2
The Establishment
Writing my memoirs is a bizarre thing to do. I’m not famous, as no one would recognise either my face or my name, yet, I‘ve led a full, enriched, and most peculiar life. I’d hardly believe it myself and these memoirs may read like a work of science fiction, still, I feel compelled to put pen to paper, or finger to typewriter to record the absurdities of my life. Maybe this will help me put things into perspective and understand why events progressed as they did, why I lost everything I cared about, and what the future may hold for me.
I sat in Max’s Daimler, chauffeured by his own personal driver, watching the Surrey countryside roll past my window as if on a cinema screen. As we drove through towns and villages, I watched with detachment as paperboys and postmen performed their daily duties, wearing their shirt, tie, and flat peaked caps.
Milkmen made deliveries from a hand pulled cart, while horse drawn drays transported coal to houses, the men with their blackened hands lugging sacks and emptying coal into the cellars. People rode bicycles to work, or walked children to the shops. Bakers and butchers opened up, and housewives waited to secure their daily bread and small ration of meat. Even though the Second World War had concluded five years ago, times were still austere.
The drive gave me chance to reflect, ponder my achievements and tragedies to date, and speculate on the decision I’d made.
Max had been correct in his observations. I was born in St Albans on the 21st of February 1921 at 11:30 a.m, Greenwich Mean Time. My father, Peter Eldridge, was headmaster of a local grammar school and eventually died of lung cancer, most likely as a result of excessive pipe tobacco. That forms one of my strongest memories of early childhood, as from beyond the back of his favourite armchair, I used to watch the smoke puffing, twisting and writhing in the air. He loved a cup of Earl Grey to accompany the pipe; those two were like an old married couple in themselves. He was an excellent parent though, and I attained my achievements due to his influence and drive.
My mother, Margaret, was a proud and honourable woman, and a conspicuous red-head. She outlived my father by several years and died from heart failure eventually. I inherited her compassion, humour, and strong constitution. She was a very religious woman and inherently charitable, active in the community and a church regular, so my spiritual curiosities are a direct result of her influence.
We moved to London early in my life, because my father accepted the position of headmaster at the Grammar School, where he worked until his retirement. Therefore, this great city provides many of my formative memories. I vaguely recall the Thames flooding in 1928 and people wading in dirty water up to their knees in the streets, not a pleasant experience in winter. The water reached the downstairs windowsills, lapped around the wheels of the sparsely parked Austin 7 family cars, and broke embankment walls in places. The floodwater had an eerie stillness at night, illuminated by gas street lamps in places.
I also clearly remember the excitement of our first rotary dial telephone. Frequently, I got into trouble, accidentally on purpose calling the operator on the manual switchboard, as I played with the dial a little too often. They were a very polite bunch of women, those operators, and my first experience of chatting up the female of the species.
During the twenties and thirties, home comforts were very basic indeed. You slept in your jumpers and big socks, and your bed would be layered with blankets because there was no heating in your room. In the winter, it was so cold you found a layer of ice on the inside of your window. The covers and clothes created such cosiness, you were extremely reluctant to throw the blankets off in the morning and place your feet on the cold lino, which covered the floor.
You did everything in the kitchen: ate, drank, chatted, washed in a tin bath in front of the open fire, and listened to the wireless. Toilets were outside and incredibly draughty places in the winter. No one locked their front doors, children played outside in the street, babies were parked outside in their perambulators, and children were rigorously disciplined at home and school. If you got into trouble with the teacher, your parents would find out and you’d get another dose of discipline at home too. At Christmas, you found an orange, some nuts, and a small piece of chocolate in the stocking at the foot of the bed.
These two decades had a great buzz and vibe though. My mother loved jazz music, which signalled more hopeful times after the conclusion of the First World War, and that was when the dance halls became popular. She was fascinated with the wireless, otherwise known as the radio, and often played in the kitchen, where she attempted to encourage my father to dance with her. I recall him having two left feet, much to her consternation. She loved the movies too and sometimes my big sister, Patricia, looked after my brother and I while my parents caught the latest talkie.
As a child, I had an aptitude for science and mathematics, not jazz music or dance. My father quickly seized upon this, so I was never short of books and scientific toys, however, my mother remained at odds with science. I recall one of my discussions with her, aged seven. I was sitting at the kitchen table with a book while she cooked.
“How did the Earth, planets and stars get made?”
“Well, God made everything, my darling.”
I remember seriously considering her statement.
“But six days is not very long to create the heavens and Earth, with all its animals and people.”
I recall the confusion on her face.
“He’s God, and is all powerful in heaven,” she replied.
It always came back to God, like a cosmic boomerang.
“But, if God is a man, how can he be all powerful in heaven?”
She smiled, but it was forced.
“Your science makes you ask too many questions, sweetheart, sometimes you just need to believe.”
And thus began the conflict. Consequently, I always found it difficult to reconcile my scientific and mathematical knowledge with the concept of God. However, I remained inherently curious about the concept; it was a personal paradox.
At university, I met the love of my life, a classic English rose with long blonde hair and porcelain skin. Madeleine was smart, funny, sensitive, compassionate, and caring. I knew on our first date that we’d marry and only shortly after, we got engaged. However, our plans didn’t come to pass, as she became a casualty of the war.
