As Renthall had expected, the school did not open the next day. When they tired of hanging around the hotel after breakfast he and Hanson went down to the Town Hall. The building was almost empty and the only official they were able to find was unhelpful.
‘We have no instructions at present,’ he told them, ‘but as soon as the term starts you will be notified. Though from what I hear the postponement is to be indefinite.’
‘Is that the committee’s decision?’ Renthall asked. ‘Or just another of the town clerk’s brilliant extemporizings?’
‘The school committee is no longer meeting,’ the official said. ‘I’m afraid the town clerk isn’t here today.’ Before Renthall could speak he added: ‘You will, of course, continue to draw your salaries. Perhaps you would care to call in at the treasurer’s department on your way out?’
Renthall and Hanson left and looked about for a caf. Finally they found one that was open and sat under the awning, staring vacantly at the watch-towers hanging over the roof-tops around them. Their activity had lessened considerably since the previous day. The nearest tower was only fifty feet away, immediately above a disused office building on the other side of the street. The windows in the observation tier remained shut, but every few minutes Renthall noticed a shadow moving behind the panes.
Eventually a waitress came out to them, and Renthall ordered coffee.
‘I think I shall have to give a few lessons,’ Hanson remarked. ‘All this leisure is becoming too much of a good thing.’
‘It’s an idea,’ Renthall agreed. ‘If you can find anyone interested. I’m sorry the recital yesterday was such a flop.’
Hanson shrugged. ‘I’ll see if I can get hold of some new records. By the way, I thought Julia looked very handsome yesterday.’
Renthall acknowledged the compliment with a slight bow of his head. ‘I’d like to take her out more often.’
‘Do you think that’s wise?’
‘Why on earth not?’
‘Well, just at present, you know.’ Hanson inclined a finger at the watch-towers.
‘I don’t see that it matters particularly,’ Renthall said. He disliked personal confidences and was about to change the subject when Hanson leaned forward across the table.
‘Perhaps not, but I gather there was some mention of you at the last Council meeting. One or two members were rather critical of your little mnage a deux.’ He smiled thinly at Renthall, who was frowning into his coffee. ‘Sheer spite, no doubt, but your behaviour is a little idiosyncratic.’
Controlling himself, Renthall pushed away the coffee cup. ‘Do you mind telling me what damned business it is of theirs?’
Hanson laughed. ‘None, really, except that they are the executive authority, and I suppose we should take our cue from them.’ Renthall snorted at this, and Hanson went on: ‘As a matter of interest, you may receive an official directive over the next few days.’
‘A what?’ Renthall exploded. He sat back, shaking his head incredulously. ‘Are you serious?’ When Hanson nodded he began to laugh harshly.
‘Those idiots! I don’t know why we put up with them. Sometimes their stupidity positively staggers me.’
‘Steady on,’ Hanson demurred. ‘I do see their point. Bearing in mind the big commotion in the watch-towers yesterday the Council probably feel we shouldn’t do anything that might antagonize them. You never know, they may even be acting on official instructions.’
Renthall glanced contemptuously at Hanson. ‘Do you really believe that nonsense about the Council being in touch with the watch-towers? It may give a few simpletons a sense of security, but for heaven’s sake don’t try it on me. My patience is just about exhausted.’ He watched Hanson carefully, wondering which of the Council members had provided him with his information. The lack of subtlety depressed him painfully. ‘However, thanks for warning me. I suppose it means there’ll be an overpowering air of embarrassment when Julia and I go to the cinema tomorrow.’
Hanson shook his head. ‘No. Actually the performance has been cancelled. In view of yesterday’s disturbances.’
‘But why—?’ Renthall slumped back. ‘Haven’t they got the intelligence to realize that it’s just at this sort of time that we need every social get-together we can organize? People are hiding away in their back bedrooms like a lot of frightened ghosts. We’ve got to bring them out, give them something that will pull them together.’
He gazed up thoughtfully at the watch-tower across the street. Shadows circulated behind the frosted panes of the observation windows. ‘Some sort of gala, say, or a garden fte. Who could organize it, though?’
Hanson pushed back his chair. ‘Careful, Charles. I don’t know whether the Council would altogether approve.’
‘I’m sure they wouldn’t.’ After Hanson had left he remained at the table and returned to his solitary contemplation of the watch-towers.
For half an hour Renthall sat at the table, playing absently with his empty coffee cup and watching the few people who passed along the street. No one else visited the caf, and he was glad to be able to pursue his thoughts alone, in this miniature urban vacuum, with nothing to intervene between himself and the lines of watch-towers stretching into the haze beyond the roof-tops.
With the exception of Mrs Osmond, Renthall had virtually no close friends in whom to confide. With his sharp intelligence and impatience with trivialities, Renthall was one of those men with whom others find it difficult to relax. A certain innate condescension, a reserved but unmistakable attitude of superiority held them away from him, though few people regarded him as anything but a shabby pedagogue. At the hotel he kept to himself. There was little social contact between the guests; in the lounge and dining room they sat immersed in their old newspapers and magazines, occasionally murmuring quietly to each other. The only thing which could mobilize the simultaneous communion of the guests was some untoward activity in the watch-towers, and at such times Renthall always maintained an absolute silence.
Just before he stood up a square thick-set figure approached down the street. Renthall recognized the man and was about to turn his seat to avoid having to greet him, but something about his expression made him lean forward. Fleshy and dark-jowled, the man walked with an easy, rolling gait, his double-breasted check overcoat open to reveal a well-tended midriff. This was Victor Boardman, owner of the local flea-pit cinema, sometime bootlegger and procurer at large.
Renthall had never spoken to him, but he was aware that Boardman shared with him the distinction of bearing the stigma of the Council’s disapproval. Hanson claimed that the Council had successfully stamped out Boardman’s illicit activities, but the latter’s permanent expression of smug contempt for the rest of the world seemed to belie this.
As he passed they exchanged glances, and Boardman’s face broke momentarily into a knowing smirk. It was obviously directed at Renthall, and implied a pre-judgement of some event about which Renthall as yet knew nothing, presumably his coming collision with the Council. Obviously Boardman expected him to capitulate to the Council without a murmur.
Annoyed, Renthall turned his back on Boardman, then watched him over his shoulder as he padded off down the street, his easy relaxed shoulders swaying from side to side.
The following day the activity in the watch-towers had subsided entirely. The blue haze from which they extended was brighter than it had been for several months, and the air in the streets seemed to sparkle with the light reflected off the observation windows. There was no sign of movement among them, and the sky had a rigid, uniform appearance that indicated an indefinite lull.
For some reason, however, Renthall found himself more nervous than he had been for some time. The school had not yet opened, but he felt strangely reluctant to visit Mrs Osmond and remained indoors all morning, shunning the streets as if avoiding some invisible shadow of guilt.