'Act well your part,

there all the honour lies.'

Alexander Pope

CALLING IN OBLIGATIONS

7

Exile

He ought to be able to pray! Andy had been well brought up and, although faith in his life had been conventional, it had been sound - an everyday goodwill and love which permeated the family and their home. Through the hardest of times as well as when life was easy, the adults of his world sustained and comforted him and each other. Now, when there was most need of the kindness and common sense that had surrounded him all his life, there was an empty space. It's Jonesy! Andy realised, feeling as if he had just been dropped over the edge of a cliff. I want Jonesy! He had never really been aware before of how much Jonesy was a part of him and of Slim. Into his mind suddenly flashed the memory of the time Slim had come back from the war for good so unexpectedly – he remembered Jonesy sitting Slim firmly down at the table, first thing, before their mother caught a glimpse of her eldest son - Jonesy skilfully cleaning and strapping up the festering cut along Slim's cheekbone, which was to leave him with a permanent scar – Jonesy making sure that the battered young man was as presentable as he could be to greet his family once again. This new family which Andy was supposed to belong to now had no such wise and patient member. They'd told him, grudgingly it seemed, that Jonesy would be allowed to attend the funeral. When it was over, Andy was convinced he would never see Jonesy again. He had not dared even asked about Jess. It was as if he had vanished from the face of the earth.

In a dressing room in Denver Theatre, an argument was raging over ways and means of changing one man into another. The object of this altercation sat patiently in a chair in front of the big mirror, waiting until professional opinions came to a conclusion. Two thespians regarded him with folded arms and quizzical expressions.

"If he's going to disappear, we've got to deal with the eyes – they're the first thing you notice about him."

"Darkening's no problem." The speaker picked up a small bottle from the dressing table and shook it meaningfully. "I say glasses too."

"They draw attention to the eyes! And they'd make him look too old."

"Alters the character well, though."

"I thought there was a woman involved - so would you want to alter his character? Besides, it's a bad idea if he's going to be fighting."

"He's going into polite society, idiot!"

"Have you ever known him not get into a fight, sooner or later?"

The two actresses both looked severely down at the chair, whose occupant had stirred slightly before giving a non-committal shrug.

"All right, no glasses. But we do need to draw attention away from those eyes."

"Grow the beard, maybe?"

"Same reason applies as far as the woman is concerned."

"True, I never did fancy a beard myself. What about a moustache?"

"Something thin and sinister looking."

"Agreed. And what about this?" Rosanna seized a handful of thick, wavy hair and gave it an experimental tug. Her victim stifled a yelp of surprise.

"No earthly use dying it. It's too dark."

"Anyway, that would just look artificial. We're aiming for the natural man."

"Change the styling then." There followed several minutes of experimentation, which he endured stoically. Looking in the mirror had already revealed a gaunt, unkempt stranger whom he hardly recognised as himself.

"Slick it back – showing the hair-line changes the shape of his face entirely."

"So it does. Good job you haven't had it cut for a while," Jen informed her victim. "So keep it long – it doesn't look a bit like you."

"But we'll have to do something about the sideburns with that style." There was another, rather more protesting movement, followed by a resigned nod.

"Don't worry, I'm just going to trim the shape. You'll be surprised."

Having settled the details to their satisfaction, Rosanna and Jen proceeded to follow their own plan, despite protests of 'I hate stuff in my eyes!" and "I'm quite capable of shavin' myself!" They succeeded in transforming him to such an extent that a quite different face, a dark-eyed and rather sinister countenance, showed in his new reflection.

Attention to detail is the key to good, theatrical impersonation and Jess's helpers were nothing if not thorough.

"Hands!"

"You can't gate-crash polite society without shaking hands all the time – let me look!"

"Hmm – not bad. Good job you wear gloves a lot. Tidy nails too."

"Pass the pumice and I'll get rid of those few callouses."

"Now – clothes!"

This really did raise an objection and Rosanna and Jen found themselves summarily ejected into the corridor while he changed yet again. There they were joined by Vin, who had completed his part of the plan and tracked Jess down to the dressing room. When eventually they were readmitted even the actresses, accustomed as they were to how costume changes character, felt themselves in the presence of a stranger, a wolf as it were in a townsman's clothing. Vin too hardly recognised the man with whom he had been conversing closely only a short while ago. The change was uncanny and he felt an unexpected shiver go up his spine.

"You could almost be my cousin, not Cal's!" he commented in amazement, but with a sense of foreboding too.

"I'm an inch or so short, aren't I?"

"No – he's not much taller than you. But he doesn't have a Texan accent, so how are you going to lose yours?"

"Ain't aimin' to talk much," Jess told him and added, totally unexpectedly and in almost faultless mimicry of Vin's own slightly English vocabulary and pronunciation: "I shall endeavour to avoid unnecessary light conversation."

Vin gave a reminiscent chuckle: "I'd forgotten you could do that! But there is something else - one thing about him which is really distinctive." Vin opened his hand and held out a small, glittering object. "You're lucky I found this last time I had the misfortune to be sharing a room with him."

