A Traitor to Memory

“Are you assuming that I know?” he demanded. “Or are you really asking if I was the man with Katja Wolff in the garden? My relationship with Jill certainly indicates a predilection for younger women, doesn't it? And if I have that predilection now, why not then?”





“Are you going to answer?”





“Let me assure you that my current predilection is recent and directed solely at Jill.”





“So you weren't the man in the garden. The man with Katja Wolff.”





“I was not.”





I studied him. I wondered if he was telling the truth. I thought of that picture of Katja and my sister, of the way she smiled at whoever was taking it, of what that smile might mean.

He said with a tired gesture towards the racks near his chair, “I had the opportunity to look through your CDs while I was waiting for you, Gideon.”





I waited, wary about this line of talk.

“You've quite a collection. How many are there? Three hundred? Four?”





I made no response.

“A number of different interpretations of some pieces by different artists as well.”





“I'm sure there's a point in this,” I said at last.

“But not a single copy of The Archduke. Why is that? I wonder.”





“I've never been attracted to that particular piece.”





“Then why were you going to play it at Wigmore Hall?”





“Beth suggested it. Sherrill went along. I had no real objection—”





“To playing a piece of music that doesn't attract you?” he demanded. “What the hell were you thinking? You're the name, Gideon. Not Beth. Not Sherrill. You call the shots when it comes to a concert. They do not.”





“The concert's not what I want to talk about.”





“I understand that. Believe me, I entirely understand. You haven't wanted to talk about the concert from the beginning. You're seeing this damned psychiatrist, in fact, because you don't want to talk about the concert.”





“That's not true.”





“Joanne heard from Philadelphia today. They wanted to know if you'll be able to make your appearance there. The rumours have traveled to America, Gideon. How much longer do you expect to be able to hold the world at bay?”





“I'm trying to get to the root of this in the only way I know.”





“‘Trying to get to the root of this,’” he mocked. “You're doing nothing but opting for cowardice, and I wouldn't have thought that possible. I only thank God your grandfather didn't live to see this moment.”





“Are you thankful for me or for yourself?”





He drew in a slow breath. One of his hands balled into a fist. The other hand reached to cradle it. “What exactly are you saying?”





I couldn't go further. We'd reached one of those moments when it seemed to me that irreparable harm could come from carrying on. And what good could have come from carrying on? What point would be served by forcing my father to turn the mirror from me onto his own childhood? onto his adulthood? onto everything he'd done and been and attempted in order to be acceptable to the man who'd adopted him?

Freaks, freaks, freaks, Granddad had shouted at the son who'd created three of them. Because I, too, am a freak of nature, Dr. Rose. At heart I have always been one.

I said, “Cresswell-White said everyone gave evidence against Katja. Everyone from the house, he said.”





Dad watched me through narrowed eyes before he made a comment, and I couldn't tell if his hesitation had to do with my words or with my refusal to answer his question. “That should hardly have come as a surprise to you in a murder trial,” he finally responded.

“He told me I wasn't called to give evidence.”





“That's what happened. Yes.”





“I've remembered speaking to the police, though. I've remembered you and my mother arguing about my speaking to the police as well. I've remembered that there were a number of questions about the relationship between Sarah-Jane Beckett and James the Lodger.”





“Pitchford.” Dad's voice was heavier now, weary. “James Pitchford was his name.”





“Pitchford. Right. Yes. James Pitchford.” I'd been standing all the while, and now I picked up a chair and moved it to where Dad himself was sitting. I set it in front of him. “At the trial, someone said that you and my mother rowed with Katja in the days preceding … preceding what happened to Sonia.”





“She was pregnant, Gideon. She'd become lax in her responsibilities. Your sister would have been a difficult charge for anyone and—”





“Why?”