Out of the Dark
Chapter Six
The famous pie was indeed a monument. Its tender core of game and beer gravy delivered fully what its golden crispy crust promised. The whole meal was a triumph for the cook. It was served in the dining room with some old-fashioned formality and eaten with great appetite by three starving men.
A treat well earned, thought Cowley, discreetly rubbing his sore leg under the table, The vain old git didn't spare us a rose bush or a broom cupboard.
Hardly an exaggeration; after a thorough sight-seeing tour of the building for Bodie's sake, they had had a long walk along the upper part of the river (more of a burn at that level) followed by a lazy stroll in the garden where the blossom's fragrance of the May roses was overwhelming.
Bodie had recovered some of his previous cheerfulness. He looked peaceful and relaxed enough, as if he was coming to terms with the odds and hazards of his current predicament. He talked with Angus, quite amiably and desultorily, about various topics: boats, fishing, sports in general and the military career.
«You look very fit, and apt for the service, Bodie: no way you could apply though, if you don't manage to retrieve your memory and to clear your legal situation, except, of course if you intend to enter the Foreign Legion. »
« Foreign Legion » seemed to stir something in Bodie's mind. But it was just a brief glimmer in the misty blue gaze.
« Rings a bell? » asked Angus.
« No, not really. I've heard of it, sure; they're very tough and professional. »
« They would certainly recruit you without question. »
Cowley cut in sharply. « Wait a minute, Angus! He's just back home in Britain and you want to pack him off to the Frogs? »
Angus laughed. « Pooh, pooh, cousin! What do you make of the Auld Alliance? »
"Leave it to historians."
"Still, aren't we supposed to be allies?" Angus commented with a sly smile.
« Bollocks! Has it ever prevented rivalry? Take the Five Nations Championship. Would you let our good players go to the opposing team? »
« Perish the thought! » Angus protested, pleasantly, « Don't you dare say that to an old practising rugby man like me! » He turned to Bodie: « Do you like rugby, Bodie? »
« I love rugby, » replied Bodie enthusiastically, « I used to play scrum-half at school. » He stopped short, looking dumb, mouth open for a second.
Cowley growled, his suspicions rushing back at once: «If I find out you're trying to fool me…"
"Quiet, George; you'll scare the kid." Oh no, Angus, not this avuncular tone with me, please...
Bodie recovered his voice as quickly as his composure: "I'm not a kid and I'm not scared. I don't know where that comes from but, yes, I am sure I used to play rugby…" He paused and added hesitantly: "and cricket too, I think."
"Must have been a good school you were in," Angus remarked, thoughtfully.
"Eh, why not?" Bodie retorted good-humouredly, in his best plummy voice, "Do you mean you deem me unworthy?"
"Soon we'll learn he's an Eton old boy," Cowley quipped, not knowing why he was irked, " a pity it doesn't fit well with that trail of scouse I detect every time he opens his mouth…"
"I don't see why you take it that way, George; didn't you tell me two hours ago his name was the only thing he knew about himself? Well, the fog seems to be clearing a bit. There's some progress and this even before we've started anything. Shouldn't you find this encouraging?"
Actually that was all Cowley wished for, though he couldn't help resenting something in Bodie's bearing: was it his increasing assertiveness, or was it the good understanding he saw growing between Angus and him? No, of course not, I wanted this. I hoped it would help and it does.
"I suppose you're right," he admitted reluctantly, "If we've been given the true story."
"Have you got any reason to doubt Bodie's word?"
"No!" Bodie exclaimed vehemently.
"Angus, really, is that a question people in our profession can ask?"
"Well, I'd say that, in our profession, systematic distrust is as much a cause of failure as credulity."
"I used to trust my friends and have had occasions to regret it." Cowley wondered if his voice sounded as bitter to others as it did to him. "That's in order; who can betray you but your friends?"
"You're not at risk with me then, since we're not friends."
Bodie's words and tone caught him unguarded and he recoiled, then lashed back. "Very true. So what?" he sneered. "What did you expect, sonny? A blood-bond oath?"
