danny, what’s the plural for Pferd?” Finty called into the kitchen.

  “I think it’s Pferde.”

  “German sounds very harsh or is it just me?” Julia said. “How can you make that ‘Pf’ sound without spitting on someone’s face?”

  “Easy,” said Finty. “Don’t talk with saliva in your mouth.”

  The screams of a police siren penetrated the front window. The wail grew louder until it seemed the windowpane would shatter into a thousand shards. Every time he heard police sirens, Danny was automatically hurled back to Northern Ireland, to a past era of daily bombings and tit-for-tat murders. Even a car backfiring had once caused him to duck to the ground much to Finty’s surprise.

  “Bloody hell, what’s happened?” Julia said. She swung her feet off the sofa and switched on the television. “Don’t tell me another bomb’s gone off somewhere.” She watched the screen for a moment. “Nothing on the news.”

  Danny came back from the kitchen carrying two very full cups of tea and set one carefully before Finty who was seated at the dining room table. He took the other to Julia on the sofa.

  “How do you know it’s not Pferden,” said Finty. “I’m hopeless.”

  “Don’t put yourself down like that.” Danny sat at the table beside her.

  Now they were two-thirds of the way through the German course, there were an increasing number of work assignments and ever more complex vocabulary lists to be absorbed and Finty was now a weekly visitor at his home as a result. Brought up to view reciprocal invites as expressions of interest, it disappointed Danny that he still hadn’t been invited to study at her flat. He found her circumspect about her private life, rarely talking about her domestic circumstances other than to tell him how the puppy was faring or complain about her part-time job.

  He sipped his tea and watched Finty discretely as she leaned over the table. He loved entertaining her at any time, but today was particularly special. They never met at the weekends, and were doing so only because Herr Fehler had arranged for the class and any of their family and friends to attend a mid-July picnic concert at Hampstead Heath. He’d invited Piper and Julia, who couldn’t attend due to a prior engagement. The concert was to feature works by Pachelbel and Brahms and Danny had suggested to Finty she come over beforehand under the pretext they could study for a while.

  They worked quietly until Danny announced it was time to leave for the picnic. While Finty went upstairs to freshen up, he removed the bottles of white wine she’d brought from the fridge and packed them together with salads he’d prepared into two backpacks.

  The phone rang. Julia answered it.

  “It’s for you,” Julia called into the kitchen. “Your father.”

  They hadn’t spoken since he’d come to London. A multitude of bad scenarios raced through Danny’s mind.

  “Everything okay at home, Dad?”

  “Aye. I just thought I’d give you a ring. How’s London?”

  “I’m enjoying myself.”

  “Grafting hard, I hope.”

  “Yep.”

  “Almost finished the course, eh?”

  Upstairs, he could hear Finty as she moved about the bathroom. “Almost,” he said. Danny braced himself for the order to come home.

  “Do you know who I happened to bump into the other day?”

  “Who?”

  “Susan.” His father laughed his insincere laugh. “I met her completely out of the blue. That’s why I decided to give you a ring.”

  Since sending the letter to Susan, Danny hadn’t heard from her. For two weeks after he calculated she’d have received his letter, he’d expected an irate call at any time, at the very least a note from her pleading with him to reconsider. There’d been only silence. But a month had since passed and he concluded she’d accepted his decision and their engagement was now a part of his past.

  “I thought there might be a reason for your call, Dad.”

  “The girl’s not looking so well, son. You probably know her father’s not in great shape.”

  “She mentioned that.”

  “He’s had his heart surgery.”

  Danny didn’t comment.

  “The doctor’s warned him he has to cut down on his work or it’ll kill him.” His father sighed ponderously. “The man’s going to need help or he’ll have to sell up. That’s a hell of a business he’s built. Lot o’ money there. Sure his wife knows nothing about running a farm. And Susan’s not up to it. It’s too much for a slip of a girl.”

  “Tell her father I wish him well.”

  “Remember what I said to you a while back about his business?”

  Danny took a slow, deep breath. “Things have changed between Susan and me.”