Air raids began on ‘Black Saturday’, which was the 7th of September 1940, and they continued for around two months. Madeleine died on the 10th of October 1940 on her way to the underground to take shelter. I was already safe in my parents’ Anderson Shelter, listening to the shrieking roar of the blitz get closer and closer, the thumping of the bombs, with the possibility of being blown to bits at any moment. So far in my life, there’d been a semblance of order, absolute order with everything being so predictable, it was actually unreal. Despite the war, my destiny had been clear. Perhaps it was inevitable that chaos would rear its ugly head, ironic for a scientist who studied the very nature of uncertainty and quantum probabilities.
I didn’t know how to grieve, and I just sat quietly with our favourite songs playing in the background. We’d enjoyed Glenn Miller, Duke Ellington, and the songs of Cole Porter, and they sounded so poignant now. Contemplation became my drug. To deal with the emptiness, I immersed myself in the completion of my degree and endeavoured to undertake a PhD scholarship in quantum mechanics. At the time, this seemed heartless and disrespectful to her memory, but the truth of the matter was that I needed a reason to continue with my life. So, as Londoners became more defiant and strengthened their resolve in the war effort, I made intellectual pursuits the purpose of my life, while we aerially bombarded Germany.
My research began in 1943, a monumental step for me and the zenith of intellectualism. That same year, there’d been synchronous research of iconic status. In Auschwitz, Josef Mengele tortured twins in grotesque investigations into heredity, Erwin Schrodinger lectured at TrinityCollege, attempting to understand chromosomes and life, and DNA was identified as the manifestation of heredity. Of course, no one then could conceive of DNA’s structure, remember, it was infantile research as of then. My work focused on electro-magnetic fields. Others had a passion for biological life whereas I was more interested in cosmic life, the building blocks and forces of the universe.
Love didn’t figure in my life. Of course, I dated a number of women, albeit briefly, but they weren’t Madeleine, and I couldn’t bring myself to love again. If anything, I fell in love with my work. Quantum mechanics filled my life with meaning. I felt closer to understanding the universe, and even thought I may find some faint whisper of spiritual life within the cosmos.
During this period in my life, the war in Europe and Japan concluded, with much celebration in the land. I became part of the real world again and joined in the singing and dancing, the relief of the finality of the conflict. We grieved for the Jews, who were exterminated in the Nazi death camps, and we witnessed via television the destruction of two Japanese cities by atomic bombs. I sensed that although we tasted victory, our governments were developing fearsome weapons with the capacity to wipe out mankind.
Soon after my doctorate, I fell into lecturing, as teachers often do. I finally started a real job at the ripe old age of twenty seven, and 1948 was also an important year historically. Someone shot Ghandi, the new state of Israel came into existence, the Soviet Union’s blockade of Berlin began, the Kinsey Report into the Sexual Behaviour of the Human Male was published, and London staged the Olympic Games, as no other city wanted to or could afford to act as host. Not surprisingly, Germany and Japan were banned from competing in this post-war era.
1948 also seemed to signify the path my life would take in the future. The science faculty wished to recruit more students, and asked me to promote new developments in quantum theory as a way of increasing their roll. In one lecture, someone asked if atomic particles formed the basis of the human soul.
I’d never considered searching for the soul. How could it even be observed, or measured? Reality has always been gauged by the things around us that we can see, touch, or observe. Our world consists of matter, which is comprised of atoms, broken down into neutrons and electrons. The soul is none of the above.
I thought very little of this interaction at the time, more concerned with a mysterious woman who’d divulged the details of a top secret experiment. Ironically, I never answered his question and the mysterious woman never re-appeared in my life. For a few months, I became preoccupied with her, but the man who pondered the soul did make a re-appearance. His offer came out of the blue, and may turn out to be something on a par with the Devil’s temptation of Jesus, or the eureka moment every scientist desires. Anyway, by now you’ve realised that I accepted his offer…
***
The Daimler pulled up at Max Richardson’s research facility on a fine day at the end of August 1950. Paul stared out of the window at a stately manor house, as the tyres of the Daimler crunched on the gravel. Trees surrounded the building, which enhanced its aura of privacy and suggested a closed shop. Max met him at the imposing front door and his personal driver, John Eames, took Paul’s suitcases.
The formidable hallway presented a grand staircase, high ceilings, and oak panelling, with illustrious reds and crimsons adorning the walls. Extravagant statues and paintings posed artistically.
“Welcome to The Establishment, Paul,” Max said, with warmth and pride, “Please, let me show you around.”
John disappeared with the suitcases while Max led the way forward. Downstairs to the left, Paul saw a generous sitting room, furnished in green leather sofas and decorated with William Morris wallpaper. It adjoined to a dining area, with one large oak table and chairs, followed by a kitchen with free standing oak units.
“This is a communal living area for research seniors and fellows, plus any volunteers, read lab rats, who may be participating in any of our studies. Feel free to make yourself at home, there’s a radio and a phonograph in the corner of the sitting room. I employ a cook, so everyone based here can sit and enjoy an evening meal together.”
Paul reflected briefly how strange it would be living here. In effect, he’d be AWOL from the scientific community for a while, so this opportunity could potentially alienate him from that circle, or it could propel him towards the ultimate accolade.
