The Ebony Tower by John Fowles

Author:John Fowles [FOWLES, JOHN]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction / Literary, Fiction / Short Stories (Single Author)
ISBN: 9780316255660
Publisher: Little, Brown and Company
Published: 2013-04-02T04:00:00+00:00

Nearly a year has passed now since that moment of rescue, and I will be brief over the factual aftermath.

The constable who released me proved kind and efficient—indeed I had nothing but kindness and efficiency from everyone else that day. As soon as he had cut me free, he insisted on providing the immemorial English answer to all the major crises of existence. Only when he had watched me down two cups of his dark brown tea did he return to his car and radio in a report. I had hardly changed into clean clothes before a doctor arrived, very soon followed by two plainclothesmen. The doctor declared me none the worse, and I then had a long questioning from the detective sergeant. The constable went off meanwhile to telephone Maurice and Jane from the farm.

At least I found that I was not mistaken in believing that I had a story to dine out on. “The cheeky devil!” and similar comments interrupted all my account. The burning of my book completely nonplussed the sergeant—had I, like, any enemies? I had to disillusion him as to the lengths to which the London literary mafiosi will go to gain their foul ends; but that the cottage had been “chosen” surprised him rather less. The kind of crime, and of criminal, was increasingly frequent. I even detected a certain grudging admiration. These “random loners” were smart customers, it seemed; never “did a job” near where they lived, but based themselves on some big city and exploited the new mania for the weekend cottage. The sergeant confessed it was difficult to know where to look. It could be London… or Bristol, Birmingham, anywhere. He blamed it all on the motorways and the new mobility they allowed the “villains.”

Of Richard, on reflection I said nothing. I felt I owed it at least to Maurice and Jane to discuss the matter with them in private first—the constable had spoken to Jane in Hampstead, and she had sent her commiseration, with the assurance that they would come down at once. Then the farmer and his wife appeared, full of apologies for not having heard anything; then a telephone engineer… I was grateful for all the coming and going, which at least took my mind off the blow I had suffered.

Maurice and Jane arrived by car, soon after seven, and I had to go through my story all over again. Ignorant of my personal loss until they arrived, they were kind enough then to treat their own misfortune as nothing beside mine. I introduced my suspicion as regards Richard as obliquely as possible, but I did not spare them the details of the political philosophizing I had received. In the end I saw Jane look at Maurice, and knew that four had been reached. A few minutes later Maurice took the bull by the horns and was on the telephone to his son in London. He was diplomatic—naturally he didn’t accuse him of conscious complicity—but as firmly probing as a good solicitor should be.

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