Chapter 25
Chapter twenty-five
Bess
"You, sir, have been next to useless."
Ed throws his hands in the air, like I'm pointing a gun at him and cautiously lowers himself into his sun lounger. "Guilty as charged."
"Do you even know what I'm talking about?"
"No." He reaches for the thermos. "You just look and sound like you're right."
This is the first time I've had quality time with Ed in days. I swear he's been avoiding me. So I ask him if he has.
He looks up at me from his task of decanting G'n'T into the thermos lid with large, alarmed, beautifully eye-lash-laden eyes. "Ahhhh," is all he manages to articulate.
"It's a simple 'yes' or 'no' question."
Ed resumes his task and waits until he's finished before replying. "Can I have a 'maybe' option?"
I turn around to face him squarely. "Ed. I need you to help me solve the puzzle of these letters and you don't seem to want to."
He hesitates before saying, "What part of the puzzle?"
"Take your pick. Who's sending the letters. Who they're written by. Who they're to. You might be able to work it out if you spent less time disapproving of the whole thing."
"I don't...it's not exactly that I disapprove of it."
"What is it, then?"
"It's..." He looks out to sea, blinks several times, then turns back to me with, "...complicated."
I throw him a "Don't you shrug me off with 'it's complicated'" look and he adds, "I have mixed feelings about the whole thing. And that's the most you're going to get from me, because I can see that it's making a lot of money that you badly need."
"Right. So you won't say you don't like it, but you're going to act as if you don't anyway."
"Am I?"
"Yeah."
He sips from his cup. "I was never any good at drama in school."
With all the pausing and delaying of his responses, he looks like he's desperately trying to keep it cool.
I think I understand. Whatever his objection is, he cares about me.
He wants to be a supportive friend, but if there's one thing I can say for sure about Ed Chakrabarti, it's that he is principled to a fault.
And something about this, probably all the wooing of the social media masses, or using someone's most private thoughts and feelings without their consent due to their being-dead status is not sitting comfortably with him.
I admire it about him. I really do. It's just very inconvenient at times.
"Please, Ed."
He sighs and rests his cup on his stomach. "Okay. What have you got?"
Reaching for my notebook, I say, "I'm so glad you asked.
" I open it to the page dedicated to the mode of letter delivery.
"All of them, apart from the first one, have been placed in books.
" Putting it on the table between us, so we can both read it, I try for the millionth time to make sense from it.
The first bullet point reads:
23/7: A book on bird watching called Winged Wonders by Timothy Dale at Dewey number 598.2, and the letter placed at the start of chapter seven, Finding Exotics. Left in Returns slot.
The other five read similarly – the date, the name of the book, the Dewey number, the chapter the letter was placed inside, and where it was found.
Ed sits back from leaning in to read. "There's a lot of information to try and find meaning from."
"I know, right? There could be clues in any part of it. I wouldn't have the first idea how to tackle a number cipher if the Dewey number's significant. Or what if the clues aren't literal and I have to do word association with the subject matter?"
"Have your viewers been helpful?"
Yes. No. "Plenty of theories. Nothing that allows me to make sense of it."
Ed "Hmm"s. "You do know we have an expert in espionage in our midst?"
"Carlos?" I say with a laugh. "Carlos spent the seventies on an exclusive mushroom diet and never escaped the hallucinogen-induced fantasy of being an expert in espionage." I place my notebook on Ed's lap, but he ignores it and looks out at the wood-covered headland by the port.
"You know," he says, "I kind of think I believe Carlos.
That he did work for MI6 and his whole supposed delusional 'I'm now being watched by MI5 to make sure I don't spill any state secrets' or whatever is a double bluff.
No one believes him, because he's set himself up to look like he's an eccentric. "
"But why not just say nothing? No one would suspect him of being an MI6 agent anyway if he didn't talk about it."
Ed shrugs his shoulders. "True. I like thinking he actually was one, though. It's a better reality than him thinking he was one out of some state of drug-induced madness."
One of the things I love about Ed is his ability to see the best in people, or, in this case, imagine it. I hope that Ed's in Port Derrum for good. I think I need him in my life.
He picks up the notebook and looks at it for a long time. "I honestly have no idea how to tackle this," he says with what sounds oddly like relief. "It could be anything."
"Make yourself useful then and help me find who's delivering them.
They managed to get into the office area and put one of the books on your chair, for goodness sake.
It shouldn't be too hard to notice. They have to be a regular library user.
Look for the ones that blend in, like an elderly person, or a harried mum with an energetic toddler.
Actually that's good cover that. It would give them the excuse of getting around the library and in places they're not allowed. "
"Do you know how many people come into the library?"
"No, but I'm guessing you're going to say 'a lot'."
"A lot. A lot for a little library. We get tourists coming in, too. It's not just local users."
"But there's two of you there. How can both of you miss someone sneaking around putting books in strange places?"
"The operative word being 'two'. There's only two of us. It's not many eyes for watching a lot of people."