They ascended the stairs and on the left hand side, he saw a number of rooms for staff and guests, with a communal bathroom. On the right hand side, he observed three laboratories and a storeroom.
“Any equipment you don’t find in the labs will be located in the storeroom. Specific items can be custom built. If you wish to call upon the services of our supplier, I will give you their telephone number.”
Max showed him his room, which Paul found pleasantly spacious and ostentatious. It had a four poster Victorian bed, and oil paintings of former residents adorned the walls. A red patterned rug covered oak floorboards and an armchair faced the black, cast iron fireplace. Paul noted the desk in the corner.
“This is the finest room,” Max said, “suitable for the finest of my staff.”
Paul felt honoured.
They descended the stairs and Max paused in the hallway. Paul observed a number of offices set back from the hall, complete with filing cabinets, oak desks, leather armchairs, and doors with individual nameplates. One had Dr. Paul Eldridge engraved on it. It was a touching gesture.
Max led Paul into his new office, where they sat in leather armchairs, appraising each other across the solid oak desk. The walls had dark blue wallpaper, and a huge sash window overlooked the garden, which in itself was worthy of a tour. Max lit a cigar and offered one to Paul, who accepted.
“Well, it’s not the research facility I envisioned,” Paul said, finally.
Max shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s one of many.”
He blew out cigar smoke with a cool demeanour, psychologically masticating the potential that lay ahead.
“Something tells me you’re going to be the most significant person ever to work at The Establishment.”
Paul began to shrug off his initial reservations. Maybe he’d been trying to find ulterior motives where there were none, no sense in looking a gift horse in the mouth, as the cliché went. He’d handed in his resignation, expressed a desire for more out of life, taken a leap of faith and landed on his feet.
“Here’s to the study of the soul,” Max said, leaning back in his chair.
“When do we start?” Paul said, with a satisfied smile.
***
I had everything in the palm of my hand, yet the world suddenly became more uncertain. Would my findings explode faith in one fell swoop, or vindicate what millions of people around the world believed? Could I prove the existence of the soul? I’d sought a challenge in my life so vociferously and it had found me, changing the entire impetus of my life, so why did I feel so prickly?
I spent the first week ambling, too much time wasted at my desk, pondering the incredible resources I had at the tip of my fingers. Occasionally, I picked up a photograph of Madeleine, wondering if she watched over me from some form of alternative quantum state. I contemplated contacting my family, but what would I say? This wasn’t the type of research you openly discussed with members of the general public.
Between my first arrival and the final presentation of my findings, two and a half years elapsed. My own personal perception of the world remained static in the mean time, while the Korean War played out. As a spark of inspiration ignited me, namely the presence of Max Richardson with a face of expectation, UN forces crossed the 38th parallel into North Korea. As I drafted my proposal, forces captured the capital. By the time truce talks began in the summer of 1951, I’d built and tested the necessary equipment for my research.
Music filtered through. I listened to Maria Callas on the radio, Gene Kelly warbling ‘Singing in the Rain’, and I acquired a taste for Billie Holiday as I began testing the first volunteers. Movie stars flared into recognition, and burned brightly in my absence from the world. I missed a classic piece of early science fiction called ‘The Day the Earth Stood Still’, but none of that mattered while I chased and fulfilled my dream to completion.
Because I found taking measurements monotonous, I trained a research assistant to carry out the nitty-gritty, while I reclaimed the tingle of anticipation in scientific discovery. Before long, I found myself typing out an extensive and exhausting report. Now I just had to present it to Max.
***
On the 2nd of April 1953, some six weeks after his 32nd birthday, Paul attended the board meeting for The Establishment’s committee, a conglomerate of funding bodies, directors, and executives with vested interests in the findings. The dining room became a makeshift board room, and Max locked the whole Establishment down to exclude any irrelevant members of staff. Other than Max, ten people comprising nine men and just one woman sat stiffly at the table, shuffling papers. Paul didn’t recognise any of them, and they represented a faceless but powerful behind the scenes body. Everyone wore suits, but nothing to distinguish who they were, or their motives for attending this presentation.
Max chaired the committee, and gestured for Paul to stand at the foot of the table.
“We’d like to thank you for your persistence in this endeavour, your contribution is greatly valued by the committee. I see you have brought along your thesis. Could you enlighten us with an executive summary?”
Paul felt slightly intimidated by the humourless, staring people but proceeded. “We have tested and measured seven hundred people over a period of two years, ordinary people from many walks of life. For each person, I collated measurements of an electromagnetic phenomenon and in all cases, I found the presence of a weak field. The precise readings are contained in this thesis.”
Paul gestured to a thick wad of paper, the contents of which he’d laboriously typed.
“The human electromagnetic field is generally a weak one, extending on average three to four inches from the skin, but in twenty five percent of the sample, I found evidence of a much stronger field, giving higher readings and extending some six to ten inches from the skin.”
Some of the committee discussed the findings inaudibly amongst themselves, while Max simply smiled to himself.
Paul continued. “At present I’m unable to ascertain the origin of the human electromagnetic field, or whether indeed it is the soul. I can confirm, at least, the existence of a field that surrounds the body. The logical assumption would be that it emanates from the brain or body tissues but to draw a definitive conclusion, I’d need to study living tissue. I believe such a study would be unethical.”
