Dangerous Creatures. (1) It was June 1931 and Penny and Cenzi Marlborough stood by a door in their father's house, looking in at the guests that their parents had invited for their twin daughters twenty-first birthday party. Penny, the eldest of the sisters by ten minutes, gave a cool smile at a passing male friend of her father's, his name she couldn't remember, but she knew his sort; knew what it was he was after, if only he dared, if she wasn't who she was, but some lowly house maid or such. She followed him with her dark eyes as he crossed the room; studied his lank frame and his drawn features. She decided that such men were not worth a second look and gazed back at her sister. "We ought to wander and mix, I suppose," Cenzi said. "Daddy's looked at us a few times already." Penny nodded gravely, took the lead, and entered the room. She felt weary of all the fuss and wished it were all at an end. She sensed Cenzi's arm touch hers and believed that together they were almost invincible; almost beyond touch or harm. One day father's business will be ours and these parasites will know a thing or two then, about what Cenzi and I are capable of doing, she mused darkly, brushing her fingers through her black hair. Cenzi, whose dark-brown hair was drawn back in a ponytail, stared at her mother who was chatting away to a tall man in a dark suit. Her mother, her head poised as if waiting to be photographed, gave Cenzi a quick glance as if to say: Go on, move about, and find yourself a suitable young man. Cenzi looked at the man with the mild interest one might have in choosing a piece of fruit at breakfast time. The interest satisfied, she looked away, stared instead at Donald Dean who was holding a glass of white wine as if it were some rare statuette by Degas. Donald blushed on seeing her; looked away as if he'd heard his name being called by some hidden being. Cenzi smiled. She loved it when Donald did that; loved to see his features redden like a cherry. Guy Gadget held Penny in conversation. He was talking about a programme he was directing on the B.B.C. Penny listened, but her eyes flickered over the room like the tired wings of a butterfly. She would rather have been somewhere else; have been seeing other people; talking to people who interested her, rather than these friends of her parents, whom she'd know as a child and had outgrown like her childish clothes. Cenzi went out of the French windows on to the balcony with Donald. He was still flushed pink and jabbered on about how pleased he was to see her again and how surprised he was to discover that she and Penny were twenty-one. She led him to the edge of the balcony and pointed out the full moon above them. "I think Shelley was fascinated by the Moon," she said, placing her arm through his and giving it a squeeze. "Have you read Shelley?" she asked quietly in his ear. Donald nodded. His eyes swept over her face and away again, not wanting to be ensnared by her hazel eyes. "You look absolutely charming in that black dress," Donald murmured. "I look absolutely charming out of it, too," Cenzi whispered, giving Donald's arm another squeeze. He blushed pinker still and looked up at the moon; looked at the sprinkle of stars like scattered diamonds on a black cloth. "Art thou pale for weariness of climbing heaven, and gazing on the earth?" she said softly as if she was trying to seduce him. "Shelley, I suppose?" Donald said, bringing his eyes to her like an obedient pup. "Not been one for the old poets much. Prefer the moderns. Auden, Eliot and such." Cenzi raised her eyebrows as if to say: You read moderns? There is a brain in that skull of yours? And smiling she said: " Yes, the moderns, how we love them." Donald returned her smile, but it was a timid smile, a smile that sat on the edge of a huge abyss frightened it may fall in. Penny had taken Guy by his soft hand, led him into a corner, and sat him down. She knew by instinct that Guy was not one for the ladies; knew by gossip that he found joy in boys, sailors and the occasional politician. Nonetheless, she loved his company; found his conversation overall enlightening; read between the lines of his sentences to discover his true feelings and philosophy. She thought him possibly a secret communist, but couldn't decide for certain, so said nothing to him about it. Instead, she sat and listened and looked into his large blue eyes, wondering what lay behind them; wondering what leering look they gave to boys. Cenzi knew her mother found Donald too shy and bashful for a husband for either of her daughters, but she thought him quite suitable; quite pliable; quite soft and manageable. Just like a child, she mused, releasing another smile at him, just like a child, just like a child. ************************ Penny and Cenzi walked slowly through Hyde Park one Sunday morning in deep conversation. They had heard rumours that their father was considering going into