Caroline Graham - A Ghost in the Machine

Ashley said, “You still haven’t told me how your meeting went the other night.”

“Meeting?” Judith frowned, repeating the word with vague puzzlement as if she had forgotten its meaning.

“Peacock Hotel. New client. Surgical instruments.”

“Oh, that. Nothing to tell really.”

Nothing to tell? Only that it had been the most disagreeable experience of her entire life and was still fresh and foul and hot in her memory. Only that she had spent hours afterwards soaking and scrubbing herself in a scented bath and still felt filthy when she slipped into bed beside Ashley. Inevitably her recollection of the experience would fade but Judith knew she would never forget entirely. How did you scour the inside of your head?

He had seemed pleasant enough—a stout, middle-aged man with a stiff little grey moustache and rather smeary half-moon spectacles. His suit, brown pinstripe worn with a pink shirt, was too tight. He was sitting at a banquette in front of a tankard of beer, next to which lay his wallet. After they had shaken hands he stood up and pulled the table out. When she squeezed past him and sat down he pushed it back, which left Judith wedged into a corner. She opened her briefcase.

“So, Mr. Paulson—”

“Polson. With an O.” He exaggerated his wet, red mouth into the sound, then inserted his little finger in and ran the tip around his lips gradually widening the opening.

“Remind you of anything?”

“I’m sorry—I don’t—”

“Just my bit of fun. What’ve you got for me then?”

Judith produced a folder and handed him a four-page glossy brochure describing her services. He glanced down and handed it back, moving unnecessarily closer to do so.

He said, “The photo doesn’t do you justice.”

“So how do you think I can help, Mr. Polson?” Judith made her voice very firm and brisk. “Do you have an accountant at present?”

“I do.” He was staring at the opening of her shirt.

“May I ask why you’re thinking of changing?”

“I’m not thinking of changing.”

“Then I don’t quite see what I can do for you.” Judith spoke tersely. She had left Ashley feeling not at all well and driven ten miles for this meeting. She put the material back in her case and snapped it smartly shut.

“I do,” said Mr. Polson. He opened the wallet and handed it over. “Try one of these for size.”

Judith reached out without thinking. She saw neat rows of condoms. There must have been thirty…forty perhaps. Not a very pleasant experience but hardly likely to leave one poleaxed. She looked at them long enough to show her indifference, then handed the wallet back.

“I see you’re an optimist, Mr. Polson.” Then, feeling the first stirrings of anger at the insult she added: “Try looking in the mirror sometime.”

A spasm twisted his mouth. Immediately Judith was sorry and not just because of the deliberate wounding. Apprehension was present too. His face had darkened, becoming suffused with blood. Judith looked about her.

The room was very large and, at 6:30 in the evening, sparsely occupied. Half a dozen dark-suited men were grouped around a table stacked with glasses at the far end. They huddled, murmuring, occasionally throwing their heads back with harsh guffaws of laughter. Two youngish women were on bar stools chatting to the barman. And there were two or three scattered couples, also engrossed in conversation.

Judith was trapped. Polson blocked one side, the angle of the banquette as it turned a corner blocked the other. She pushed slightly at the table then realised his metal documents case was jammed firmly against it. He closed the gap between them. Pressed his leg against her own. Breathed his plaguey breath into her face. Poured a stream of filth into her ear.

Gagging for it she was he knew he could tell her name was a byword a byword open up for anybody thought he was ugly? he wasn’t ugly down there down there where it mattered they were all the same down there they could go upstairs he’d got this film get her going five of them five and this tart thirteen she said what? thirteen? knew it all couldn’t wait got on this bloke’s shoulders then all the others queued up acting crying she was good at that acting crying this bloke he said pretend it’s a lollipop, laugh. Then he put his…

Afterwards Judith could never understand why she just sat there unable to move. Embarrassment didn’t come into it. It was as if the area between and around them was as solid and impenetrable as thick ribbed ice. His hand, which had been resting on her knee, slipped over to lie on the inside of her thigh. The thumb separated itself, pointing upwards.

Then Judith noticed someone making their way over the acres of carpet in their direction. She caught the man’s gaze, locked her own into it lest he should walk on by, then glanced despairingly sideways at her tormentor.

Polson saw what was coming. He stood up, collected his case and said loudly, “Look forward to doing business with you then. Until next week?”

As he strode off Judith closed her eyes. She was conscious of the second man sitting down but couldn’t look at him. She sat there as seconds and then minutes dragged past. The frozen skin on her face began to soften. She became conscious of her heartbeat and that tears were rolling down her cheeks. The man went away, then came back with a large brandy.

“Drink this.” He put her hands around the bowl. “Come on, Mrs. Parnell.”

“I can’t.”

“You must. One swallow at a time.” Judith drank, spluttered. Drank some more. “Good. You know, you should go to the police about this.”

The thought of it! The thought of describing him, having to repeat what he had said perhaps over and over again. Nausea swept over Judith. Brandy mixed with bile filled her mouth.

“Excuse me a moment.” He got up. “I’ll get some water.”

“I must go.”

“No – that’s just what you mustn’t do. And you certainly can’t drive.”

“All right.”

She gave in straight away even while acknowledging how spineless this was. How utterly pathetic. Yet the relief was overwhelming. She could just sit here, quiet and small and, above all, safe. Eventually she would stop feeling faint, the mortified muscles in her legs would flex into life and she would be able to stand upright and make her way to the door. How wise and kind this man was. This stranger she had never seen before and yet who, unaccountably, knew her name.

As now even Sunday had a late afternoon rush hour, Kate’s plan was to leave Appleby House about midday to avoid the weekenders streaming back to their city homes. She put several boxes of lovely garden vegetables in the boot of the Golf, planning to drive home via Tesco where she could fill up with diesel.

Polly, of a sudden bored to tears with rural life, went back with her mother, spending the whole journey in bad-tempered silence. Unable to banish from her mind the infuriating contretemps at Dennis’s house she was sure the village had, by now, received a well-embroidered account of the situation. Personally Polly didn’t give a stuff about this but hated the idea of being at a disadvantage with Dennis. Of course, there was always the slight chance that the woman with the corned beef complexion hadn’t told him.

It had been a mistake, though, casually wandering round to his place like that. Next time, say in a week – she daren’t leave it much longer – she would make a proper appointment And borrow something boringly respectable to wear. Polly saw herself in a dark, sober and creakingly dull ensemble asking Dennis’s advice on her sudden windfall and laughing up her sleeve.

The other reason for her sulks was the divine Ashley. Far from being able to follow up their first meeting Polly had been thwarted at every turn. She had not even managed a casual word over the garden gate. Discovering from Kate that his wife worked from home was quite a blow. On the other hand, Polly reasoned, Judith must leave the house sometimes, if only to shop and go to the post. Not a bit of it. In two whole days Judith did not budge. Then Polly saw her handing a stack of letters over to the postman. A request to her mother that the Parnells be asked over for a drink as they were all going to be neighbours now met with a very sharp response.