Max smiled wryly at the last comment. He reached across the table and picked up Paul’s thesis, flicked through it and set it down.
Paul continued, giving details of his methodology, results and inconclusive summary, relieved most of the committee could follow his scientific jargon. They nodded appreciatively at the right moments, and Paul gained confidence as the presentation progressed.
“I’m very impressed with your findings, and your dedication to The Establishment,” Max congratulated. “We’ll discuss the thesis, and indicate how we’d like to move forward.”
Paul left his thesis with the committee, curious about its destination. Would it be published? Did it compare to Watson and Crick’s recent discovery of DNA’s structure? Well, hardly, but Paul felt satisfied with his accomplishment. He sat in his office, looking out at the garden, aware of the committee chattering in the dining room not too far away. Putting any ethical concerns to the back of his mind, he decided not to complain as he enjoyed working at The Establishment. During the past few years, he’d earned an excellent salary and while living here, he could take country walks, ride a horse, or go fishing. His life lacked romance, but research consumed his time and unlike his peers, finding a wife was not cause for concern. He had indeed landed on his feet.
Meanwhile, the committee discussed Paul’s research over a pot of coffee and some digestive biscuits.
“I think he’s ready for the next stage,” Max concluded.
A shrewd looking man in an expensive suit leaned forward and responded, revealing an American accent.
“I hope your judgment is correct. We need Dr. Eldridge as an ally in our endeavours, particularly in this new era of cutting edge research.”
“He has demonstrated his loyalty and ambition, plus his extraordinary aptitude for pushing the boundaries of discovery. We’ll commence with testing the effects of electromagnetic fields on the mind and body. It’s just a natural progression of the current research, so he won’t question it.”
Another American interjected, a man with dark hair swept away from his face.
“You certainly have a gift for locating extraordinary talent, Max.”
A smile flickered across Max’s face briefly, although it didn’t communicate pride.
“All because of the extraordinary talent that I already have in my possession.”
Rising from the table, Max concluded the meeting and left the room, seeking out Paul. He knocked on his office door before entering, and found Paul appreciating the garden through the window.
“The committee is highly satisfied with your research, and will be offering some new objectives shortly,” he announced.
Paul acknowledged this with a smile, so Max continued.
“We’re giving you a month off, so that you can take a break…relax. I also have a few surprises for you. The first is that my driver will collect you at 7:30 tonight, as you’re invited to an evening of wine, women, and song at my house. The dress code is formal.”
“Thank you for the invitation. What’s the second surprise?”
“It wouldn’t be much of a surprise if I revealed all my secrets, would it?”
Max left, presumably to prepare for the evening to come. Paul smiled in recognition of Max’s invitation. How could he refuse?
***
The Daimler brought Paul to Max’s secret residence, the home he never spoke about. It met Paul’s expectations in terms of its elegance, this three-bedroom coach house located within the grounds of The Establishment. Ivy swathed the exterior of the house, and it had grand sash windows. To the right of the house, Paul noted an attached garage for Max’s cars, which were currently out of sight. The well tended garden possessed an inordinately pretty symmetry, with shrubs and flowers placed in a design of absolute order.
He approached the front door, a huge, oak panelled leviathan with two columns either side, supporting a classic porch. Inside, Paul discovered it had been tastefully furnished and not quite as ostentatious as he’d imagined, perhaps it reflected Max’s quieter, inner sanctum.
The large hallway had a flagstone floor, walls of aqua green and several antique pictures hung in strategic places, depicting unknown personages and landscapes. They looked collectable as opposed to personal items. A huge oak staircase with a carpet runner gave an open invitation to go upstairs, curving in a gentle semi-circle. Three coat stands stood to attention in the corner under the stairs, loaded with outdoor clothing and hats.
He accessed the main living area through an open archway with wooden architrave. Paul found himself in a beautiful room, dominated by a decorative plaster ceiling, complete with chandelier, while the room itself contained simple and functional furniture. Chesterfield sofas and armchairs awaited guests’ relaxation, plus free standing items made of oak offered the room additional warmth. An elaborate cast iron and tiled fireplace contributed style, although no flames burned in there tonight, and above it hung an ornate mirror. The walls were plain red and antique pictures completed the decor.
The dining area adjoined this room, accessed through oak double doors. It had simplicity, with stone coloured walls and a few pictures, although the huge oak table had been pushed aside to make more space. Leading from this room hid a study, full of oak panelling, a heavy desk, some filing cabinets and bookcases. A passage connected the dining room with a huge kitchen, which had oak cabinets, a breakfast table, and Aga stove.
Overall, his house had traditional overtones, although Paul didn’t observe any family portraits, which gave it a strangely impersonal feel. Questions often crossed Paul’s mind regarding how Max Richardson had acquired his wealth. There never appeared to be a shortage of money, and Max spent over half of his time away from The Establishment. Sometimes, Paul caught a glimpse of unnamed men entering and leaving the facility late at night, which was rather disconcerting but at the end of the day, it was none of his business how Max operated. He hadn’t made an erroneous decision coming to work here, as the material benefits outweighed the ethical doubts in the back of his mind.
Paul had arrived at the same time as a number of other guests, a mixture of men and women, none of which appeared to be married to each other. Max had never mentioned a wife, and Paul assumed it was because he didn’t want to share his wealth by having to provide for a woman.
