The Insulators Read online

“But if the ovens lose heat—” began Freddie.

  “And the vibrations—” Philip started.

  “Never mind the guessing!” cried Leadbetter, and two spots of colour appeared like burns on his cheeks. “We’ve our work to do, and we don’t want to fall behind. Get to it, both of you. Janey! You tidy up Freddie’s desk, please, as well as Paul’s. Take everything out of Paul’s and put it in a container.”

  Fear stabbed afresh at Janey, overshadowing the excitement she had felt at first. If noise had been insulated it was a major scientific and industrial breakthrough and should be a cause of great rejoicing. Instead, Leadbetter was frightened, and what he had said obviously shocked the other men.

  Philip, already on the move to his section of the desk, spun round. Freddie’s hands clenched and raised in front of his chest.

  “Why tidy up Paul’s desk?” Philip demanded.

  Leadbetter said sharply: “He won’t be coming back.”

  “My God!” breathed Freddie, looking at Janey, horror struck. “Why not?”

  “Don’t ask questions,” Leadbetter replied shrilly. “Get on with your job.”

  He raised a clenched hand threatening, as if he would actually strike the others. The two burning spots seemed to grow bigger and fiercer. Janey felt her heart beating fast enough to suffocate her, yet she didn’t turn away. Freddie seemed to fade into the background as conflict struck between the other two men.

  “Arthur,” Philip said coldly, “we are not slaves.”

  “You’re paid to work, not gossip. And paid extremely well.”

  “I do my work as well as any man, and you know it.” Philip drew a deep breath, and there was open defiance in his manner. “I want to know why Paul isn’t coming back.”

  “He is being retired,” Leadbetter answered roughly.

  “What does ‘retired’ mean?”

  “That has nothing to do with you.”

  “It has everything to do with me,” Philip asserted icily. “The day might come when I am retired, and I want to know what would happen to me. So I want to know what has happened to Paul.”

  “He’s not well. I tell you he’s been retired. For God’s sake get on with the job!” All the colour had faded from Leadbetter’s face and his eyes showed feverishly bright. Philip, on the other hand, looked normal and calmly determined. Janey, looking on helplessly, realised that this was the second conflict with authority in the laboratory in a few hours. The small man had been aware of the first from the beginning. Was he also aware of this?

  The small man, whose name was Ashley, sat at a desk in a large, circular room in the centre of the complex of buildings, a room in a tower rather like that of an airport control. Several television sets were built into the wall opposite his desk, and he was watching one intently. So was the man Parsons, who had hired Janey and the others. There was no sound in the room except the voices of the people in the laboratory, and these came through with great clarity. The picture on the screen was perfect, every line, every blemish on the faces of the people there showed up. So did the fear and the anxiety.

  Philip Carr was saying: “What does ‘retired’ mean?”

  And Leadbetter cried: “That has nothing to do with you!”

  “It’s everything to do with me,” retorted Philip icily.

  For a few moments it looked as if the conflict would become physical, as if the two men would start fighting. But suddenly and unexpectedly Philip Carr gave way, turned abruptly and went to the nuclear ovens, and began to move those pincer-like claws. The glass-ceramic containers were fed into the nuclear chamber by a series of automatic movements which were absolutely safe. Then, Philip began to manipulate the test articles with unbelievable dexterity. The others turned and moved back to their desks, as if resignedly. The hidden television camera showed only their profiles and the backs of their heads and shoulders. The sounds coming out now were faint clicks of metal on metal or ceramic on ceramic.

  Ashley said: “Taylor’s defection has affected them all.”

  Parsons, simply a larger edition of the other man, said: “It certainly looks like that.”

  “What shall we do?”

  “We shall have to report it,” answered Parsons.

  “We can make a recommendation,” remarked Ashley drily.

  “What would your recommendation be?” asked Parsons.

  “I would point out that Philip Carr is brilliant at his job, quite the best man we have.”

  “Ah. And Leadbetter?”

  “I do not think he would yield under pressure, either.”

  “The woman?”

  “I think she is competent, and that her nerve will not break.”

