Sarah Rayne - What Lies Beneath

I wondered how many people would mourn Crispian if I managed to kill him. Quite a lot, most likely. He was so memorable, so noticeable. In any group of people he was always the one people looked at or turned to. I did myself, I couldn’t help it. And I suspect that in fifty or even a hundred years’ time, if people find photographs of him, he’s the one they’ll look at.

And so we set off for Marseilles. Crispian was being his usual charming efficient self with railway porters and carriage attendants. The porters were occasionally a bit surly, but I think money changed hands to smooth the way. There’s nothing like the chink of a couple of sovereigns to solve difficulties.

Halfway to Marseilles somebody quoted the famous Flecker verse:

Very appropriate, of course, but within the first two days of the journey I saw that this bizarre, macabre voyage would be much closer to travelling the road to hell than to Flecker’s visionary Golden Road.

I was wrong. The journey was far worse than any hell we could have imagined.

1912

Crispian had known the journey would be difficult. What he had not realized was that it would be hellish.

He had thought his father would create the difficulties, but Dr Martlet had administered some sort of bromide and Julius Cadence went meekly into the cab that was waiting for them, the luggage and a big cabin trunk already strapped to the roof. Crispian felt a knife twist in his guts when he saw how obediently and unsuspectingly his father got inside.

The difficulties came mostly from Gil Martlet. Crispian supposed he should have known Gil would cause disruptions, but he had not expected any to occur quite so early in the journey. But heading south across France, in the privacy of the first-class private carriage, Jamie suddenly said, ‘Where’s Gil?’

Crispian had been immersed in a Times article about the Balkans War. A ‘Balkan League’ had apparently been formed, with the idea of liberating Macedonia from the Turkish yoke. The aim seemed to be the ultimate ejection of the Turks from Europe, largely because the Turkish government had not carried out promised reforms. Crispian thought it sounded complicated and potentially dangerous. It was slightly worrying to read about Greece’s involvement. Crispian hoped the decision to sail round the Greek coast would not turn out to be a bad one. Thomas Cook had said as long as they did not go near the Turkish coastline they would be perfectly safe, but The Times had provided a helpful map explaining where the areas of aggression were, and Turkey was worryingly close to Greece.

He looked up at Jamie’s question and said, ‘Gil went to the washroom, didn’t he?’

‘Well, either he’s having the longest wash in living memory or he’s been taken ill,’ said Jamie. ‘Because it’s over an hour since he went out.’

‘Oh Lord,’ said Crispian resignedly and, putting the Balkan worries aside, went out to address a worry nearer home.

Gil was discovered in a carriage near the luggage compartment with the waitress who had served their lunch earlier. They had pulled down the blind, but behind it Crispian discovered they were tangled sweatily on a threadbare banquette, the waitress’s skirts pushed round her waist, her bodice unfastened, revealing her breasts. He had time to reflect that this particular act looked extraordinarily ungainly to an onlooker, then embarrassment and annoyance took over.

Gil lifted his head and looked straight at Crispian. A grin lifted his lips. ‘Be with you in a while, dear boy,’ he said. ‘Unless you’d care to join me…?’

‘Good God, no!’ said Crispian instantly.

‘Pity. But I’ll come back to the carriage fairly soon,’ said Gil, as the waitress wound her legs round him again.

Crispian got himself out of the carriage, but he did not go back to his compartment. He stood in the corridor, staring through the window at the passing countryside, beating down the spike of sexual desire that had sliced through him at Gil’s words. Unless you’d care to join me – the words throbbed in Crispian’s mind.

When Gil came out into the corridor Crispian found he could not look directly at him. This was absurd. He ought to be feeling furious; Gil was supposed to be helping with this difficult, dangerous journey but at the first opportunity he had vanished in order to have sex with the nearest available female.

Gil appeared entirely untroubled. ‘Have we reached Marseilles yet?’ he enquired. ‘I didn’t think we were due there for another hour at least.’

In a low, furious voice, Crispian said, ‘You’re supposed to be here to help me with my father! Gil, how could you go off like that?’

‘All too easily,’ said Gil, lounging against the window, and looking out. ‘It didn’t matter, did it? Your father’s all right, isn’t he?’

‘Yes, but he might not have been. Have you no self-control?’ said Crispian, realizing too late what he had said.

‘As a matter of fact I’ve got very good self-control,’ said Gil, and Crispian heard the smile in his voice. ‘I even managed to time rhythms to coincide with the vibration of the wheels—’

‘For heaven’s sake,’ said Crispian, glancing down the corridor.

‘—although it was touch and go when we hit that fast downhill stretch. It’s considered the height of discourtesy to succumb to premature ejaculation with a total stranger, isn’t it?’ He sent Crispian his lazy smile and went unhurriedly back to their private carriage.

Crispian remained where he was. I can’t take him on this journey after all, he thought. Not if he’s going to behave like this all the time. Join me , he had said… Join me… And with the words, a shocking bolt of longing had seized Crispian – not romantically by the heart, but bawdily, between the legs.

Then he thought, no, it will be all right. Jamie’s here. He’ll keep Gil reined in. And Gil was making fun of me – he’s always done that. Remembering this, he felt better, and was able to return to the private compartment and reach for the discarded Times . Jamie was in the other corner, apparently engrossed in a book, and Julius sat opposite, drowsy and unfocused from one of the bromides Gil’s father had provided. Martlet had given Crispian several doses of the powders with a note as to how often they should be given. Julius seemed hardly aware of where he was; Crispian hoped he could keep him like that until they had got him onto the ship. If his father came out of the drugged stupor and realized what was happening, he might well resist.

Several times, as Crispian worked his way through The Times , he sensed Gil watching him. Once he could not resist glancing up. Gil did not speak, but there was amusement in his eyes, fixed on Crispian, and Crispian lowered his gaze at once.

As the train jolted its way across France to Marseilles, night began to fall. Crispian was deeply grateful for this, because it meant they would be able to board the ship in darkness.

Entries From an Undated Journal

We boarded the ship at Marseilles by darkness, and as we did so, I realized with panic and despair that my own darkness was starting to close around me.

I don’t think anyone noticed – I had become very good at hiding it by that time. Perhaps they thought I was tired from the long journey and I mumbled something about feeling a bit travel-sick. Fortunately it was quite a small ship, probably with no more than thirty passengers in all, and I was able to get to my cabin with minimal fuss.