He filtered into the congregation, realising he didn’t recognise anyone. Socialising had started to become a distant memory, and he’d gotten so used to discussing research, methodologies, results and conclusions that the art of normal conversation eluded him. Cigarette and cigar smoke hung in the air, and he heard an ensemble of voices with various dialects. Vintage wine and quality champagne made the rounds along with exquisite food, although many of the women ate little of it.
A group of wealthy looking men formed an intellectual clique, creating great clouds of tobacco smoke. Paul cocked his ear in their direction to listen to the politically driven conversation.
“Well, at least Stalin got his just desserts,” he heard one man comment, who had a pencil thin moustache and wore black and white spats, straight from the twenties.
“Why do you draw that conclusion?” another questioned him, a slightly younger man with immaculate brown hair and a staid suit. “Where was the legal and moral punishment for his crimes, his purges..?”
“My dear fellow,” came the response, “he made doctors the victims of his latest purge, so that when he required medical attention, the very people who could have helped him were imprisoned. The irony! You see, your actions in life have a nasty habit of coming back to bite you on the backside.”
There were murmurs of agreement, and Paul diverted his attention to a group of four peroxide women, who were engaged in their own discussion.
“I can’t wait for Queen Elizabeth’s coronation,” one woman said. “There’s going to be such a street party, with bunting and tables of food.”
“I think it’s going to be on the television,” added another, “so it will be like we’re actually there. How wonderful.”
“We’ve always managed perfectly well with the wireless,” another said.
Max spotted Paul and made a beeline for him, placing a glass of wine into his hand. His demeanour had certainly changed now that business had been put aside, and he steered Paul over to a group of women.
“I’d like to introduce you to Roslyn, Margaret, and Eve, the longest serving members of the circle.”
They all smiled, revealing shiny white teeth. Roslyn had mahogany hair set in the classic forties wave while Margaret, a brunette, favoured the long and straight look. Eve had peroxide hair and modelled herself like Marilyn Monroe, the new star of Hollywood. They were all large breasted with hour glass figures, and eager to please.
“Take your pick,” said Max, “I highly recommend all three.”
Paul watched, as Max joined the group of four peroxide blondes he’d previously eavesdropped.
At that moment, some big band music typical of the forties kicked up, and Paul recognised Glenn Miller’s ‘In the Mood’ from its rousing sax introduction. Roslyn gestured to him to dance and he took up the offer, wishing he’d inherited his mother’s coordinated capabilities. After the song had finished, she moved onto another partner and a young, voluptuous blonde lady replaced her, who introduced herself as Elizabeth.
“You must be a newcomer,” she said, “I’ve never seen you here before.”
“Yes, although I’ve been working at The Establishment for over two years now.”
The name didn’t seem to register with her but they continued dancing, in a somewhat stilted fashion. When the song stopped, they moved over to the side of the room where she sparked up a cigarette, drawing on it heavily.
“So,” she began, “what do you do for a living?”
“I’m a researcher,” he replied succinctly, cautious of revealing too much.
“Research? That sounds very…intellectual.”
“My background is science, it’s my current love.”
Elizabeth’s eyes registered the fact and, simultaneously, she glanced at his left hand.
“So, you’re not married?”
“Well, no… my fiancée died in a blitz.” For some reason it sounded like a clichéd tragedy.
Elizabeth leaned closer as she spoke.
“And, there hasn’t been anyone since?”
Paul responded with a shake of the head, aware of her interest.
From that point onwards, Elizabeth decided to glue herself, although not literally, to Paul’s side. He glanced over to see Max idly chatting with the three women he’d introduced earlier, and as the night progressed, everyone became suitably intoxicated. Wine and champagne released inhibitions, even Paul began to feel more relaxed and opened up socially. He realised that he’d been admitted to Max’s inner circle, quite an established one by the looks of it, and he knew he’d never see him in the same light ever again.
Elizabeth became more flirtatious with the increased alcohol intake. It had been a few years since he’d received any female attention, discounting a few of the research volunteers who noted the lack of wedding band. Max accompanied Roslyn and Eve upstairs and glanced over at Paul, giving him a sly wink. Elizabeth smiled and looked him straight in the eye, in a fashion that telepathically suggested they do the same. She held out her hand and Paul took it, such a delicate little thing it was. She led him up the stairs and looked for an available bedroom, opening doors and finding the rooms occupied.
Max, Eve, and Roslyn occupied the main bedroom and Paul observed them in various states of undress. He caught Max in the process of snorting a line of white powder from Eve’s naked stomach, as she lay on the four poster bed. Roslyn sidled up to Max, ready to give pleasure. Paul was unprepared for this snapshot, and he briefly saw Max smile surreptitiously before Elizabeth closed the door.
The next room contained two men and two women engaged in straightforward sex, so Eve had high hopes for the last bedroom. Unfortunately, it too was occupied, this time by a man who had passed out due to an excess of alcohol. A disgruntled brunette left the room. Elizabeth refused to be deterred.
“Ever done it in a bathroom, Paul?” she asked.
