The Programme

CHAPTER TWO-2

“We’ll be a while yet, Kevin. Enjoy the show.” The man nodded, translating the invitation as an order to keep an eye on Rockworth’s son.

Rockworth ushered Matthew into the spacious rear of the vehicle, pointing him towards the back seat. “I’ll sit here,” in the jump seat facing Matthew. “It’s easier to reach the bar.”

It was neither more nor less easy than from where Matthew was sitting but less comfortable: Rockworth was a well-mannered host. He opened up a wood-panelled bar between the jump seats.

“Scotch okay? Ice?”

“Fine, both.”

Matthew was not a drinker; he might go months without a touch of alcohol. He had no taste for it. He had never made abstinence a part of his teaching, using it instead and selectively for individual programmes.

He watched Rockworth busy himself. He was older than Matthew, approaching sixty; he was shorter - but then, most people were; he was trim but not thin; his eyes were as fierce as a warrior’s, but his voice as controlled as a priest’s. This was not a man to cross; on the other hand, he was someone from whom Matthew could gain a great deal - mostly materially, but also in terms of acceptance, acceptability. The safest course would be to keep a distance - for Matthew, that amounted to an obligation to get involved.

“Tell me more about your work, Matthew.”

Rockworth listened in silence as Matthew talked about how difficult some people found it to make a way in life that brought them any kind of personal satisfaction. He thought there were too many people on the scrap-heap in one way or another - economically, emotionally, spiritually. Work was a solution - he emphasised to the man who had made several fortunes by dint of hard work - but it was not the whole solution. Nor did everyone have the same capacity to make sense of their lives on their own. What he did, he said, was to work with people to find out what it was that would make them feel whole; for some, they were simply looking for a partner, for love or companionship; others persecuted themselves with their inability to believe; for many, work was the key. He did not claim to have any universal panacea, or even a solution for large numbers.

“Some, though, need to be part of something bigger than themselves; they can’t be whole in themselves, so they need to be with others who are likewise incomplete - imbalanced in one sense, though I don’t mean clinically. Or,” he laughed formally, “perhaps I do. I’m talking about people who might turn to drugs, or drink, or violence or psychotic depression: but I’m also talking about those who do have something positive - creative - to offer, potential is probably the word I’m looking for; not the no-hopers but the simply lost. It’s a small task,” he concluded modestly. “It’s just something I do, with some others, to provide a framework that allows people who can’t make it on their own to belong to something different.”

Rockworth asked suspiciously:

“Where does the money come from?”

“Some of our members work; we run lectures and courses; we write our own magazines and booklets and sell them. A few of our members had money or property of their own. We had a Coffee Lounge in Earl’s Court, but we’ve just had to leave it. We’ll find somewhere else. We don’t need that much; you know the saying, two can live as cheaply as one; it works when you multiply it.”

Then it was Rockworth’s turn to talk. And what he talked about was Anthony.

Two years later, Matthew was still hearing about Anthony.

Cassandra served up one of her unnerving, high giggles. This was why she loved Matthew; and it was why they were still - in their way - together in The Programme; he already knew it was about Anthony; he always knew -everything.

“What has he done now?” Matthew asked.

“Thomas,” she announced melodramatically.

“Ah,” Matthew understood.

For the last two years, Anthony had been kept away from the children. This was his weakness. Rockworth had admitted it that first night, frankly and without equivocation: his son had always been violent; his son was sexually disturbed; his son was destined to do harm and he feared that his most likely victims would be children.

The way Rockworth told it, nothing could be done until he committed some terrible act and the law took its course towards incarceration, one way or the other - prison or secure mental institution. Death, he confessed, would be a better fate, though he did not spell out whether he meant for the boy or for himself. The Programme - as it emerged as the evening wore on - was an attractive alternative.

Until she heard about the financial side of the deal, the most important part of which was the tenancy of the vast building in Chesterfield Gardens at a peppercorn rent, Cassandra had been opposed. It was outside their remit and outside Matthew’s abilities. She did not want a specific obligation to one particular member. Nor did she see as quickly as Matthew that the address alone was worth something they could never otherwise afford - prestige, instant establishment, power.

He took her to see the house: it had once been the headquarters of a company which Rockworth had taken over. Because of the depression in the London property market, it had not yet been sold. Rockworth was willing to rent it to The Programme, at a nominal rent, for a period that they had eventually agreed as seven years. Thereafter, they had an option to buy it, or to lease it for a further five years but at a market rent. Rockworth said bluntly: if Matthew could turn Anthony around, if he could control him, if he was no longer a threat to himself, to others or to Rockworth’s peace of mind, neither purchase price nor rent would prove a problem.

Cassandra became a convert once she saw the house. It was unfurnished but carpeted and in good decorative order. Within minutes, she was muttering that this was it, this was their home, there was nothing they could not do with it. They sat cross-legged on the top floor, staring into each other’s eyes, knowing that a new world was opening up for The Programme.

