Ivoria by Tanith Lee (uplifting novels .txt) 📕

voice Nick allows to be his front. While they do this Nick recalls he had never checked who the previous call was from that morning. He had assumed it was from the madwoman again - or Angela, as it has turned out the others were, Laurence’s wife.

This time anyway it is Jazz.

“Baby, I have something I have to talk to you about. It’s quite, you know, urgent in a sort of way. Call me, babes, on the chewy number.”

When the message ends, Pond makes no comment. He conveys a man-of-the-world’s complete and uninvolved approval of Nick’s luck that such an evidently delicious and well-spoken woman should so address him. Even mention of the ‘chewy’ number fails to prod Pond to so much as a raised eyebrow. However:

“Well now, sir. Perhaps we can establish whether or not you did meet with your brother, Mr Laurence Lewis, on Friday?”

Nick takes a cautious drink of water.

“He came round. He only stayed about three quarters of an hour. He got here roughly about five twenty, I think, and left just after six.”

“No making a night of it, then?”

“No, Mr Pond.”

“But had you thought you would be?”

“No. He just wanted to ask me about something. I was meeting someone else later anyway. A woman.”

Pond seems to cogitate. That is decidedly the right word, cogitate, somehow heavy and slightly sticky, Nick thinks.

“Do you happen to remember,” Pond says, attaching his eyes to Nick once more, “what your brother was wearing while he was here?”

Nick does. It is odd. He had, for some reason, almost memorised Laurence’s garments that evening.

“Dark jacket and trousers, blue shirt with a stripe, dark cashmere-mix coat. Scarf. Lace-ups - leather.”

“He’d been up in the north, was it? Yes, and so he had bags with him too, I suppose.”

“I suppose so. He’d have left them in the car.”

“Yes. I have the make of car, a Volvo. Anything else distinctive?” Pond asks. “I mean, that he was wearing, or had on him?”

Nick thinks. He says, “He had two watches. A Rolex in his pocket, and a sort of strappy self-wind watch Angela gave him. He was wearing that.”

Pond only considers now. “Jewellery?”

“Just his wedding ring.”

“That would be gold.”

“Platinum.”

Pond does not write anything down. Still seems to be waiting.

Nick abruptly wonders if he should mention the small ivory counter Laurence had also pocketed. How can it be relevant?

But he becomes uncomfortable, takes another drink of water, and feels Pond evaluates his gesture for what it is: indication of something unspoken.

“Very well, sir. You’ve been helpful. Perhaps I could take your telephone number before I go.”

“I’m in the book.”

“Just to save time,” says Pond. “And your mobile too.”

Nick reveals the numbers and Pond taps them into his own mobile. Nick half expects Pond to use his phone to take a photo of Nick as well, also just to save time. But this does not occur.

Nick sees perhaps he himself should add something, ask something, as a properly concerned brother might.

“What do you think’s happened, Mr Pond?”

“Oh, I expect there’s some ordinary explanation, sir. There usually is.” Pond is ambling towards the outer door and Nick is aware of a tension inside himself beginning to slacken.

Pond pauses. “By the way,” says Pond, “can I inquire why it was Mr Lewis wanted to see you? Just to say hello? Or something else? I had the impression from his wife you and he don’t often get together. She was surprised, she said, you and Mr Lewis were fraternizing for an entire evening.”

Nick finds he is caught in a dilemma. If he tells Pond of Laurence’s indecision-decision on the female TV producer, Pond may well spill all the beans to Angela. And when Laurence then turns up, this may cause a few problems. Does Nick care? He does not like, let alone feel protective of Laurence. He detests Laurence. And yet. A vengeful-spiteful Laurence might force his way even more into Nick’s life.

“It was something about his work,” Nick says. “Something he thought I might know. Something about ivory.”

“Ivory?” Pond is intrigued?

“But I know very little about that sort of thing. I just - gave him this small ivory game-piece I had. That was all he wanted.”

“So he had a piece of ivory with him when he left.”

“Yes, Mr Pond.”

Pond stands inertly by the door, seeming like a tired dog wanting to be let out, and unable to open it. Nick undoes the door.

After Pond has left and the door is shut, Nick anticipates for some while that Pond will return, scratching on the outside of the door like a spaniel, perhaps making a dog-like whining and sniffling noise.

Nick arranges to meet Jazz at a bar they both know, off Seven Dials. When he gets there, she has not, but this is quite normal; Jazz is almost always at least one third of an hour late, and often more.

On the ‘chewy’ line, which is what she calls her “spearmint gum” mobile, (it is bright green) she had sounded rather hurried and not given details. However she has never before suggested, as now, such a quick meeting. Just as she is always late, she has always, before, given him several days’ notice.

After half an hour has elapsed, he actively expects her arrival. But Jazz does not arrive.

Another half hour goes by. Another quarter.

Nick gets himself another drink, and calls first the chewy line, then her everyday mobile. Neither produces an animate Jazz, and Nick leaves no message.

He finishes his second drink. It is now nearly ten o’clock. Some of the smaller earlier theatres are turning out, and a sleety drizzle is slanting down.

Jazz has never stood him up - few of his ‘dates’ ever have - so he gives her another twenty minutes, then walks off quickly for the tube.

When he gets back to the flat, he tries the ansa-machine to see if there is any new message from Jazz, whose full name is Jasmina. There is not. But he does then find the previous message he had assumed would