Finch was furious, but he couldn’t prove it wasn’t true, and even he must have seen that any serious attempt at wringing out a different answer might cost them more time in the clink.
I had hoped originally to make a bargain with Finch, but it was no longer possible. I thought merely, at that point, of getting through whatever was going to happen with some semblance of grace. A doubtful proposition, it seemed to me.
‘How much does he know?’ Ownslow demanded of Trevor.
‘Enough...’ Trevor said. ‘Everything.’
‘Bloody hell.’
‘How did he find out?’ Glitberg demanded.
‘Because William took him on his boat,’ Trevor said.
‘A mistake,’ Powys said. ‘That was a mistake, Finchy. He came sniffing round us in London, asking about boats. Like I told you.’
‘You chain dogs up,’ Finch said.
‘But not in a floating kennel, Finchy. Not this bastard here with his bloody quick eyes. You should have kept him away from your boat.’
‘I don’t see that it matters,’ Trevor said. ‘Like he said, we’ve all got our money.’
‘And what if he tells?’ Ownslow demanded.
‘Oh, he’ll tell,’ Trevor said with certainty. ‘And of course there will be trouble. Questions and enquiries and a lot of fuss. But in the end, if we’re careful, we should keep the cash.’
‘Should isn’t enough,’ Powys said fiercely.
‘Nothing’s certain,’ Trevor said.
‘One thing’s certain,’ Ownslow said. ‘This creep’s going to get his come-uppance.’
All five of the faces turned my way together, and in each one, even in Trevor’s, I read the same intent.
‘That’s what we came for,’ Powys said.
‘Four bloody years,’ Ownslow said. ‘And the sneers my kids suffered.’ He pushed off the door and uncrossed his arms.
Glitberg said, ‘Judges looking down their bloody noses.’
They all, quite slowly, came nearer.
It was uncanny, and frightening. The forming of a pack.
Behind me there was the table, and behind that, solid wall. They were between me and the windows, and between me and the door.
‘Don’t leave any marks,’ Powys said. ‘If he goes to the police it’ll be his word against ours, and if he’s nothing to show they can’t do much.’ To me, directly, he said, ‘We’ll have a bloody good alibi, I’ll tell you that.’
The odds looked appalling. I made a sudden thrusting jump to one side, to dodge the menacing advance, outflank the cohorts, scramble for the door.
I got precisely nowhere. Two strides, no more. Their hands clutched me from every direction, dragging me back, their bodies pushing against me with their collective weight. It was as if my attempt to escape had triggered them off. They were determined, heavy, and grunting. I struggled with flooding fury to disentangle myself, and I might as well have wrestled with an octopus.
They lifted me up bodily and sat me on the end of the table. Three of them held me there with hands like clamps.
Finch pulled open a drawer in the side of the table, and threw out a checked red and white table cloth, which floated across the room and fell on a chair. Under the cloth, several big square napkins. Red and white checks. Tapestry’s racing colours. Ridiculous thought at such a moment.
Finch and Connaught Powys each rolled a napkin into a shape like a bandage and knotted it round one of my ankles. They tied my ankles to the legs of the table. They pulled my jacket off. They rolled and tied a red and white napkin round each of my wrists, pulling the knots tight and leaving cheerful bright loose ends like streamers.
They did it fast.
All of the faces were flushed, and the eyes fuzzy, in the fulfilment of lust. Glitberg and Ownslow, one on each side, pushed me down flat on my back. Finch and Connaught Powys pulled my arms over my head and tied the napkins on my wrists to the other two legs of the table. My resistance made them rougher.
The table was, I supposed, about two feet by four. Long enough to reach from my knees to the top of my head. Hard, covered with glass, uncomfortable.
They stood back to admire their handiwork. All breathing heavily from my useless fight. All overweight, out of condition, ripe to drop dead from coronaries at any moment. They went on living.
‘Now what?’ said Ownslow, considering. He went down on his knees and took off my shoes.
‘Nothing,’ Trevor said. ‘That’s enough.’
The pack instinct had died out of him fastest. He turned away, refusing to meet my eyes.
‘Enough!’ Glitberg said. ‘We’ve done nothing yet.’
Powys eyed me assessingly from head to foot, and maybe he saw just what they had done.
‘Yes,’ he said slowly. ‘That’s enough.’
Ownslow said ‘Here!’ furiously, and Glitberg said, ‘Not on your life.’ Powys ignored them and turned to Finch.
‘He’s yours,’ he said. ‘But if I were you I’d just leave him here.’
‘Leave him?’
‘You’ve got better things to do than fool around with him. You don’t want to leave marks on him, and I’m telling you, the way we’ve tied him will be enough.’
William Finch thought about it, and nodded, and came halfway back to cold sense. He stepped closer until he stood near my ribs. He stared down, eyes full of the familiar hate.
‘I hope you’re satisfied,’ he said.
He spat in my face.
Powys, Glitberg and Ownslow thought it a marvellous idea. They did it in turn, as disgustingly as they could.
Not Trevor. He looked on uncomfortably and made small useless gestures of protest with his hands.
I could hardly see for slime. It felt horrible, and I couldn’t get it off.
‘All right,’ Powys said. ‘That’s it, then. You push off now Finchy, and you get packed, Trevor, and then we’ll all leave.’
‘Here!’ Ownslow said again, protestingly.
‘Do you want an alibi, or don’t you?’ Powys said. ‘You got to make some effort. Be seen by a few squares. Help the lies along.’
Ownslow gave in with a bad grace, and contented himself with making sure that none of the table napkins had worked loose. Which they hadn’t.
Finch had gone from my diminished sight and also, it appeared, from my life. A car started in the drive, crunched on the gravel, and faded away.
Trevor went out of the room and presently returned carrying a suitcase. In the interval Ownslow sniggered, Glitberg jeered, and Powys tested the amount that I could move my arms. Half an inch, at the most.
‘You won’t get out of that,’ he said. He shook my elbow and watched the results. ‘I reckon this’ll make us even.’ He turned as Trevor came back. ‘Are all doors locked?’
‘All except the front one,’ Trevor said.
‘Right. Then let’s be off.’
‘But what about him?’ Trevor said. ‘We can’t just leave him like that.’
‘Can’t we? Why not?’
‘But...’ Trevor said: and fell silent.
‘Someone will find him tomorrow,’ Powys said. ‘A cleaner, or something. Do you have a cleaner?’
‘Yes,’ Trevor said doubtfully. ‘But she doesn’t come in on Tuesdays. My wife will be back though.’
‘There you are, then.’
‘All right.’ He hesitated. ‘My wife keeps some money in the kitchen. I’ll just fetch it.’
‘Right.’
Trevor went on his errand and came back. He stood near me, looking worried.
‘Ro...’
‘Come on,’ said Powys impatiently. ‘He’s ruined you, like he ruined us. You owe him bloody nothing.’
He shepherded them out of the door; Trevor unhappy, Glitberg sneering, Ownslow unassuaged. Powys looked back from the doorway, his own face, what I could see of it, full of smug satisfaction.
‘I’ll think of you,’ he said. ‘All night.’