Bodie just stared at him uncomprehendingly and he strove to get a grip on himself. "We're both in a business agreement; you fulfill your part, I'll do mine: understood?"
Bodie nodded, curtly. His face was expressionless. Was he hurt? Cowley decided he didn't need to know.
"All I demand from you is honesty, but I want it complete. And be careful; you may perhaps deceive me once but not twice."
Bodie sighed. "If I wasn't aware of that, I wouldn't be here."
There was some reason in this argument. Cowley had no doubt that a man like the merc', with his wild past and his gambler, daredevil mindset, would find a way out of any trap, had he the will and the resources that a fully recovered memory would bring him back; just a phone call to the right contact would do, at least to attempt an hurried escape. On the other hand, the promised protection kept all his value regarding the future, but only if Cowley was still willing to warrant the man's good will to the authorities. Well, all being weighed, there was no mean to tell whether the scale was leaning toward trust or distrust.
" You've better convince me of it."
"I'm not lying" Bodie said simply.
Cowley bore his gaze into the other man's eyes, with the penetrating, fierce intensity that was so effective with suspects on interrogation. It was met with an unyielding stare and this time he was glad to be resisted. There was what looked like a genuine candour in those dark pupils, with a steadfast dignity he hadn't the heart to insult by questioning the boy's sincerity. Seemed the scale had swung on the trust side eventually.
He chastised himself inwardly about his misguiding temper. Angus was right: if they wanted results, and he had a hunch they'd need to get some soon, they had to bet on Bodie's loyalty.
"You don't believe me."
Cowley couldn't help a twinge of guilt at the quiet acceptance he heard in the subdued voice.
" Be happy I chose to believe you," he said gruffly, "as long as you don't give me motive to doubt you".
Bodie shrugged. "I know where my best interest is, if it's what you want to hear; Is that a language you understand?"
Cheeky devil! You can't play demure more than ten seconds, can you? Guilt and compassion were gone. "Keep this healthy thought firmly in mind and we'll have some common ground to stand on."
"OK, you're the boss," Bodie's voice was weary, "You command, I obey; That's what you want? Fine with me."
"I've told you what I want: honesty, pure and simple. I need your commitment to the task and your full cooperation in the process."
"Well, you have it," Bodie sounded surprised and somehow relieved, "I've already given you my word on this long ago."
Angus was watching the exchange with an irritatingly knowing smile on his craggy face. "So, the deal is done, once and for all I hope. Now we can think of more serious matters: the dinner, for example. Am I the only one to be hungry?"
He certainly wasn't. The meal did wonders to perk up the mood of the guests, and so, two hours and something later, they were sitting in the lounge again, sipping a fairly decent brandy and talking quite peacefully about more innocuous topics, though still pretty controversial, like the compared merits of cognac and whisky. Nothing was said about the upcoming therapy session.
Before they left, Cowley managed to have a talk with Angus in private. He sent Bodie to the kitchen, to fetch a bag of fresh buns and scones, which Martha had insisted they took with them to the lodge for tea-time and breakfast, asking him to retrieve the herb mix Angus had ordered from the cook before their afternoon walk. He was thus assured to have at least half an hour to himself, enough to provide Angus with all the missing information about the case and to get from him all he needed to know about the upcoming treatment. It wasn't much, since Angus claimed he hadn't made his mind yet and wanted to use the two days break to think more about it and set up a plan.
The only definite part of it seemed to be the herbal potion, the components of which were as obscure to Cowley as Bodie's past was. Angus was adamant they were totally harmless, meant only to soothe and relax without dimming the subject's senses; on the contrary they were expected to quicken them, while broadening the scope of consciousness and activating the emotional levers of the memory.
Staring with suspicion at the sheet of paper in his hands, Cowley felt quite happy that he was not the intended subject of the experiment.
"You could take it yourself profitably," said Angus, answering a question he hadn't asked.