  “Aye Susan mentioned you two had a difference of opinion. But that’s between the two of you to sort out as far as I’m concerned.”

  “It is sorted.”

  There was a silence. His father didn’t get it or refused to understand Danny was his own man now. He wondered what it would take to ram the message home.

  “I’m worried about that wee lass, son.”

  Danny didn’t speak.

  “So I says to her ‘Why don’t you take a wee holiday to yourself?’ Sure a couple of days away would do her the power of good.’ Don’t you think I said the right thing?”

  He could hear Finty’s footfalls as she started along the landing.

  “Sorry to have to cut you short but I’m going out, Dad. Some friends are waiting for me.”

  “That’s okay, son. Anyway, I just wanted to fill you in on what’s happening to the wee lass. Enjoy yourself now. Sure I’ll call again some other time.”

  The vehicle of life

  Danny knocked on Piper’s front door a third time. Still no-one answered. He peeked through the letterbox. Newspapers and leaflets lay strewn over the floor. Four pages of handwritten notes were on the bottom three stairs. Near the kitchen threshold, the ponytail palm he’d repotted into a glazed blue and yellow striped ceramic pot and given to her for her birthday lay at a forty-five degree angle against the wall of the hallway.

  “Maybe she left already,” said Finty. “We need to go or we’ll be late.”

  A dense crowd of people, many with blankets and picnic hampers, milled around the terrace of Kenwood House when Danny and Finty arrived. They waited for ten minutes to see if Piper would show up but she didn’t. Reluctantly, Danny followed the other concertgoers toward the park. Not a leaf stirred within the limbs of the mature beeches and oaks as they made their way along the winding pathway. Even the white and lemon butterflies were languid, fluttering in the sultry air that reeked of damp earth. A film of sweat developed on Danny’s arms and forehead, the latter swelling into a trickle that wended its way toward his nose where it formed crystal droplets that he wiped away with the back of his hand.

  They tendered the tickets to the attendant and strolled over the lush, ankle deep grass until they came to the brow of a gently sloped hill. Along the breath of the slope, hundreds of people reclined on deckchairs or lay supine on the grass. Beneath them, the parabolic concert hall nestled by the curved bank of a freshwater pond whose size he couldn’t determine because one side was cut off by a twin-arched bridge. Danny scanned the crowd for Herr Fehler but Finty spotted Hilary’s lurid violet hair first. They wended over to the group. About forty people including the two Chinese students, their wives and children were already there, far too many to greet personally.

  “You must try Fredi’s German potato salad,” Hilary said, as Finty poured them glasses of chilled wine. “It’s awfully good.”

  Finty pulled a faux-surprised look when Danny’s eyes locked in hers. Hilar
y, who was receiving extra tuition from their teacher, was letting them know that he was no longer Alfred but rather Fredi now.

  The food had been placed within the circle the group had formed. It was a massive feast: plates of cold chicken breasts and drumsticks, potato salad, rice and Waldorf salads, pots of store and homemade hummus, tzatziki, French bread, sandwiches, beef satay, and the standard array of prepackaged supermarket quiche, cold meats and pork pies.

  “My salad is not so terrible, if I may say so,” Herr Fehler said. He was sitting nearby talking to a woman Danny didn’t recognise.

  “I’d love to try some of Fredi, I mean Alfred’s, salad in a minute,” Finty said to Hilary. Again, she gave Danny a faux-surprised look. He loved this small, exclusive connection to her even if it was only to poke fun at Hilary.

  They lay down side by side, he resting on his elbows as he gazed out over the pond, she nibbling on the bunch of black grapes he’d brought.

  “What else is there to eat?” Finty asked.

  Aware she was vegetarian, he’d prepared a mescaline salad, cold pasta salad with olives, sliced hardboiled eggs and an assortment of roasted vegetables drizzled in a sweet chili oil. She placed a portion of mescaline salad on her plate, poured oil and vinegar over it and then heaped some of the roasted vegetables alongside it.

  “The pasta salad’s tasty, too,” Danny said, as he spooned some of it on his plate.

