A Place of Hiding

Frank knew he had to say something because maintaining silence in this situation would be odd, so he said, “Mind you don’t put the cart first, Nobby. It’s time to go easy, I expect.”


“But you’re an ally, aren’t you?” Nobby demanded. “F-Frank, you are on m-my side in this?”

The sudden stammering marked the level of his anxiety. It had done the same when he was a boy in school, called on in class and unable to bluff his way through a recitation. His speech problem had always made Nobby seem more vulnerable than the other boys, which was appealing, but at the same time it cursed him to truth at any cost, removing from him the ability that other people possessed to disguise what they were feeling. Frank said, “It’s not a question of allies and enemies, Nobby. This whole business”—with a nod at the house to indicate what had gone on inside of it, the decisions taken and the dreams destroyed—“it’s nothing to do with me. I didn’t have the means to become involved. At least, not as you’re thinking I might have been involved.”

“B-but he’d settled on me. Frank you know he’d settled on m-me. On my design. My plan. And, l-l -listen. I’ve g-g-got to have that commi-comcommi-com miss ion.” He spat the last word out. His entire face had grown shiny with the effort. His voice had become louder, and several mourners on the path to the grave site looked their way curiously. Frank stepped out of the procession and drew Nobby with him. The coffin was being carried past the side of the conservatory and in the direction of the sculpture garden northwest of the house. A grave site there would be more than suitable, Frank realised as he saw this, Guy surrounded in death by the artists he’d patronised during his life. His hand on Nobby’s arm, Frank led him round the front of the conservatory and out of the view of those who were heading to the burial.

“It’s too soon to talk about all this,” he told his former student. “If there’s been no allocation in his will, then—”

“There’s been no architect n-named in the will,” Nobby said. “You can depend on that.” He mopped a handkerchief against his face, and this movement seemed to help him bring his speech back under control.

“Given enough time to think about things, Guy would have changed to the Guernsey plans, believe me, Frank. You know his loyalty was to the island. The idea that he’d choose a non-Guernsey architect is ridiculous. He would have seen that eventually. So now it’s just a matter of our sitting down and drawing up a coherent reason why the choice of the architect has to be changed, and that can’t be difficult, can it? Ten minutes with the plans and I can point out every problem he’s got in his design. It’s more than just the windows, Frank. This American didn’t even understand the nature of the collection.”

“But Guy already made the choice,” Frank said. “It dishonours his memory to alter it, Nobby. No, don’t speak. Listen for a moment. I know you’re disappointed. I know Guy’s choice is one you don’t like. But it was Guy’s choice to make, and it’s up to us to live with it now.”

“Guy is dead.” Nobby punched every syllable into his palm as he said it. “So regardless of whatever he decided about the look of the place, we can now build the museum the way we see fit. And the way that’s most practical and suitable. This is your project, Frank. It’s always been your project. You have the exhibits. Guy just wanted to give you a place to house them.”

He was very persuasive for all his oddity of appearance and speech. In any other circumstance Frank might have found himself being swayed to Nobby’s way of thinking. But in the present circumstance, he had to remain firm. There would be hell to pay if he didn’t. He said, “I just can’t help you, Nobby. I’m sorry.”

“But you could talk to Ruth. She’d listen to you.”

“That might be the case, but I actually wouldn’t know what to say.”

“I’d prepare you in advance. I’d give you the words.”

“If you have them, you must say them yourself.”

“But she won’t listen to me. Not the way she’d listen to you.”

Frank held out his hands, empty, and said, “I’m sorry. Nobby, I’m sorry. What more can I say?”