Page 31 of The Society of Unknowable Objects
Although the trees along the Broad Walk were turning golden and orange as autumn advanced, the day felt colourless, the sky a featureless grey slab overhead. A fine drizzle hung in the air and Frank was waiting for her beneath a bright red umbrella, and wearing an old overcoat that was far too big for his skeletal frame.
“Sparks,” he said, as he saw her, the word carrying none of the usual delight and excitement.
“Frank,” she said, from beneath the hood of her bright yellow raincoat. They regarded each other almost awkwardly for a moment, before Frank opened his arms and pulled her into a hug beneath the umbrella.
He’s so fragile, I might break him, if not with thehugthen with the things we have to discuss.
Frank gestured south along the lengthy avenue of trees stretching away from them, leaves shimmering in the breeze. “Shall we walk?”
They started along the path and Magda passed her eyes over the vast space of Regent’s Park. There was lots of activity despite the drizzle, people hurrying along the paths and dog walkers trailing after excitable pets. There were joggers and cyclists, and people just sitting on benches and gazing at the day. As they strolled, Magda told the tale of her time in Hong Kong. She spoke about meeting James Wei and going for noodles, and as she thought of James again it was like sunlight crackingthrough dark clouds, a burst of joy at the happy memory of their brief time together.
The memory of James makes you feel like the Society used to make you feel. What might have happened if he hadn’t been killed?
She didn’t let herself dwell on these thoughts, continuing withthe story of the partner in the bank and his collection of assets. And then the trip to James’s office, the chess piece, and the man with the gun.
“He shot James,” Magda said, working hard to keep her emotions under control, to forget the image of James being thrown backwards against the glass and thumping to the floor. Her insides were knotted tight with anger and grief. “I hate feeling this way,” she muttered.
“What way?” Frank asked, walking close beside her. The drizzle had let up, and Frank collapsed his umbrella and held it like a walking stick, tapping the path in rhythm with his steps. They moved aside to let a couple of young women pass, both of them with long scarves wrapped around their necks and carrying heavy backpacks. They chatted happily in a foreign language.
“I am soangryat that man for what he did,” Magda explained, once the tourists had passed by. “For what he did to James. It was so unnecessary. And James was such a nice man, Frank, you would have liked him.”
Frank said nothing and the only sound for a few moments was the tapping of the tip of his umbrella on the ground.
“I don’t know who he was or how he knew I was there...” She glanced at Frank but his eyes were on the path, and he made no reaction to the comment. “But he killed James, and he would have killed me.”
Frank nodded slowly but still didn’t say anything. Magda sighed in frustration. She had expected some sort of response, sympathy or alarm at the thought that she might have been hurt. She turned her gaze away, shaking her head.
They turned off the Broad Walk and faced the Lion Vase, and then turned right, doubling back the way they had come, strolling along the length of the ornamental planting and shrubs, flowers with colours once vibrant but now fading, like artwork left in sunlight for many years. They found a bench and sat down together facing an old three-tieredfountain in a large circular pond, water trickling and splashing. Magda let the silence stretch, irritated at Frank’s lack of sympathy. She decided she would say nothing until he opened up, until he offered some sort of response to the dreadful events she had experienced. She focussed on Marylebone Green in the distance. Two dogs were running happy circles around each other, tongues wagging. The dogs didn’t care that it was a grey, damp day.
Frank hooked his umbrella over the back of the bench and then clasped his hands between his legs, elbows on his thighs. “Tell me about this man with the gun.”
Magda described him, from what she could remember. “I only saw him for a few moments,” she said. “He was just an ordinary man. Not short, not tall. Maybe late fifties. Blue eyes, cropped grey hair. Pale skin like he never sees the sun. Gaunt face. I think he had a Welsh accent, but quite soft. Maybe he’d lived abroad for a long time. But he knew the item was there, Frank. He didn’t just stumble across us. He came looking for it.”
Frank frowned at her certainty. “How do you know?”
Magda shrugged. “He had a bit of paper. He was following instructions. He put it away when he found us.”
Magda saw a flash in Frank’s eyes; he understood something or had made some connection. It was a brief, passing thing, a single torch flash on a dark night, but MagdaknewFrank.
“What did it look like?” he asked, almost casually, his eyes staring straight ahead as if he was distracted by the cavorting dogs. “The paper?”
“Just a piece of paper,” Magda said. “An old piece of paper folded in half a couple of times.”
He’s trying very hard to appear not interested. But he knows something.
Frank nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing as if his mind was working on some complex problem.
“What is it, Frank? What are you not telling me?”
Frank gave a quick shake of his head, not answering. A squeaking sound interrupted their conversation and Magda watched as an old woman pushed an old man in a wheelchair into the clearing. “It’s a fountain, Geoff!” she shouted, as if the man was deaf.
“Where’s the bloody café?” Geoff replied. He sounded thoroughly unimpressed by the park, it seemed. “I want a tea.” The old woman looked at Magda and gave an exaggerated eye roll as she moved past, heading towards the espresso bar across the road. Magda smiled at her.
“Where’s the artefact?” Frank asked then, leaning in a little towards her, lowering his voice. “Did you bring it?”
Annoyance yanked on Magda’s thoughts like a child demanding attention.
“God, Frank!” she exclaimed, that knot of fury in her stomach pulling a little tighter. “I just told you I could have been shot! I told you a man was killed in front of me. You haven’t even asked how I am. Don’t you care?”