Cowley nodded vaguely, mumbling what could pass for acquiescence. Keep trying, cousin! Activating the emotional levers of his memories was the very last thing he needed. A selective oblivion pill would have much better suited him in his current state of mind.
The list of components was of little use to him; his botanical knowledge being about nil. These Latin names didn't speak to him, except a few of them - mostly ordinary cooking spices - and one, poetically named "Angelica Archangelica", which reminded him of either the green stems in candied fruits or an aromatic liquor used to flavour fruit salads and pastry on the continent.
Angus took one glance at his pinched features and correctly read his reluctance. "Some of those ingredients are not known by botanists; I mean, their existence is known, not their medicinal properties. Some others aren't known at all. It's a very complex formula I made up in collaboration with a few trusted correspondents I have on the five continents; took me ten years…"
That wasn't exactly the most reassuring of answers. Cowley scowled and Angus laughed. "Don't worry, it's been duly tested, for many years and by many people, me first."
"Are you afraid of being hit by a sudden bout of amnesia? Not a very frequent affliction, that." Cowley was genuinely perplexed; the idea seemed absurd and Angus certainly wasn't the anxious type.
"Frequent, amnesia's not, but common loss of memory is a disgrace that all people my age have to fear and, frankly, I don't want to end my life too unbecomingly."
"You must be kidding!" Cowley exclaimed with feeling, "You're stronger than I am and there's no incidence I know of in your family…"
"Well, I don't want to take the risk. 'Wait and see' has never been my motto. Anyway, this concoction is not primarily aimed at maintaining or restoring ageing people's memory; it's a complete tonic for the nervous system as a whole, apt to boost, repair, soothe and equilibrate in the same time."
"You're all set to make a fortune with it," said Cowley with the faintest touch of irony, "given the current demographic trends in industrialised countries."
The mild mockery was lost on his cousin, who answered with didactical sternness. "I'm not ready yet to launch it on the public market; that would mean the stuff to be made in a more stable and practical form: as pills or elixir, but it seems to be more efficient as an herb tea, taken regularly with small repeated doses throughout the day."
"Efficient against amnesia?" Cowley's doubts were clearly audible in his voice.
"I don't know yet; as you just said, amnesia isn't a common affliction. We'll see if it works in the case of your young 'protégé'."
Cowley winced. "I see, looks like I'm providing you the convenient lab rat you needed to complete your experiment protocol."
"Not in the least," Angus replied severely, "amnesia wasn't included in the initial protocol; I'm simply trying to help; keep that in mind."
Bodie's coming through with the supply put an abrupt end to the two men's conversation, sparing them any further exchange of sour comments. The familiar double-act over, each part played to their mutual satisfaction, they took leave of each other very cordially.
Bart was nowhere to be seen; they were escorted to the door by the dogs, Rascal pressing against Cowley's bad leg and Rover's wet nose nudging Bodie's palm affectionately.
Cowley couldn't help lightly pinching the strings of the tall, ancient ebony harp that adorned the hall for as long as he remembered. The clear liquid sound took him back to a time, long past, when Frannie was a sweet young lass and Doug was alive. He shivered.
"Do you play the harp?" Bodie didn't look really interested.
"No; my sister did. I was supposed to play the piano (and Doug the violin, he thought but didn't say). Old family tradition" He shrugged. "There's not much of it left, I'm afraid."
During most of the walk down to their place, he kept silent.
Back to the lodge Cowley made a bee-line to the Laphroig bottle (he equally hated port and brandy, which his cousin favoured at dinner).
"It's chilly here," remarked Bodie, sniffing. "And damp too."
"Man, you're repeating yourself; already heard that song." Cowley was in no mood to put up with a fussing Bodie.
"Well, it is chilly and damp." Bodie pouted, childlike, irking the older man still more.
"Yes, it is; and it's going to be so every night till mid-Summer, if not later, so you've better getting used to it..."
" Is that a clever way of enticing me to mend the heater?" It was said with a smile meant to alleviate the tension between them and Cowley relaxed slightly.