Jess drew in a deep breath. "I am?" and then between his teeth, "Which ear?"

"Left. Come on, ladies – I'll hold him down while you do the necessary!"

Exile

Andy refused to talk. Or at least, as far as his innate good manners allowed, he avoided conversation with his uncle, the woman Catherine or any of those sent to supervise him. He was afraid that if he once began to say what was in his heart, he would never stop and there would be an argument of terrible proportions, which he would be destined to lose. A perceptiveness forced on him by his isolation and desolation warned him it was better to hold his peace and keep his thoughts to himself. To hesitate and appear compliant, maybe even a little stupid, until he found a battle which he could win. His uncle, he had realised at once, was accustomed to winning and there was little chance of a mere boy thwarting him, when grown men came away from conversations with him looking white and shaken. Nathaniel Sherman might appear cultured and sophisticated, but his words had all the force of a gun-shot or a knife-blow.

In a first class compartment on the train to St Louis, Jess and Vin were working on polite conversation and consolidating Jess's mastery of sounding like a sophisticated member of St John Warwick dynasty. This he did with surprising facility, having been accustomed all his life to listening and remembering, rather than writing and reading. The only noticeable thing was a very slight hesitation before he actually spoke. When Vin remarked on this, the reply was: "I'm just thinking about how it would be if you were speaking." As it manifestly worked and enabled him to sound totally different, there seemed no reason to change this; in any case, it was an attractive trait, adding another distinction to the character he was playing.

Jess had consigned his gun and beloved black hat into Vin's safe-keeping and presently remarked that he felt naked without them and not particularly happy about going unarmed, even in polite society. In answer, Vin produced the belt he had purchased in Denver. "He's a knife man, first and foremost."

"Damn! I'll need to practise, if he's good. It's a long time since I relied on one." Jess ran an experimental hand over the various knives which slotted into the belt. He sent up a brief prayer of thankfulness that he had once, for a short period, been part of a travelling show and as a consequence had become an expert knife-thrower.

"He's good. But he does carry a couple of derringers as well." Vin handed over the ones he had bought and Jess stowed them away, one in his boot and the other in the inner pocket of his coat. He clipped on the knife belt and pulled out one of the knives. "Now, let's see if I can cut up you and the upholstery some!"

The actual damage was, in fact, minimal, but it took most of the long journey before Jess was satisfied he had the speed and skill to best anyone he was likely to encounter.

"You've been living a long way from polite society - it's not as dangerous as you think," Vin told him in attempted reassurance, but Jess merely remarked that he had just sampled some of what polite society could do when it put its mind to it. "And I intend to return the compliment!"

The inhuman coldness in his voice gave Vin another inward shudder. He had so much experience of the way Jess had lived and grown. He was profoundly thankful the deep-rooted integrity in his young friend had found the time and the place to flourish in the home he had been given at the Sherman Relay Station. But Vin was uneasily aware that the man whose character Jess was about to assume could so easily have been the one Jess himself developed into. There was often such a fine line between good and evil and circumstances could push you either way. He prayed that this situation, the pain, the rage and the desolation, would not drag Jess from one to the other. But there was nothing he could do to prevent this – he could only offer his unstinting aid and the back-up of his influence and expertise. He hoped it would go some way to substituting for the rock-solid support and stability Slim had always given Jess, and for the utter reliability which had earned him that nick-name, 'Hard Rock'.

Finally the train began to slow in its approach to the city and they gathered up their belongings. Vin felt in his pocket and produced a slim, silver cigar-case, which he handed to Jess. "Here – smoke these just so you don't forget who's backing you up."

Jess nodded in appreciation. They'd fought often enough over who was buying the cigars – and occasionally for possession of the last one. "Thanks. I'll think how much you're missing them!"

"You can save me one or two!" Vin told him. "It's all right for us to be seen together, but not too much. I'm the one who's pulled him out of some of his scrapes, much to the disapproval of the rest of the family, but even then, you wouldn't call us friendly. I take it you and Cal are going to avoid each other?"

"Once we've sorted out the tailoring," Jess agreed. "While we're all at the Metropolitan, we can use hand-signals when we need to, but if it's more complicated, I'll leave a message with Li Chen's kin." He paused, reviewing the plan. "I don't aim to remain at the Metropolitan, though." A humourless smile crossed his lips briefly, before he continued, "I'm going to get invited to stay somewhere much more socially acceptable."

"And you're confident you can pull it off?"

"Well, you were surprised and you knew I was going to disappear. Now I need to try it out on someone who knows me intimately and who has no idea that this has happened. I'm calling in a final obligation!"

Notes:

There is a little more about Jess's acquaintance with knife-throwing in Wish you were there.

If you want to see how altering the hair-line changes the face, there are plenty of examples in theatrical make-up or have a look at Timothy Dalton in License to Kill or, of course, just try it in the mirror!