partnership with Charles Chamberlain and widening the influence of their joint businesses by a possible merger. "We can't allow this to happen," Penny said. "Our future is at stake here." "What can we do?" Cenzi asked. "Daddy won't listen to us and Mummy has no influence over him at all." "There must be something we can do to prevent it," Penny said, moodily. "What do you suggest we do; murder old Chamberlain?" Cenzi stared across the park trying to imagine what Chamberlain would look like dead, but her imagination was tired and nothing was visualised. "Not a bad idea," Penny said. "Trouble is we'd bound to be found out and be hanged for it." "He might have an accident." Cenzi closed her eyes and listened to the surrounding sounds of London. Penny mused on the words Cenzi had just spoken. She remembered two year before when Albert Calflour had almost talked their father into a partnership deal. She and Cenzi had tried everything in their power to persuade their father against it, but he was adamant and wouldn't listen to their pleas. A month later, Albert Calflour was found drowned in his swimming pool at his house in Sussex. The police investigated, but it was deemed an accidental death. Their father was most put out, but it put the idea of a partnership out of his mind for quite some time. Now, the idea of an accident happening to Charles Chamberlain was turning over in her mind with slow satisfaction. "Accidents happen," Penny said, stopping and turning towards Cenzi. "Yes, just when you don't expect them." Cenzi smiled and took hold of her sister's hand. "We must get to see old Chamberlain and see if we can charm him into a false sense of security." "He always did have an eye for you Cenzi, even as a child of twelve," Penny whispered. Cenzi nodded and drew her sister's arm through her own and they walked on in satisfied silence. ********************** David Marlborough sat down to breakfast in a foul mood. His wife, Evelyn, noticing his mood by the expression on his face, focussed her attention on the painting above the fireplace. It was a copy of one of Canaletto's Venice paintings her husband had acquired from a friend in the City. She liked it; it made her feel as if she were elsewhere; made her feel free and not just a companion of a man she both loved and feared. David rustled noisily with the newspaper as he spread wide his arms as if he were being crucified by his demons. He knew his wife was trying to avoid starting up a conversation, but he also knew she was itching to know what the cause of his mood was and who had caused it. Nonetheless, he did not want to give way to her obvious curiosity and so rustled the paper even more. "Has something upset you, dear?" Evelyn asked eventually. "Upset? Upset?" David said as if the word had been a form of abuse. "I am never upset, Evelyn, I am annoyed. Plain and simply annoyed." "What has annoyed you, dear?" Evelyn asked timidly. David lowered his newspaper and looked at his wife as if she were an imbecile let out before a cure had been found. Taking an intake of air, he released it in a huge sigh. "He's dead." "Who's dead, dear?" Evelyn asked gently. "Chamberlain. Charles Chamberlain," David said in an annoyed tone, as if he were explaining a philosophical theory to a five-year-old. "Not our Charles Chamberlain?" Evelyn muttered raising her eyebrows. "Yes, our Charles Chamberlain. The man who was to enter partnership with me very soon." David shook out the newspaper noisily. "Had a fall at his home and broke his damned neck." "How awful," Evelyn said. "Damned careless, I'd call it," David stated, looking away from his wife and staring at the newsprint. "Ah, here it is..." And he muttered away under his breath as he read the article. Evelyn lifted her cup of tea and brought it to her lips. She looked once more at the Canaletto and wished she were on one of the gondolas being whisked far away. Was it a gondola? She wasn't certain; she was never certain of things anymore; never certain of anything. ************************** Penny walked in garden with her mother; the sounds of London seemed far away. They paused by the roses and placed their noses near the pink flowers. "Your father's most annoyed about Charles's death," Evelyn said, wrinkling up her nose. "As if poor Charles did it on purpose." Penny stood back from the roses and gazed at her mother. "How did he fall?" she asked, touching the stem of the plant between her slim fingers. "I've no idea, Penny, dear. All I know is that he broke his neck." Evelyn sniffed the flower and momentarily was lost to her surroundings. "Cenzi and I only saw him the other week. He seemed in fine spirits then," Penny said, her tone mournful. "Yes, I thought him quite the gentleman," Evelyn murmured. She moved away from the roses and walked towards the house. "Now your father is without a partner. And he so wanted to go into partnership with Charles." "Why does he want to go into