Читать книгу Julian - Larisa Jakeman - Страница 3

I will always remember that particularly cold, grey autumn morning when time seemed to be passing deliberately slowly. I was bored, and not even working on my latest composition succeeded in cheering me up. I was making absolutely no progress. The clock in the study went into slow motion; the hands appeared to be frozen in time. In fact, I felt time starting to run backwards, and all my hard work to date was beginning to unravel the more I tinkered with it. Subconsciously I panicked myself into thinking I had a form of writer’s block and I remember thinking that I was too young to be cut down so early in my prime.

Deciding that I had best distract my attention, I picked up the previous day’s newspaper and attempted to re-read the headlines and even the advertisements. I then noticed a melody in my head, which constantly intruded, into my thoughts. The notes rambled lazily in my mind, starting in the middle and not quite finishing before starting again. It was annoying to say the least, and I recognised the piece to be an earlier composition of Julian’s, my favourite in fact, but it was now becoming an unwelcome distraction.

The telephone startled me as I half-heartedly worked on the score. I had an inexplicable feeling that something was not right, and somehow this telephone call would be party to it. Picking up the receiver, a familiar voice blurted out urgently:

“Michael? It’s Pamela!”

“Mrs Winfield?” I answered, taken aback.

“Michael, is Julian with you?”

Julian’s mother Pamela was not the worrying type, yet the urgency in her voice was unmistakable. In my current mindset, I felt uneasy too, the reason for which escaped me at the time.

“No, he isn’t here, Mrs Winfield”

“Michael, I know it’s silly, but Julian didn’t come home last night. He has never done so before without telling me.”

Julian had converted the upstairs rooms of his mother’s house into a studio apartment. Pamela told me that she had not become concerned when he initially failed to appear for breakfast, but when it had reached 11 am; she had gone to wake him, only to find he had not slept there that night.

What had been strange was that Pamela seemed to think I had been out socialising with Julian the previous night, an untruth that apparently originated from Julian. In fact, he had telephoned me to say he may not be able to see me for a couple of days. I was tempted at the time to ask why, but he didn’t volunteer the information and I did not labour the point as I wanted to continue working on my music rather than getting involved in a protracted conversation.

Whatever the reason for his strange behaviour, I felt compelled for some reason, maybe out of some loyalty to Julian, not to inform Pamela of our conversation, but instead offered to telephone a few acquaintances to see if I could locate him. This entire episode now seemed out of character and I wished I had asked him where he had been going. In reality, I had no idea who Julian was likely to confide in, so I resigned myself to waiting for him to contact me at some stage whereupon I would ask him to telephone home had he not already done so.

This was not to be. At 2pm, Pamela appeared in person having driven over by car. She apparently decided she would wait no longer and had started seeking out Julian’s whereabouts herself. In certain circles, Mrs Winfield was known for having a rather overpowering personality, one that surpassed that of even the late Mr Winfield, and it was not considered wise to be an obstacle in her way. When Pamela started a crusade, she generally bulldozed her way through to the end.

“Can you tell me exactly when you last saw him, Michael?”

The question was direct and aimed like a bolt between my eyes. I could see her searching my face, reading every nervous twitch and tick. It was useless to carry on this ‘loyalty of friendship’ nonsense, as I was not inclined to mislead Pamela any further. The furrows of worry in her brow made me regret my earlier deceit. I instead told her what little I knew.

After I explained Julian’s mysterious telephone call and attempted to recount his words to me as best as I could remember them, Pamela had, much to my surprise, appeared visibly relieved.

“If Julian said he needed to go somewhere, then I am sure he had good reason to do so” she said, “What I cannot understand is why he never informed me?”

I tried diplomatically to suggest that by telling me, he knew she would eventually get to hear of it. If he had tried to tell her directly, she would probably have never let him go without an explanation. Pamela, stared at me while she mulled this logic over, and then said quietly,

“You don’t think of me as such an old battle-axe, do you?”

She mercifully spared me the need for a reply by continuing,

“I would like to think that Julian would feel confident enough to approach me on anything he was concerned about, but possibly you are right.”

She conceded the point but gave me the stern Mrs Winfield stare. She then added,

“You have told me everything haven’t you, Michael?”

After I assured her that I knew no more, her face relaxed a little and she started to leave.

“If you hear anything Michael…”

She never finished the sentence, not having to as it was meant as a warning shot across the bows. She knew I would not disappoint her twice.