She pushed him gently so that he flopped onto the toilet, with the lid down of course. Kicking the door shut, she slipped her dress off, revealing a lack of underwear and sat astride him, pushing her generous cleavage into his face. It had been a good, correction, bad few years since he’d been physical with a woman, and Elizabeth offered a pretty reason to reacquaint himself with pleasures of the flesh. The alcohol intoxication removed the barriers he’d normally experience in this odd situation.
They didn’t kiss, which was no big issue for Paul, and he grabbed her buttocks as she rode up and down on him. Sex was always divine after such a long abstinence…the hot feeling of being inside a woman, being able to hold her tight and experience an intense climax, burying his face in between her breasts and forgetting everything for a moment.
Max must have heard his finale, as he opened the door of the bathroom just a few minutes later and stood in the doorway, semi-clothed, drink in hand.
“Now that you’ve been broken in, why don’t you and Elizabeth join me in the master bedroom? You’re just getting warmed up and she needs a little girl on girl treat, I think.”
Despite the unusual request, the wine and sexuality of the environment aided his decision.
When Paul and Elizabeth entered the room, Eve lay on the bed while Roslyn sat in the leather chair, one leg draped over the arm and little left to the imagination. Elizabeth joined Eve on the bed and proceeded to pleasure her, while Roslyn placed Paul in the chair, then knelt down. Max was happy to be a temporary voyeur and, as he closed the door, he gave a satisfied smile. Some while later, a canon of ecstasy rang out, completing Paul’s initiation.
***
Several hours later, Paul opened his eyes to find himself in one of the spare beds, and immediately closed them on seeing the sunlight streaming through the window. His head pounded, and his body ached from the sheer amount of ‘exercise’ the night before. He couldn’t believe he’d been involved in a night of sheer debauchery, but it had really happened. It was one of those experiences that left you a changed person, when your perceptions of those and others around you would never be the same again. Paul had no regrets however, as he’d hurt no one and everyone had been a willing participant.
He glanced at the clock on the wall and noticed it was two o’clock in the afternoon! A wave of panic washed over him, shouldn’t he be at work? As he remembered the project had concluded, a breaker of relief succeeded the worry. It made him realise how automated his life had become in respect of research, and the party had released him from this thought process for a while.
Paul rolled over, surprised to find Elizabeth asleep next to him. She still looked pretty, not all women did first thing in the morning. While she slept, he watched her and felt strangely content, although she must have sensed his gaze for she opened her eyes.
“Morning Mr. Lover Man.”
“Correction,” Paul said, “afternoon.”
She laughed and pondered aloud. “I just have to take this diaphragm out,” she said, shifting around in bed.
“I was going to suggest a repeat performance,” he shrugged.
At this point, Max knocked and entered, then sat in the armchair, contented smile on his face.
“I hope you had a good time last night, Paul, I certainly did. I can’t expect you to work and not enjoy yourself every once in a while.” He sat with a confident repose and continued. “I was going to reserve the final surprise until after your break, but I’ve decided it can’t wait. Be downstairs in the hallway in half an hour.”
Max left the room and Paul sighed, conceding there’d have to be another time for Elizabeth.
“Are you still going to be around later?” he asked her.
“Maybe,” she chided.
After a wash and shave, he met Max downstairs in the hallway, who led him out to a car parked in the drive. Paul was impressed by the dark green, open top, two seated roadster with wire wheels, and Max noted the wistful look on his face.
“It’s a Jaguar XK120,” he informed him, “fastest production car in the world, with a top speed of a hundred and twenty miles per hour.”
Max reached inside for the pull cord as there were no external door handles. Paul slid into the tan leather interior with matching dash, while Max jumped into the driving seat beside him. He started up the engine, and the wheels spun on the gravel as he sped away from the coach house.
“Nought to sixty in ten seconds,” Max continued, demonstrating its capabilities by pushing his foot down on the accelerator. “One hundred and sixty brake horse power, a 3442cc engine and a fuel consumption of almost twenty miles per gallon. Jaguar’s first post-war sports car and most definitely a procurer of the feminine parts,” Max laughed.
Paul allowed himself to enjoy the high speed journey, placing his trust in Max, who expertly handled the car around the bends in the country roads they drove down. He took them to a small village about twenty miles away, and pulled up outside a small cottage covered in ivy. It looked very cosy, nestling within a coven of trees.
Max turned off the engine and sat briefly for a moment, with a sentimental expression on his face. Finally, he spoke.
“It’s yours. I appreciate you’ve been trapped in a bubble for a few years now and I believe it’s time you had a home of your own.” He handed over the keys. “Go and take a look, I’m sure you’ll adore it.”
Paul didn’t expect this and if anything, he wondered why Max was being so generous. On entering, Paul found it to be pleasantly furnished and decorated. The sitting room had a beamed ceiling, inglenook fireplace, and two Chesterfield style sofas while the kitchen was a reasonable size, with pans hanging from suspended racks. Upstairs he discovered three bedrooms, one having a comfortable double bed with a cast iron frame, and a magnificent view out of the window. The bathroom had a Victorian bath with clawed feet.
Too right he adored it. It was cosy and peaceful, with no immediate neighbours. Transport wouldn’t be too much of a problem, as he had sufficient funds to buy a fine vehicle. Yes, he was going to be happy here.
Max stood in the hallway as Paul descended the stairs.
“It’s wonderful, I can’t thank you enough,” he told him.