partnership?" Penny asked. "He wants to expand the business and needs outside capital to do so," Evelyn said. "This the second time he's been let down. Seems almost jinxed." "I'd have thought it best not to expand," Penny said. "Daddy seems to have the evil eye when it comes to business partners." She looked at her mother out of the corner of her eye. There was something soft and vulnerable about her mother that she wanted to protect; wanted her mother never to lose. There was that place inside her mother in which she and Cenzi felt safe; in which they could lay their heads temporarily against the storms of the world. "Does seem so, my dear, does seem so," Evelyn said. Her words followed her across the lawn like obedient puppies and then scattered off on the mild summer's breeze as the two women entered the house through the French windows. ******************* Penny and Cenzi walked slowly through Trafalgar square; they were on their way to the National Gallery to view a few of their favourite paintings. They were going to met Donald and a friend of his inside just after one o' clock. "Who's this friend of Donald's?" Cenzi asked as they neared the Gallery. "No idea. He said he'd met him at Cambridge," Penny replied. As they entered through the doors, they spotted Donald and his friend on their left. The young man with Donald looks handsome enough, Cenzi mused, letting her eyes flow over his features and clothes. "This is Philip Kimberly," Donald said quietly, looking at Penny with his usual shyness. "This is the Marlborough twins. Penny and Cenzi," he informed Philip, who nodded and mumbled something about how-nice-it-was-to-meet-them or so it sounded to Penny. Cenzi eased her arm through Donald's and lead him forward, while Penny grabbed Philips small hand and followed the other two into the Gallery proper. "Let's miss out the Early Italian section," Penny said," I'm not in the mood for all that religious nonsense." "What about the Early French?" Cenzi asked, clutching Donald's arm tight against her. "I l-l-like the Early Fr-Fr-French," Philip stammered. Penny looked at Cenzi and raised her eyebrows. "Have you always stammered, Philip?" Penny asked. Philip nodded. "B-b-b-but only if I'm n-n-nervous," he said. "What is there to be nervous about? We won't bite you," said Penny, squeezing Philip's hand. "I liked the Van Eycks," Donald informed shyly. "You make them sound like a married couple, Donald," Penny said, smiling. "Still too many religious paintings, though." "Sometimes, Penny, we have to make sacrifices," Cenzi said, giving an impression of their mother's favourite phrase. Penny shrugged her shoulders. "Van Eyck it is, then." They walked on studiously gazing at the paintings. Penny musing on Philip, sensing his hand in hers, wondering if he'd get over his stammering before the day was out. She knew she couldn't put up with that all day; the mere thought of it depressed her. Cenzi still linked in Donald's arm, paused at The Arnolfini Marriage painting. She found it a bore, but waited while Donald peered at it and Philip screwed up his nose as he studied it getting as near as possible to the painting as Penny's hand would allow. Cenzi wondered what her parents would say if she could get Donald to propose to her. He was a civil servant in the Foreign Office; he had good prospects; his manners were good and he had a degree from Cambridge. But she still wondered if that would be sufficient for her father. He had his own ideas for their marriages. He looked at it as if he were planning to widen his empire like like some ancient monarch. She and Penny would never marry to further their father's ambitions; they'd rather be nuns than do that. She smiled. The mere idea of them becoming nuns was, she thought, very amusing. "I read that Chamberlain had a deadly fall," Donald said, as they moved through the 16th Century Italian "Yes," Penny said, "Father is most put out. He and Chamberlain were to be partners." "G-g-g-gosh!" stammered Philip, letting a mild shower of spittle to fall on Penny's cheek. "M-m-must of b-b-been shocking for you all." "Yes," Cenzi said," it was." Penny smiled. The recollection of old Chamberlain's fall was fresh in her memory. The last thing he expected from two beautiful young ladies, as he often referred to them. They had rearranged his body onto the stairs to make it look like an accident. The neck was broken; the eyes wide open and shocked as if he'd seen a ghost. Requiem pace, Cenzi had murmured over the body. It still seemed so vivid, yet seemed as if it had been a dream. Some dream, Penny muttered to herself as she squeezed Philip's hand, some dream. Some dream. Some bloody dream. ************************** Guy had invited Penny and Cenzi to twenty-fifth birthday party at his house in the West End. Donald and Philip had also been invited and were talking to Guy and his friend Anthony Bunter when the girls arrived immaculately dressed and