I growl and throw the hand not holding my glass in the air. "How do I solve this if it's too obscure? I'm beginning to wonder if the person delivering the letters wants me to."
"Maybe. Or maybe you're meant to get all of the letters before it makes sense."
Emitting a sigh, I say, "I hope you're right, because I can't see a pattern anywhere.
Not in the subject matter, not in the names and the titles.
I don't want to even think about the numbers.
" I look over at Ed. "You're one of the most intelligent people I know.
If you haven't got a clue, I don't have a chance. "
Ed looks back at me, surprise on his face. "Am I?"
"Well, yeah. How do you not know how smart you are? And you have exceptional emotional intelligence."
His eyes dart away from mine and he shifts in his seat.
"Why are you uneasy about that comment? Aren't you all comfortable in your 'I'm in touch with my emotions'-flavoured man-skin? That kind of praise has never embarrassed you before."
"I'm not embarrassed. I'm..." he trails off.
"Is it complicated again?"
He runs a hand through his thick hair and it momentarily stays balanced on top of his head before falling back into place over his eyes. He could really do with a haircut. "Yeah. It's complicated as fuck."
Ed has never not told me stuff. We've always been completely open and unafraid to talk about our deepest, darkest thoughts with each other. This isn't like him and I don't like it. "What's going on with you? Are you okay?"
When he still doesn't say anything, I offer, "Okay. I'll start with sharing stuff that's not easy to share. And then it's your turn."
Ed looks at me with a crease between his brows, which is not much of an indication of agreement, but I can tell he wants to know what I'm about to share.
So I take a deep breath, let it out, and chase another one. Here goes. "That 'B', right at the start, has the strangest effect. It feels like the letters could be written to me. That I'm his 'B'. That one little letter is so unsettling. But also...kind of exhilarating."
Ed looks away from me and down into his drink.
"What? What are you thinking?"
He shifts in his seat and the ice cubes clink against each other. "I, ah. I can see how it might have that effect on you."
"And? Come on. You clearly have more you want to say about it."
He slides his eyes over to me before flicking them away. "Do you want them to be written to you?"
"Well, I mean, obviously they weren't. But I'm pretty sure I like imagining they were." I swirl my gin and the ice clunks against the side of the glass. "That's weird isn't it? That's why you've gone all weird."
Ed laughs. It's short, like he's forced it out of himself. "For someone who's been as romance-starved as you, it's understandable."
We both take a drink and look out over the town. It's close to dinner time, but the day is still in full swing, the sun high. People, kids, still doing things, playing outside.
A breeze blows against our faces and the sound of all that activity gets momentarily louder.
I break our silence. "It's just they have this effect on me, you know?"
Ed doesn't say anything. Doesn't move. He continues to peer at the horizon. It doesn't make it easier to articulate what I think I should. What I want to, because he's my best friend and I have to share it with someone.
"I have an emotional reaction."
This gets a nod.
"More than what you've seen on video."
Ed glances at me then. "What do you mean?"
"Like...my own...romantic feelings."
"About...the soldier?"
My "Yeah" is very quiet.
So is Ed's "Oh".
"Sad, huh?" I laugh. It sounds bitter. "And kind of inevitable. All this time railing against falling for modern men, because they under appreciate women, and I go and fall for a dead man."
Ed loses the grip on the thermos lid and it falls between his legs, its contents spilling backwards towards his crotch. He leaps out of the leaner and stares down at the puddle slowly draining through the weave of the fabric.
"My sentiment exactly," I say.
He leans down and plucks the lid from the seat. His hand shakes.
"What..." he says, followed by, "I, ah..." Without finishing the sentence, he walks over to the chimney and sits on its edge, placing the empty lid beside him. "I don't really know what to say to that."
"There isn't anything to say. I'm not looking for advice or sympathy or anything. It's just what's happening and I'll get over it. Maybe when we find out who he is and there's some sort of closure."
"Right." Ed isn't looking at me. He's looking past me, his eyes unfocused.
I say, "It's your turn," and it takes him a couple of seconds to pull himself out of whatever place he was in.
"What?"
"I shared my bombshell and now it's your turn. I know there’s something up. Is it your job? Did your ex phone?"
He blows air out of his cheeks. "Well, I'm very worried about this whole Theodore Pinkerton affair. A lot. It affects many people I care deeply about."
"And you feel powerless to do anything about it?"
He looks away from me, almost as if I've made him uncomfortable again.
"Well, I'm not worried."
Ed emits a bark of laughter, but the amusement fades from his face almost immediately. "You know what? That doesn't surprise me in the least, Bess the Fearless Harvey. I don't know how you do it."
"Right now I'm doing it because I’ve come up with a new plan. It's a good one. A way for the gallery to capitalise on my TikTok fame."
He looks at me for several moments, before saying, "Of course you have. What's your plan?"
I take a sip from my glass and look out across the rooftops. "All will be revealed in the goodness of time."