“I hope you’re happier here than the previous occupants were,” Max said, closing the door on their way out.
***
Without even thinking of the repercussions, I showed Elizabeth the cottage, as I felt I just had to share the good luck. She also fell in love with it instantly and quickly became a regular fixture. A few months after acquiring the cottage, I purchased a cute little roadster: the MG TF in an elegant cream with a 1250cc engine, headlights fared into the fenders, long flowing wheel arches and a tall, sloping radiator grille. Not as impressive as Max’s phallic symbol on wheels, but it had style without being too flashy.
As winter closed in, we sat by the open fire, drank wine, and listened to the wireless, particularly Billie Holiday, although I never discussed work. We even managed to catch ‘Singing in the Rain’, plus a plethora of wonderful films such as ‘From Here to Eternity’, which brought out the romantic in Elizabeth; tense science fiction such as ‘War of the Worlds’, which caused Elizabeth to hide behind her hands, and Hitchcock thrillers like ‘Dial M for Murder’ and ‘Rear Window’. In those days, the feature was accompanied by the Pathé News Reel, with the crowing cockerel, rousing theme tune, and images of life in other parts of the world. The cinematic experience was a spectacle of feature film, B-movie and advertisements, and the National Anthem played at the end, to which the whole audience stood up and sang along. To me, it felt like reintegration into the real world. I saw plenty of activity in the bedroom, if you know what I mean, but I didn’t truly fall in love. However, her companionship was as pleasurable as her body.
I managed to keep away from Max’s parties for a while, despite the invitations, but it wasn’t easy because Max didn’t believe in monogamy. Although Elizabeth and I still enjoyed such pleasures as meals at restaurants, and nights at the theatre or cinema, the magic wasn’t there by the milestone of six months. Her idiosyncrasies, chain smoking, and untidiness became all too vexing, however, Elizabeth stayed, demonstrating that security was more important than happiness. I began to wonder if I’d been too rash in showing her the cottage, but a year in, Elizabeth’s unexpected appearance at one of the parties concluded the matter. She found me engaged in oral pleasures with Eve and took great offence, despite the fact that these parties had brought us together in the first place, and her appearance here suggested her own temptation to wander. A week later, I had the cottage to myself. Breaking up was not always hard to do.
Parties became my only source of female companionship, which made life much less complicated.
Research continued, this time into the effects of an electromagnetic field on the human organism. This particular study, from conception to culmination lasted a few years, with other projects running concurrent and new projects created as offshoots. I applied both low and high frequency electro-magnetic fields to humans and animals. Some of the low frequency fields had deleterious side effects, which included incontinence and vomiting, and in animals, I instigated a greater range of frequencies, which resulted in cardiac arrest. Higher frequencies in humans caused disorientation and confusion, quite distressing to the volunteers and in retrospect, my detachment surprised me. Did I regard this treatment of living things normal behaviour?
I also investigated the use of electromagnetic radiation, to see if it could erase memories. The results were inconclusive, but it paved the way for further experiments on the use of EM fields for mind control, the manipulation of individual mental states and alteration of brain function. I gathered evidence which suggested that certain frequencies could create anxiety and influence psychosis, generally make the mind more pliable.
During this time, I lost my role model, a twentieth century icon. I listened to the Bakelite radio in the evening, an art deco beauty in teak from the 1930s with two dials, as it was my only real contact with the world outside of The Establishment. On the night of the 19th of April 1955, I followed a poignant broadcast.
“The eminent scientist and originator of the theory of relativity, Albert Einstein, died yesterday in hospital in Princeton, New Jersey, aged 76. He was admitted to hospital three days previously, suffering with an internal complaint, but he refused surgery for a ruptured artery. In 1940, he became a US citizen after leaving Germany during the early years of the war. In a statement just released, US President Dwight Eisenhower paid tribute to the visionary and respected scientist.”
The broadcast cut to the voice of the president.
“’ No other man contributed so much to the vast expansion of twentieth century knowledge. Yet, no other man was more modest in the possession of the power that is knowledge, more sure that power without wisdom is deadly. To all who live in the nuclear age, Albert Einstein exemplified the mighty creative ability of the individual in a free society.’”
I also caught the broadcast on the television, which showed a black and white reel of Albert Einstein at various stages of his scientific life, a man who never shook his German accent or his desire for seclusion. It was truly a sad day for me, and for physics. Who’d complete his Unified Field Theory?
Life went on though, as did the research. I also became involved in the British sibling of MK-ULTRA, a necessity in response to the allegations of Soviet, Chinese, and North Korean mind control techniques on US prisoners of war in Korea. Much of the research conducted focused on the use of chemical substances to alter brain function, particularly LSD. I made attempts to increase extra-sensory perception, withstand torture and coercion during interrogation, employ brain washing techniques, and even induce psychic powers. Experiments with LSD were commonplace, although later I suspected members of the public were exposed to it without their knowledge or consent. I also oversaw some experiments using sensory deprivation tanks and their effect upon the mind.
During these years, I experimented with LSD myself. I took it one day in June 1956 when it was still legal, at home, alone. I created a soft ambience and ingested a small dose of the drug, in an attempt to recreate Albert Hoffman’s now famous ‘Bicycle Day.’ After a short while of riding a bike under the influence, my limbs soon became weak and my perspective of reality too distorted to pedal along safely.
