Gus (2nd & Last)

 ENCROACHMENT (2^nd & Last) 

by Richard Banks 

         The weather was fine and Ewan sat almost invisible, in the deep shade of a Horse Chestnut tree. On the third day of waiting his patience was finally rewarded by the sight of Gus ambling through the arch and sitting on the garden bench. He picked-up the cigar that Ewan had left on the table and gave it an appreciative sniff.        

“You will need these,” said Ewan, emerging from his hiding place and tossing a box of matches onto the table. If Gus was surprised at his host’s sudden appearance he hid it well. Indeed he seemed pleased to see him and politely acknowledged both cigar and matches.        

“Aren’t you having one?”        

Ewan confirmed that he was, and reaching into a pocket produced one ready cut like the one on the table. They lit up and for a few seconds puffed away contentedly as two plumes of smoke drifted up into the sky.        

“Do you want to go first?” asked Gus. “After all this is your meeting.”        

“My meeting?”        

“Yes, of course it’s your meeting. You’re the one who wanted it. So, what do you want to say? No complaints I hope.”        

For a few moments Ewan felt anger. He had every reason to complain but would be losing his temper make things better? He thought not. He would do what he intended: a good natured negotiation in which the mystery of Gus’s incursions would become clear and rules set for future visits.        

“I was hoping I might persuade you to knock on my front door like a normal visitor. This is our house, you know, private property.”        

“Your house? Are you sure?”        

“Of course it’s mine!” The words came out in an angry rush before he could stop them. This was not how he wanted to sound. “Yes,” he continued in a quieter voice, “it’s my house. I purchased it two months ago from the previous owners, Mr and Mrs Campbell. They moved out on the twentieth of October and we moved in on the same day. The deeds are with the Land Registry. If you don’t believe me do a check.”        

“Oh yes, the Campbells. A great loss to the village. That’s why their name is above the door. The Management Committee wanted something pastural that emphasised the house’s rural location. Meadowside Court it nearly was. Then the local history society became involved and the Campbells got the remembrance that the villagers wanted. Have you seen the plaque in the wall?”        

Ewan shook his head and tried not to be thrown off course. “And did the Campbells hold open house for everyone who wandered uninvited onto their home and garden? This is private property, you know. Only Maisie and me have a right to be here.        

“But what about the others.”        

“The others?”        

“Yes, the people who work and live here. No matter how hard you ignore them they will never be far away.”        

“Servants you mean. Of course we have one or two servants. Couldn’t maintain a large house like this without a few servants. Village people mainly, in before breakfast and home for their tea.”       

“So, who cooks your dinner?”        

“Maisie of course, my wife.”        

“Maisie?” Surely not? A captain of industry like yourself would have married a Tamsin or Cressida, the usual union of new money with old. A Maisie? No, that would never do. Even in your younger, less opulent days you would never have settled for a Maisie.”        

“Of course I’m married to Maisie. Do you think I don’t know my own wife?”        

“Well then, where is she? Introduce me to her. How is it I have never met her?”    

 “She’s out, she’s often out. Of course she exists. Didn’t you hear the racket she made  getting past the new security system?”        

 “I remember you setting it off when you were attempting to escape. At least that’s what we thought you were doing. But if you were trying to let someone in then I’m sure that’s how it was, or at least how it seemed to you.”        

 “Seemed to….? What are you blithering on about? Are you mad? Yes, of course, you’re mad. You’re the man who invades my garden and house, steals my cigars, and then disappears, lord knows how without as much as a goodbye. If that’s sanity then I have more of it than you!”         

           The sound of raised voices was carried in the breeze blowing gently towards the house. A smartly dressed woman of middling years closed the notebook in which she was writing and clicked her tongue in disapproval; loud disagreements belonged to private, soundproof, places not the back garden where they would be overheard by neighbours. This must be stopped before it got worse. She strode across the lawn towards the arch in the straightest of lines ignoring the garden path that reached the same place in a meandering curve. Her entry through it stunned both men into silence, but not for long.        

         Ewan was first to speak. “So you want to meet Maisie, do you? Well, here she is. Maisie introduce yourself to this man. Tell him who you are, my wife of ten years. And after that phone the police, tell them we have a mad man on the premises who needs to be taken to a sanatorium.”

         “Yes dear, I’m very happy to confirm who I am, but please stop shouting, we don’t want everyone knowing our business. Now Gus, I am indeed Maisie. Yes, it is a very silly name but it’s Ewan’s pet name for me. It is something that has, unfortunately, stuck: it is my penance for marrying a leading financier. If Ewan wants me to call the police and have you committed to the care of a mental hospital that is what I must do. As the dutiful wife of a rich man how could I do otherwise? But then, as we both know, that would be absurd. After all you are the Senior Consultant at Campbells, one of Europe’s best-known sanatoriums.”

         “What, him! A Consultant! At Campbell's? That’s our house, our home. What’s the matter with you woman. You’re as mad as he is. And how do you know his name? Did I say it? I don’t think I did. No, I didn’t, I definitely didn’t. So, how do you know?” 

         “Because I wrote it, dear. At first it was Hector, then Arthur, but finally I settled on Gus, my grandfather’s name. Gus and you are characters in a novel that’s gone wrong and got hopelessly confused. Not sure if you’re fact or fiction, a bit of both, I think. What I do know is that I can’t stitch it together like I used to, like my publisher expects me to. It should be finished but it’s a month late, and no matter how hard I try I can’t find a way through to the end. I had a plan, I’m sure I had a plan, but it’s gone. What is happening now makes no sense, none whatsoever. And that, strangely enough, is my only consolation; if I know it has no sense I can’t be without sense myself, not completely.

         So, you see, I must abandon you both and everyone else in this story, snap shut my writing book and plunge you all into a dark void from which you will never escape. It’s either you or me. The doctor thinks I should have it burnt; there’s no going back on that he says, but I can’t do that, not to you; so he has agreed to hide my manuscript in their basement where it will never be seen again. No, there’s to use in protesting I’ve made up my mind. There! It’s done! All I have to do now is walk back to The Campbells and hand it to the Doctor. So, here I go. I’m sorry, so sorry, but there really is no other way. For you, if not for me, this is The End.” 

 

                                                                                          Copyright Richard Banks