"If you wish to. Feel free to exercise your mechanical talents tomorrow but, for the moment, content yourself with lighting the fire; we could do with a nice little blaze."
"OK; and I could do with a nice little glass of whisky." He cast a hopeful glance towards the bottle the other man still held, somehow reverently. Cowley glared at him.
"This is not 'whisky'; it's a sixteen years old, pure single malt Islay."
"Whatever, I feel like I could enjoy some of it just now."
Cowley snorted. "Seems you're forgetting something;"
"?" the crooked eyebrow rose heavenward to the close-cropped hairline.
"Angus' herbal potion." Cowley recalled, mercilessly.
"Oh, no!"
"Oh, yes. You promised, just a couple of hours ago, remember?"
Bodie's sigh could have blown the sails of a small ship.
"Potion first, scotch later." Cowley's tone was final.
"As a counter-poison?" But the humorous retort fell flat.
"Stop being childish. Start the fire while I'm making the tea," Cowley ordered.
"If we can call this stuff tea," Bodie commented gloomily, accepting defeat.
"Things are what we call them," Cowley stated philosophically. "Go and fetch more wood from the shed." He took the bag of thinly cut and crushed-to-powder dried herbs from the supplies lying on the table and went to the kitchen, not looking back, with the certainty of a man used to being obeyed. As he was.
The preparation was of the easiest kind: a simple concoction of two big spoonfuls of the powder in a small quantity of water to make a concentrated, thick liquid, which could be used fractionally all through the day by addition of more hot water. The dark, red-brown colour, too similar to dried blood, wasn't - to be frank - very appetizing, but the smell, spicy and aromatic, wasn't too vile. Cowley poured the prescribed dose into a decorative wooden bowl he had found on the shelf above the cooker (the ordinary cups and mugs looking way too small) and filled up the odd container with the strange mixture. Remembering Bodie's exhibition with the porridge at breakfast, he added a large spoonful of honey.
When Cowley came back, a joyful fire was dancing in the hearth and Bodie was brooding. "Cheer up, laddie; this is your long-life elixir."
Bodie tilted his head interrogatively. "Long memory, you mean?"
"Well, according to Angus, as well as boosting the memory brain cells, it has all sorts of toning, revitalising properties."
"Yes, I remember him advising you to take it as well: Would do you a world of good, eh?"
Cowley wondered if that was to be taken as an unflattering allusion to his age or physical condition. "I'm not the patient here; my memory is only too keen, I think I can live without it."
"Without your memory?"
"Don't be silly!" snapped Cowley, irked again by the display of childishness from the young man. Who didn't seem to be kidding, though.
"As for me, I begin to suspect I really could live without my memory," Bodie said softly.
Cowley strangled a sudden pang of sadness. "Out of the question, we've an agreement."
"Yes, and our agreement included that I wouldn't be submitted to any more drugs", Bodie reminded him with reproach. Cowley protested:
"Chemical drugs! You agreed on this innocuous herb potion."
Bodie sniggered: "Innocuous? I don't even know what's in it!"
"Neither do I, not precisely anyway." Cowley's short stock of patience was running thin. He hammered, "I trust Angus and you have to trust me."
Bodie stood up, facing him, and looked steadily through his eyes "I'll trust you if you drink it with me, before me preferably."
Cowley remained silent a long while. He wasn't able to find a sound reason not to comply with Bodie's wish. The young man was still staring at him expectantly. Without a word he brought the bowl to his lips and drank a large amount of its content. The taste was spicy and tangy, with a note of bitterness and, underneath, the warm mellowness of honey. It was burning hot too; so, unthinkingly, he breathed on its surface as his mother used to do with his 'good night' mug of milk. Then, still wordless, he handed it to Bodie.
Bodie took the goblet and drank the rest of the potion in a single long gulp while looking at his companion with an odd expression on his face. Suddenly he offered a broad grin.
"Just hope it's not a love philtre," he said.