The heat was intense; quickly, it became s****l. It was the first time they had made love for months, perhaps a year. However separately they lived, together they were still The Programme. Afterwards, she straddled his naked back, massaging him, humming, maybe thinking of Huw, at one point she repeatedly thrust her pelvis hard against his backside.

“God, there were times I wish I was a man,” she sighed and giggled.

“I thank God daily that you’re not,” he murmured in reply.

She had stood up, stood on his back, perfectly balanced and poised.

“We can do anything, Matthew; we can do anything, with anyone.”

That was then; this was now. She hissed:

“I told you we couldn’t handle him.”

Early this morning, Father Caleb related, Anthony had offered to go to the flat in South Kensington to collect a stash of booklets for members to take out on the street donating. He had taken the spare key to let himself in, in case no one was at home. Thomas, meanwhile, had apparently been sent home from school because a boiler had broken down and there was neither heating nor hot water. Sister Gloria - who was in charge of the flat - had gone out shopping for food. Thomas was accordingly alone when Anthony let himself in with the spare key. When Gloria returned, they were in one of the bedrooms. Thomas was naked; Anthony had his trousers undone.

There had been no time for anything to happen. Gloria had rung for help. Cassandra had caught the call and expropriated the problem, though the reception member had also mentioned the call to Helen, which was how Matthew knew something was going on around Anthony. For the moment, Thomas was confined to his room and Anthony was under guard by a couple of Caleb’s Initiates. No one had yet told Micah - who was at work - or Hannah, who was upstairs conducting an early meditation for non-residents.

“Perhaps I should turn him over to you,” Matthew said to Caleb.

With the exception of Cassandra herself, Caleb was the most naturally, most comfortably evil member of The Programme. His contribution was entirely hostile. That was its attraction - few could offer such naked, unrelenting, unrepentant malice. His face was lop-sided, and he cultivated the unsettling effect with a bushy, untamed, beard - black but tinged with copper - that fell in thick waves almost to his chest, although the hair on his head was close-cropped, curly and greying. His eyes and mouth were in a permanent sneer.

Before Caleb could accept, Matthew came to a quick decision.

“He can go to America.”

They had known he was thinking of expanding; knew, too, there were senior members exploring the possibility of the States; this, however, was the first either had known that the possibility had become a plan.

“You were given the money here?”

“Yes, I’d say so.”

“What does that mean, Matthew?” They had already been around the block with Mr Crane, call me Matthew.

He held out an open hand, palm downwards, rocking it directly over the crease in the trousers of his white suit, as if to say ’maybe’.

“I’m probably being obtuse, Matthew,” Carey sighed, “but in the end, she had to give it to you somewhere.”

“A lot of it was meeting bills; some cash. She was in England when she told me she wanted me to have the money, but some of it was in the States.”

“And came here?”

“Right. She was living here with us by then; so, yes, the idea was that we would use it here.”

“How did it come here?”

“Mostly, it was brought here by people.”

“I want you to think carefully about this next question. If the people who brought it here were working for you, as your agents, then you would have received the money from her there, where they picked it up on your behalf. On the other hand, if the people who brought it here were doing so for her, then you would not have received it from her until they arrived here with it, on her behalf.”

He watched her as she spoke, shaking his head in mock-admiration.

“I thought I was the one who was supposed to talk nonsense.”

She blushed.

“I didn’t say that. All I said was, I don’t have much patience with religion - I thought you should know that at once if I was going to act for you. I was just trying to be clear about my position.”

“They were her friends.”

“Excuse me? Oh, right; the money was brought here by her friends?”

“Yes.”

“Not your people?”

“Well, they were my people too, members of The Programme. But, if I had to decide one way or the other, I’d say they were bringing it here for her, to give me once it was here; I wasn’t sending them to pick it up. Have I understood the question right?”

“Perfectly, Matthew.” Carey kept the sarcasm out of her voice.

“Okay, so where does that take us?”

“Nowhere. It brings them here. At the time the money was given to you, put into your hands, it was in this country, received by you in this country, for use in this country, and therefore the proper location for any action for its return is in this country.”

“And?”

“And we file a defence saying that the money was given for a specific purpose - the purposes of The Programme - and it has been spent, one way or another, on those purposes, and therefore there’s nothing left to return; put another way, you’ve changed your position on the strength of the money, and it would be inequitable to make you pay it back. Would that be a problem?”

“To show it? I don’t think so. I’ll have to talk to George about it.”

“George?”

“Brother George Cohen. He’s our accountant; he’s one of our members.”

“You have Jewish members?”

“Sure. Everyone. It’s not a religion,” he said, not for the first time.

“Mr Cohen is a practising accountant?” She could not bring herself to call him “Brother”.

“He has a small, one man practice in Hammersmith; we went to him when we were living in South Kensington.”

“Is he, er, a resident member?” She fumbled with the terminology.

“Sure. Why not?” He lived with Gloria at the flat in South Kensington.

“He might not be the best witness,” Carey commented.

“He can give me the answers, prepare the accounts.”

“It’s enough for now. We’ll have to retain New York counsel, of course.”

“Why? I thought you wanted to get the case over here?”