I sat down in a field near home, and became aware of the complexity of the folds in my trousers. I must have spent a while trying to fathom why they fell the way they did, appreciating their intricate beauty. Objects around me began to oscillate, particularly the spokes of the bicycle which now lay on its side. The spokes moved about, drawing together and separating in a rhythmic vibration. I contemplated the dance of the neutrons and electrons within them, vividly remembering my lectures back in the late forties. The flowers in the field shone with an inner light, shimmering as if they were breathing, and I became fascinated with each and every breath.
By now, the drug had reached its full strength, and I found myself enjoying a trip that was rather intense but full of vibrant colours, sounds, and strange visual effects. I closed my eyes to witness a scene of beautiful kaleidoscopic colours, and when my eyes opened, I saw fireworks in the sky. When I moved my hand, it left trails so I spent a good hour or two moving my limbs around and watching the visual effects, not that I had any sense of time whatsoever.
Buying a pint of milk from the shop proved to be very difficult as people’s faces were distorted, which made me laugh uncontrollably, much to the consternation of the other customers. So I cycled back home, wobbling erratically as I tried to avoid the white lines in the road that had become writhing serpents. I found myself back in the study of my cottage, resting in my favourite armchair and listening to the layers of music coming from the gramophone. In turn, a particular instrument became dominant, drowning my senses, then another instrument received my focus and went through the same process. The books on the shelves tried to speak to me, shining with their inner light and wanting to fly towards me, pregnant with knowledge. Eventually, I drifted towards sleep and a lucid dream.
All in all, it had been a positive experience, and one I repeated several times in different settings. It was truly a remarkable substance, one that could easily drive someone insane though, a view I shared with the author, Aldous Huxley.
My time at The Establishment formed some powerful memories and mixed emotions, but I could never leave. Max had been correct, it was my destiny.
However, another interest lurked in the background. I frequently used the Bakelite radio as a background to typing up reports, as it allowed me to follow the world’s events. On October 4th 1957, the Russians launched Sputnik 1. It was the first ever man made satellite to go into orbit, with a mission to study the Earth’s atmosphere. Completing an orbit of the Earth in around ninety six minutes, it emitted a fast beep, beep, beep sound transmitted at twenty megahertz, very easy to tune into. I listened to the beeps numerous times, until Sputnik’s battery died after twenty two days. It revitalised my interest in the cosmos and I wondered if we’d make it into space during my lifetime. It began to look that way.
Back in my life of research, I reached a point of consolidation. Despite the fact I’d performed countless experiments on my subjects throughout the last decade, one particular volunteer tripped my fuse on a fateful day in the autumn of 1959.
A young female student had offered herself to the study where I attempted to induce psychic powers through the application of electromagnetic fields. She sat in the chair, surrounded by equipment and for some reason, looked me straight in the eye.
In that moment, I sensed her apprehension, as if she’d not really volunteered for the study at all. Nevertheless, I switched on the field and began to observe, scribbling notes. She kept staring at me, drawing me into her world, sucking me into her experience. I watched as the anxiety progressed into full blown panic. I tasted her fear, felt her heart pound, and my stomach somersaulted with hers.
Ceasing my scribble, I watched as her eyes opened wide, her face contorting into a grimace.
“What is this…a form of torture?” she queried.
The experiment continued, and she began to have a seizure right there in the chair. I snapped into action, coming to her aid but in that moment where I touched her, I looked deep into her eyes and saw sheer terror. She screamed, causing the other technicians to come running.
She changed my life, because she lost hers. I don’t know why she died, but the seizure overwhelmed her and we failed to resuscitate her.
I felt disgusted with myself for weeks. I’d never caused anyone’s death, and it affected me deeply, particularly due to that fleeting emotional connection. From that point onwards, I realised I’d spent the past decade of my life on some sort of fairground ride. Maybe I even jumped aboard the carriage before I met Max. At the start of the ride, I knew it would be exhilarating, possibly even frightening at times. Committing myself to the ride, I closed my eyes then screamed my heart out as I surrendered control to the twists and turns, the climbs and dips. At no point did I consider getting off, or it ever ending. But then, as the carriage drew into the terminus, I wondered what the hell happened and what I’d become.
In this light bulb moment, I became aware my ethics were not my own anymore. Had I passed through a dark era in my life, where I became so entrenched in Max’s circle and research that I began to lose myself? Had living things become commodities in my quest for breaking boundaries? Was I so in love with investigation that I could switch off my conscience? The military applications of my research began to haunt me, and I realised how I’d digressed from my original, philosophical objectives.
Spiritual cravings began to take root and throughout these last weeks, I began to feel like I’d never get to investigate life’s mysteries. However, Max sprang the unexpected on me one day in late 1959. We’d taken our horses out in the woods near the coach house.
“I have another project for you,” he announced. “I’ve noticed your enthusiasm has dwindled and your peers are experienced enough to complete the study. Life must progress, so that we can change and grow, therefore, I’d like you to work at a sister facility called The Institute. It’s in London but quite accessible. You’ll like this one, more up your street. You’re going to study some people with extraordinary talents.”
Whether I liked it or not, Max was about to turn my reality upside down again.