  “No, thanks.”

  Hilary held out a plate of thinly sliced French bread smeared with a pinkish substance. “This tzatziki’s delicious.”

  “No thanks,” said Finty.

  “It’s homemade,” Hilary said.

  “It is delicious,” Danny added. “Try one.”

  “I don’t eat any eggs.”

  “Why ever not?” Hilary asked.

  “Religious grounds.”

  Hilary shrugged and offered a slice to one of the Chinese men.

  “Eggs are vegetarian,” Danny said.

  “They’re not, actually.”

  “I’ve never heard of any religion banning eggs.”

  “I really didn’t want to get into this, Danny.” Finty sighed. “You’ll think I’m crazy. That’s what many people think.”

  “No, I won’t.” He reached out impulsively and put his hand on top of hers. “I’m really interested.”

  “Well, eggs come from animals so they can’t be vegetarian, can they?”

  “So does milk and cheese.”

  “Exactly.”

  He recalled the occasions they’d been in cafés and how he’d never seen her put milk in her coffee, drink cappuccinos or eat cream cakes. She always ordered garden salads or vegetarian chilies without sour cream, foods he considered boring. “What is your religion?”

  “I’m a Satsangi. It’s actually more a philosophy than a religion.”

  He didn’t articulate his next thought, that its very name implied some kind of weird cult.

  “It’s a science of the soul. Our body’s a cage and the soul is the bird inside longing to fly toward the truth.”

  Finty rummaged in the pocket of her shorts and took out a packet of cigarettes. As he watched her light up, Danny couldn’t help thinking it a bit incongruous.

  “I’m not as good a Satsangi as I’d like to be,” she said, as if she’d read Danny’s mind. “I have my vices. But under no circumstances will I break the rule against eating eggs. They’re extremely powerful.”

  “Fish roe is powerful?” He regarded it on his half eaten slice of French bread.

  “All eggs are powerful,” She scoured his face. “They’re the vehicle of life. Eating them would have a negative influence on my meditation.”

  The orchestra began to assemble on stage. Suddenly remembering Piper, he looked back up the hill to see if she might have arrived and was now searching for him. Only a middle-aged man and woman stood at the apex.

  The musicians began to tune their instruments. A minute later, the first violinist gave the bowings. The conductor announced the first half of the programme and began the concert. Danny was amazed at the precipitous cessation of chatter among the group as soon as the first notes of the Canon in D drifted out over the pond. He peered down over the quilt of heads. Everyone was rapt, some with their eyes closed and faces uplifted to the sinking sun, some watching as they nibbled food, others gently swaying with their hands clasped around their knees.

  The tangy scent of crushed grass floated up to mingle with the swirling, invisible notes. Everything was perfect. He closed his eyes to allow the music to transport him. Finty’s arm brushed against his. Moments later, it happened again. His penis began to harden. He couldn’t stop it. It grew and grew until it began to protest the confines of his underpants. He shifted position and tried desperately to will it into quick subsidence.

  “Isn’t this lovely?” Finty said. She sat up, took off her floppy sunhat and shook out her hair.

  “Shush,” Hilary said.

  Danny regarded Hilary, the Dame Edna lookalike seated now on a rug with Herr Fehler. Her eyes were closed and she swayed her head slowly from side to side. The strategy worked. A moment later, he was able to lie on his back again. Propping himself up on his elbow, he leaned over and whispered “Fredi, oh my little Fredi” in Finty’s ear. Her torso began to shake. She pressed the palm of her hand on her chest to stop herself laughing.

  “Stop,” she said wordlessly.

  She took her hand off her chest and gripped his thigh. Immediately, the stirring inside his trousers commenced again.

  When Danny reached Chumley Street just after eleven-thirty, he stopped at Piper’s house and rang the doorbell. Still no-one answered. He peered through the letterbox. Although nearly dark inside, he could see the dull glow of the handwritten pages of notes on the stairs. He checked the answering machine when he got home but she’d left no messages.

