Simon Beckett - Fine Lines

“From what I saw of them, they seemed very happy together.”

“Then why did he leave?”

Of course, I had no answer to that. I should have been pleased that Westerman had so readily accepted the obvious explanation, but his implied slur on Anna infuriated me. Neither of us spoke again until Anna came in and announced that dinner was ready.

It was a dismal affair. Anna did her best to keep a conversation running, and out of consideration for her I tried as well. But Westerman steadfastly refused to be drawn into it. I began to wonder why he had come at all. He ate mechanically and sparingly, speaking only when a direct question was asked of him, and even then answering in monosyllables whenever possible. Eventually, Anna had nothing left to say, and I could think of nothing to help her. The meal continued in complete silence, broken only by the scrape and tinkle of cutlery. Only Marty’s father seemed indifferent to it, as though such awkwardness were his natural environment. If he was always so bad mannered, I could well imagine it was.

“Coffee?” Anna asked, after dessert was over. Westerman had been the last to finish eating, unconcernedly taking his time while Anna and I sat and waited for him. I expected and hoped he would refuse. There seemed little point in him staying.

He dabbed his lips with the napkin. “I take it black, without sugar.”

“I’ll help you clear the table,” I said to Anna.

Once the kitchen door had closed she leaned against the wall and puffed out her cheeks. “God. I’m really sorry about this. If I’d any idea it was going to be this bad, I wouldn’t have asked you.”

“Nonsense. No one should have to suffer that man by themselves for an entire evening.”

“It’s not your problem, though. You shouldn’t have to put up with it.”

“Neither should you. I knew what he was like when I accepted.” I tried to make light of it. “Besides, it’s an experience I wouldn’t have missed. It’s not every day you can have dinner with the most unpleasant man in the world.”

“He’s not much fun, is he?”

“I’m afraid not.” We grinned at each other like conspirators.

“It’s times like this when I wish I kept rat poison. Do you think he’d notice if I put any in his coffee?”

“He might not, but everyone else would think it was a distinct improvement.”

We began giggling, trying to smother it so the sound would not be heard in the next room. Suddenly the door opened. Westerman an stared at us coldly.

“Am I interrupting something?”

Anna’s laughter died immediately. But she could not keep from smiling as she wiped tears from her eyes. “No, not at all. I’m sorry, we were just

“I was telling her about something that happened at the gallery,” I explained, rescuing her.

Marty’s father looked from one of us to the other, then at neither as he spoke. “I came in to tell you not to bother with the coffee on my account. It’s late. If you’ll call a cab for me, I’ll leave you to enjoy your anecdotes in peace.”

Anna went through the motions of persuasion. “Are you sure you won’t stay for a cup?”

“No, thank you.” He turned and went back into the lounge. We followed him. He stood in the centre of the room while Anna ordered a cab.

“By the way,” he said, when she had hung up, “I spoke to the university today. I told them they could let someone else use Marty’s room. They offered to save it for him, but I told them not to bother. I couldn’t see any reason why they should do that when he hadn’t even had the decency to tell them he was leaving.”

Anna looked appalled. “You can’t do that!”

“I already have.”

“But what about all his books? And his research? All his files, his notes and everything are there! What’s going to happen to them?”

Westerman was untouched by Anna’s consternation. “Frankly, I don’t care. If Marty comes back soon he can claim them. Or you can collect them, if you want to. Failing that, unless some sympathetic tutor decides to store them for him, I guess they’ll be thrown out. That’s what I advised, at least.”

“You’d got no right to do that!” Anna had gone red.

“I’d got every right. I’m his father. If Marty’s going to be irresponsible, then like it or not it’s down to me to sort out his affairs as I see fit.”

“But there’s three years’ worth of work there! More!”

“If it was so important he shouldn’t have left it. And since he did, he can hardly expect other people to look after it until he decides to show up. If I was the head of his department I’d burn it all right now. But I suppose they’re too liberal-minded to do anything like that.”

“I can’t believe you’re serious!” Anna almost shouted. “He’s your son, for God’s sake! How can you be so bloody callous? Marty’s gone missing, and you want to burn his work? What sort of a father are you?”

“The sort who has to cross the Atlantic to sort out the mess his son left behind when he decided to run away.”

“Run away?” Anna seemed about to attack him. “Marty’s missing, can’t you understand that? He’s not a... a spoilt little kid who’s hiding in the wardrobe! He’s disappeared! No one knows where he is, or what’s happened to him, and you’re acting like he’s done it to spite you!”

I had never seen Anna so angry. Never believed she could be. Westerman, on the other hand, appeared perfectly calm. “I might not know where he is now, but the reason he went is pretty obvious.”

“Now just a — I began, but Anna could not have heard me.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she demanded.

“It means I don’t think we have to look any further than this room.”

“You mean he left because of me?”

“I can’t see any other reason. And after this display, that seems more than enough.”

Anna stared at him. When she spoke her voice was low and throaty with emotion. “How dare you! How dare you! What right have you got to come here and say that? Who the hell do you think you are?”

“I’m his father, that’s—”

“Then why don’t you start acting like it?” she snapped. “Show some bloody concern for a change! You act like you’re not even interested in what’s happened to him! All you seem bothered about is the “inconvenience” he’s caused, and getting back to your... your stupid little company! And you’ve got the nerve to stand there and tell me it was my fault Marty left? Christ, how would you know? You’re one of the reasons he came here in the first place. If anyone drove Marty away it was you, years ago!”

There was silence. The area around Westerman’s nose was white. “I think I’ll wait outside for the cab.”

Anna was trembling. Her flush had died, leaving her face pale. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“If you would be so kind as to fetch my coat.”

Without another word, Anna went to get it. Westerman and I stood without looking at each other. Anna came back and handed it to him.

“Thank you. I’ll see myself out.”

I thought Anna was going to say something else, but she remained silent. Westerman went into the kitchen. We heard the front door open and close.

“Oh, shit!” Anna said. She looked about to burst into tears. “Excuse me.” She almost ran out of the lounge. I heard her lock herself in the bathroom.

After a while I poured myself a brandy and sat down to wait.

It was some time later before she came back. Her face had been scrubbed clean of make-up. Her eyes looked red. She sat down, giving me a weak smile.

“Well. That wasn’t exactly a rip-roaring success, was it?”

I went to pour her a drink. “That was hardly your fault. That man has to be one of the most obnoxious people I have ever met.”