entered the room. Guy introduced the girls to his friend Anthony and told them how he and Anthony had been friends at Cambridge some years before. Penny studied Guy's friend with her usual highly developed eye for detail, found him distant, and introverted. His eyes wandered off about the room even as he was being introduced and his response to the girls was a small nod and a formal how-do-you-do. "Anthony's into Art," Guy stated. "The theory, not the practice." He gave Anthony a broad smile and settled his eyes on his friend like a pack of hounds. "I prefer the practice to the theory," Cenzi said. "Do you paint?" Anthony asked stiffly. "I've dabbled in watercolour," Cenzi informed. "Now I'm thinking about oils." She gazed at Anthony as if she'd seen something of interest about him despite what her mind was telling her. "Oils or watercolour are a mere means to expression; what matters is the finished result and the idea that inspired the painting," Anthony said, his face revealing no emotional response. Penny watched as Guy discreetly placed his hand around Anthony's waist and gave it a squeeze. It did not alarm her as such; it merely took her by surprise as if he'd suddenly sneezed all over her without warning. Cenzi thought Anthony too offish to be close to, but found him intelligent and harmless. I am safe from his hands, she mused, letting her eyes fall over his delicate looking hands with their well-manicured nails. "We went to the Gallery last week," Donald informed. "D-d-d-delightful time," Philip said. "Saw our usual favourites," Penny said, putting her arm through Donald's and giving it a hug. "And some other boring trash," Cenzi said firmly. "Art is art," Guy said," life is life. We are too critical of both." "Would you have us swallow what they want us to swallow, and lie down like dogs at the feet of the great and famous?" Penny said with passion. Guy smiled broadly. "No, no, my dear, that's not what I meant at all. Some people spend much of their time criticising art and life without actually understanding either. They are parasites. They are death to both life and art." Cenzi looked beyond Guy and the others and thought she saw Chamberlain's widow across the room. It was. She stared for a few moments unable to take her eyes away from her. What is she doing here? Cenzi mused darkly. "Isn't that Charles Chamberlain's widow over there?" Cenzi asked suddenly, interrupting Guy's monologue. They all looked across the room at the woman standing by the fireplace in conversation with Guy's mother. "Yes," Guy said gently. "Poor soul. Quite a shock that. Thought the old boy was indestructible." "S-s-s-shocked us i-i-immensly," Philip said. Penny turned her eyes to Cenzi. They spread their lips in a hardly discernible smile. Penny saw once again in her mind's eye Chamberlain's lifeless body on the floor below. The way the arms were spanned out like an imitated Christ. The eyes dead but open; the legs twisted: one beneath the body, the other at an angle as if in some distorted dance. She closed her eyes momentarily. The image disappeared. The dream had gone. Had gone. Gone. ***************** David Marlborough was engaged in conversation with Malcolm McDonald at the dinning-room table while Penny and Cenzi looked on anxiously. Evelyn sat passively pretending to listen, but in reality, she was wondering if Malcolm would make a suitable husband for one of her daughters. David seemed to find no fault in him; in fact, he gave the appearance of almost worshipping him and his business acumen. She let her eyes drift casually over his features like a passing shadow. Her casual perception allowed her to form a reasonably positive opinion of his appearance and manners; her mind was less positive about his inner character, which seemed veiled from her casual study. Penny stared at Malcolm McDonald with suspicion; she feared something was about to rear its ugly head again: Partnership. She turned and looked at Cenzi, who with a cold glance at the dinner guest was likewise unsettled about the way matters seemed to be going. "And I'm quite certain, Malcolm we can come to some kind of arrangement about that matter," David said. "More wine?" he asked his guest with a hint of joy lurking beneath the surface. Malcolm declined saying he rarely drank alcohol; he needed to keep a clear head for business, he stated with a gentle hint of a smile. He eyed the twin girls with a mild interest, but made no outward appearance of wishing to further his dealing with them. The brown-haired one seems quite hostile, he mused as he left the room with David to take a walk in the garden in the evening air. The Black-haired one's quite a beauty, he told himself, staring up at the sky. May try to make some contact there if this business deal goes through, he suggested to himself, feeling the evening air refresh him.
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Copyright © 2006 Terry Collett |