Daphne du Maurier - Not After Midnight & Other Stories

My companion, sensing probably from my silence that I lacked enthusiasm, gave me a half-glance.

'It looks a bit grim in this light,' he said, 'but that's the rain. The weather's pretty good on the whole, though the wind is keen. We get some stunning sunsets.'

The laugh with which I greeted his remark was intended to be ironic, but it missed its mark, or was taken as encouragement, for he added, 'If you're keen on birds you've come to the right spot. Avocets breed here in the spring, and last March I heard the bittern boom.'

I choked back the expletive that rose to my lips-his phraseology struck me as naïve-and while admitting indifference to all objects furred or feathered I expressed surprise that anything in such a dreary locality should have a desire to breed at all. My sarcasm was lost, for he said, quite seriously, 'Oh, you'd be surprised,' and ground the Morris to a halt before a gate set in a high wired fence.

'Have to unlock this,' he told me, jumping out of the car, and I saw that now we had come to Saxmere itself. The area ahead was bounded on all sides by this same fence, some ten feet in height, giving the place the look of a concentration camp. This agreeable vista was enhanced by the sudden appearance of an Alsatian dog, who loped out of the marshes to the left, and stood wagging its tail at young Ken as he unlocked the gate.

'Where are the tommy-guns?' I asked when he climbed back into the driving-seat. 'Or does the dog's handler watch us unseen from some concrete dug-out in the marsh?'

This time he had the grace to laugh as we passed through the barricade. 'No guns, no handlers,' he said. Cerberus is as gentle as a lamb. Not that I expected to find him here, but Mac will have him under control.'

He got out once more and locked the gate, while the dog, his head pointing across the marsh, took no more notice of us. Then all at once, pricking his ears, he dived into the reeds, and I watched him running along a narrow muddy track in the direction of the tower.

'He'll be home before we are,' said Ken, letting in the clutch, and the car swerved to the right along a broad asphalt road, the marsh giving place now to scrub and shingle.

The rain had stopped, the clouds had broken into splintered fragments, and the squat tower of Saxmere stood out bold and black against a copper sky. Did this, I wondered, herald one of the famous sunsets? If so, no member of the staff appeared to be taking advantage of it. Road and marsh alike were deserted. We passed the fork to the main entrance and turned left towards the disused radar installation and the tower itself, grouped about with sheds and concrete buildings. The place looked more like a deserted Dachau than ever.

Ken drove past the tower and the main buildings, taking a side road running seaward, at the end of which was a row of prefabricated huts.

'Here we are,' he said, 'and what did I tell you? Cerberus has beaten us to it.'

The dog emerged from a track on the left and ran off behind the huts.

'How's he trained?' I asked. 'A hi-fi whistle?'

'Not exactly,' answered my companion.

I got out of the car and he heaved my bags from the rear seat. 'These are the sleeping-quarters, I suppose?'

I glanced about me. The pre-fabs at least looked wind-and water-tight.

'It's the whole works,' replied Ken. 'We sleep, feed, and do everything here.'

He ignored my stare and led the way ahead. There was a small entrance hall, and a corridor beyond running right and left. Nobody was about. The walls of both hall and corridor were a dull grey, the floor covered with linoleum. The impression was that of a small-town country surgery after hours.

'We feed at eight, but there's loads of time,' said Ken. 'You'd like to see your room and have a bath, perhaps.'

I had no particular desire for a bath, but I badly needed a drink. I followed him down the left-hand corridor, and he opened a door and switched on the light, then crossed the floor and pulled aside the curtains.

'Sorry about that,' he said. 'Janus likes to bed us down early before going through to the kitchen. Winter or summer, these curtains are drawn at six-thirty, and the covers removed from the beds. He's a stickler for routine.'

I looked around. Whoever designed the room must have had a hospital training all right. It had the bare essentials. Bed, washbasin, chest-of-drawers, wardrobe, one chair. The window gave on to the entrance front. The blankets on the bed were folded hospital fashion, and a military hospital at that.

'O.K.?' asked Ken. He looked puzzled. Possibly my expression surprised him.

'Fine,' I answered. 'Now what about a drink?'

I followed him up the corridor once more, across the entrance hall, and on through a swing-door at the far end. I heard the light clack-clack of ping-pong balls, and braced myself for frivolity. The room we entered was empty. The sportsmen, whoever they were, were playing in the room beyond. Here there were easy chairs, a table or two, an electric fire and a bar in the far corner, behind which my youthful companion installed himself. I noticed, with misgiving, two enormous urns.

'Coffee or cocoa?' he asked. 'Or do you prefer something cool? I can recommend the orange juice with a splash of soda.'

'I'd like a Scotch,' I said.

He looked distressed. His expression became that of an anxious host whose guest demands fresh strawberries in midwinter.

'I'm frightfull sorry,' he said, 'we none of us touch alcohol. Mac won't have it served, it's one of his things. But of course you can bring your own supply and drink in your room. What a fool I was not to have warned you. We could have stopped at Thirlwall and brought you back a bottle from the Three Cocks.'

His distress was so genuine that I controlled the flood-gates of emotion that threatened to burst from me, and told him I would settle for orange juice. He looked relieved, and splashed the nauseous liquid into a tall glass, deftly sousing it with soda.

I felt the time had come for further explanation, not only about him, the acolyte, but about the rest of the establishment. Was the Order Benedictine or Franciscan, and at what hour would the bell sound for Vespers and Compline?

'Forgive my ignorance.' I said, 'but my briefing before leaving A.E.L. was somewhat short. I don't know the first thing about Saxmere, or what you do here.'

'Oh, don't worry,' he answered, smiling. 'Mac will explain all that.'

He poured some juice into his own glass and said, 'Cheers.' I ignored the toast and listened to the echo of the ping-pong balls.

'You told me,' I continued, 'that all the work was done in this building where we are now.'

'That's right,' he said.

'But where do all the personnel hang out?' I persisted.

'Personnel?' he echoed, frowning. 'There are no personnel. That's to say, there's only Mac, Robbie, Janus-I suppose you'd count Janus-and myself. And now of course you.'

I put down my glass and stared. Was he having me on? No, he seemed perfectly serious. Tossing down his orange juice like a cup-bearer of the gods quaffing ambrosia, he watched me from behind the bar.

'It's O.K., you know,' he said. 'We're a very happy party.'

I did not doubt it. What with cocoa, ping-pong, and the booming bittern, this team of sportsmen would make the members of a Women's Institute seem like trolls.

My baser instincts made me yearn to prick the youngster's pride.

'And what,' I asked, 'is your position on the staff? Ganymede to the professor's Jove?'

To my intense surprise he laughed, and with an ear cocked to the further room, where the sound of balls had ceased, set two more glasses down upon the bar and filled them both with juice.

'How smart of you to guess,' he answered. "That's roughly the idea… to snatch me from this earth to a doubtful heaven. No, seriously, I'm Mac's guinea-pig, along with Janus's daughter and Cerberus the dog.'