Soul

He glanced at the painting that hung above the walnut desk and immediately recognised in Icarus the young James Huntington. It must have been painted when Huntington was not much older than himself. The splendour of the youth was undeniable: his pale skin shone like Carrara marble; the fine dusting of dark hair that led down to his sex was rendered with such painstaking detail as to suggest each individual hair prickling along the skin. Hamish marvelled at the delicacy of the brushstrokes. He could almost smell the sweet sweat of the young man as he contemplated the great expanse of crisp morning air, the shafts of the rising sun transforming the valley spread before him into a tantalising patchwork of emerald hills, towers and citadels set against a distant sea. No wonder Icarus jumped, thought Hamish, and he was filled with a great exhilaration at the wealth of opportunities now spread at his own feet.

Lavinia walked down the stairs after checking on her sleeping son. Through the half-open door of the library she could hear the two men in intense discussion. Tantalisingly, the conversation was not fully audible.

Lavinia glanced around to see whether any of the servants were visible; the corridors were empty. Silently, she moved closer.

‘Well, is it such a dilemma that you cannot answer?’ The Colonel’s rumbling baritone rolled across the gentle hiss of the fireplace. An ember crackled.

‘I am prepared to embrace your findings if I am able to arrive at them through my own observation,’ Hamish said, ‘as your assistant.’

‘How very noble of you,’ Huntington replied, astounded by the impudence of the young man

. ‘And what do you imagine your tasks may be?’

‘I would be your personal secretary.’

Outside in the corridor, infuriated, Lavinia gripped the doorknob. Surely James can see through the young student’s obsequious manner, she thought, fighting the impulse to interrupt.

‘Are you sufficiently advanced in your field that you believe you can offer a contribution to a scientist whose experience spans decades?’ the Colonel continued.

‘Forgive my audacity, sir, but I have been told by my professors that I have an original eye.’

The Colonel stood up and poked the fire. As he did so, he caught the reflection of the doorway in the mirror over the fireplace. He could just make out the pale phantom of his wife’s dress in the sliver of shadow between door and frame.

‘Lavinia, would you care to join us?’ he asked without turning.

Lavinia entered the library sneezing at the thick cigar smoke. She placed herself in front of Hamish Campbell, who immediately rose to his feet.

‘My husband has an assistant. He has no need of another.’ She could not contain the tremor in her voice.

‘My wife has extraordinary hearing. I am thinking of offering her services to Scotland Yard.’

Hamish repressed a smile as Lavinia glowered at her husband.

‘Oh, do sit down.’ The Colonel strolled to a large globe in the corner and began to spin it in an attempt to dispel his irritation. ‘In truth, Lavinia, it would benefit me to have an assistant with formal training, as well as someone who will be able to help me present my lectures.’

‘But I can do that.’

‘My dear, it is essential that my work is respected, especially given its controversial nature. I cannot possibly expect my fellow anthropologists, particularly the less enlightened ones, to take me seriously if I employ my wife as my assistant.’ He turned to Hamish. ‘You understand my quandary?’

‘Indeed.’ Hamish hoped his reply was sufficiently diplomatic.

‘What remuneration would you expect for your efforts?’ the Colonel continued, ignoring Lavinia’s evident anger.

‘Merely the cost of my transport from Islington, sir, and enough to cover my inks and pencils. Luncheon, I expect, would be provided, and any other additional expenses would be negotiable,’ Hamish answered tentatively, glancing at the furious wife.

‘Then it is agreed: you may start on Monday.’

‘But what about my work on your book, the months I have laboured?’ Lavinia demanded.

‘You are now free to dedicate yourself to the many delightful pursuits of a society wife. I am surprised you are not more enthusiastic about the arrangement,’ the Colonel concluded smiling.

‘I cannot believe you would insult my intellect this way!’ Furious, Lavinia made for the door. ‘I take my leave, Mr Campbell. No doubt I shall have the pleasure of your company thrust upon me regardless.’

Hamish, being of a modern sensibility, did not take offence.

33

Los Angeles, 2002