  On Sunday, he stopped at her house every time he passed by on his way to and from the shops. She was never home. Although surprised she hadn’t come to the concert, Danny wasn’t unduly concerned: people often changed their minds last minute and they both led busy lives, days sometimes even an entire week passing without their contacting one another. Only when Todd arrived at his home that evening saying Piper and he were scheduled to leave on Wednesday for the States and he hadn’t heard from her did Danny start to worry. They went to her next-door neighbour Sonia Berg who said she’d seen her on Friday evening because Piper wanted to discuss a private matter with her.

  “Before Piper left me she said she was wery behind in her thesis,” the doctor said, “and was going to hide herself away until she made progress.”

  “Yeah, she is way behind schedule on some reading lists,” said Todd.

  “Maybe she’s just not answering the door?” Danny asked.

  “I think she’d answer if she knows it’s me,” Todd said.

  “I’ve shut myself away from friends when I’ve had a deadline,” Danny said.

  When Todd suggested they file a missing persons report with the police, Sonia disagreed.

  “She is a grown independent woman with no record of mental illness,” she said. “The police will not take this seriously until sufficient time passes.”

  The doctor’s logic made sense and they agreed to wait until the following day.

  Early morning visitor

  Danny looked at the alarm clock on the bedside table. It was six a.m. The rapid knocking on the front door continued as he put on his dressing gown.

  “Who the hell can it be?” Julia stood on the landing battling with the belt of her robe. Behind her, he could see Katie sitting up on the bed rubbing her eyes.

  “I’ll get it,” he said.

  Piper stood at the door, her hair utterly unkempt, the skin on her face waxy and upper lip so dry it had split in two places. Her blouse and jeans were heavily wrinkled.

  “Who is it, Danny?” Julia called, her voice still hoarse from too much marijuana and wine the previous night.

  �
�It’s Piper.” Danny pulled her gently inside and closed the door.

  “Is she all right?” He could tell Julia was at the head of the stairs now.

  Piper nodded languidly to indicate she was fine.

  “No need to come down.”

  The floorboards creaked and then he heard Julia’s bedroom door shut.

  “Todd’s worried sick.”

  “I got arrested.”

  Danny was amazed the police had worked out she was the one who’d been to Westminster.

  “How’d they find out it was you at Paisley’s office?”

  “Wasn’t for that. They accused me of having an IRA arms dump on my property.”

  Danny’s heart leapt. The hair on his scalp and nape crawled.

  “Pat’s in the Real IRA. They’re saying his cell planted the bomb that killed the guy on Hammersmith Bridge. Anne Marie wasn’t his girlfriend, either. She and another woman are part of the cell, too.” Piper bit on her cracked upper lip. He winced. She ran her fingers over her spiked hair. “They’re still searching for Pat. It makes sense now why he didn’t stay at my house so much.” She paused. “In a way, I kinda suspected him of something when you showed me those shots of the two bridges. Boy, I’m sure glad I tossed ’em into the garbage.”

  Danny recalled the man he’d seen outside her home, the man in the denim shirt whom he’d feared was following him. It was Pat and Piper they’d been watching. He felt relieved and then instantly guilty.

  “It was true what you told me. Someone was on my tail.” She laughed. They screwed up and didn’t get Pat though.”

  He wondered how she could laugh after her ordeal.

  “Jeez, this country really is a police state,” she continued, “what with goddamned surveillance cameras everywhere. It’ll soon be you can’t wipe your ass in private. Folks have to wake up here and put a stop to this bull. We wouldn’t put up with that kinda crap back home.”

  “Did they have a warrant?”

  “Yeah. They found that bunch of notes I’d made of an interview I’d done with an IRA volunteer when I was in Ireland.”

  “Shit.”

  “And they found tilt switches and Semtex and a bunch of stuff they wouldn’t disclose.” Her puffy eyes widened. “How the hell would I know what fricken Semtex looks like even if I’d come across it in my shed?” The phone started to ring. She stopped talking and looked over at the dining table. Danny rose to answer it. “Anyway, the guy comes running into the house with this stuff that looked like tan-colored putty. He was all excited to show it to his boss.”