  Parsons nodded, very slowly. The soft sounds came from the set, and the roaring, rumbling sound filled this office just as it filled every passage and every corner of The Project. All of the scientists in the laboratory were working now, and suddenly the automatic camera revealed that the way Philip handled the manipulator arms of the ovens was quite remarkable.

  At last, Ashley said: “But there is Ferris.”

  “What do you think of him?”

  “That he is thoroughly unreliable and must be removed.”

  “But the members of the group have such feeling for one another.”

  “They live in constant if subdued anxiety for themselves, and when it comes to a choice they will always prefer to save their own lives than to make sacrifices for others,” Ashley replied. “I think Ferris must go, and I don’t think the others will be distressed. And we must put other men in his place and in Taylor’s. When the changes have been made we can see how the new mixture works as a team. We can in any case find out whether the disrupting force is one or both of the men who have gone, or one of those who has been left behind.”

  “Whom would you suspect?” asked Parsons sharply.

  “Taylor and Ferris,” Ashley said promptly.

  “I think we should remove Ferris at once; the others will then have only the one shock to withstand, which will be much better than two with a gap in between.” He paused before asking: “Shall I report? Or will you?”

  “You report,” Ashley answered; he made it seem much less a concession than a command, there was no doubt which man was in control. “We don’t want to lose Carr or Wylie since they are both exceptionally good at their specific jobs.”

  Parsons nodded, but seemed to have some doubt; and after a few moments Ashley asked sharply: “Why are you objecting?”

  “I’m wondering if there is a way to persuade them all to do what they’re told without asking questions,” said Parsons, musingly. “At the moment they are both obviously tense and edgy, and could be easily frightened. Which is better: to go on as if we have noticed nothing, and hope that the fact that they don’t run into trouble eases their fears: or to give them a sharp lesson, disciplining them by fear?”

  Ashley’s face looked almost razor sharp as he considered the other man, and it was some time before he asked: “What have you in mind as a sharp lesson?”

  “Letting them know that Taylor is dead.”

  “How?”

  “By allowing them to come upon his body, or—”

  “Oh, nonsense!”

  “Very well, then,” said Parsons, quite amiably. “By taking a photograph of the body and enabling them to see it as if by chance. This particular laboratory is the most important we have: workers have been allowed to leave other departments but here, where the insulation by crystals is in such an advanced stage of research, we can take no risks. If it comes to a point they will have to be forced to work as we wish them to. Is this the time to begin the forcing?”

  Ashley’s subsequent pause lasted much longer, and when he moved and spoke, it was with some approval. “I will make the suggestion to Birch,” he stated. “And of course I will tell them whence it originated.”

  “Why, thank you,” said Parsons, and his voice sounded smooth yet his tone laconic. “I’ll be very interested to know what they say.”
r />   Janey had a restless evening and as restless a night.

  She went to a film, a Swedish one with subtitles in English, although the contortions of the passionate hero and heroine needed no language; there never was a clearer case of actions speaking louder than words. Coming out, she saw Philip approaching from the common room and wondered if he had been waiting for her. Here, in the open, there was less chance of being overheard. Yet Philip asked if she had enjoyed the film, tried to behave as if there were nothing on his mind, until they were out of earshot of anyone else in the grounds. Then he said abruptly: “I think we were watched tonight.”

  “I sensed it, too,” Janey said.

  “Janey—how is your nerve?”

  “Bad,” she replied. “I feel—somehow I feel like a prisoner here, as if something’s going on that I don’t understand. Do you know what I mean?”

  “Yes,” he answered. “And it’s a great pity your nerve is so bad.”

  “Why?” she demanded.

  “I thought you might be prepared to take the risk of escaping,” Philip told her. “I like it here at The Project less and less.” When Janey didn’t answer immediately he asked softly: “Well? Do you feel like finding out what would happen if we just walked out?”

  “No,” she answered, almost piteously. “No.”

  He did not try to persuade her, just shrugged and gripped her arm for a moment; and then, to her surprise, slipped his arm round her waist. Philip had always been aloof; she had sometimes wondered whether sex interested him at all. She felt his hand firm and yet gentle on her breast as he guided her away from the main building towards the river. A few other couples were about, as well as three or four small parties. It was the mildest night of the year so far and bright, too, with a waning moon on its back with a faint haze of cloud passing beneath it. She didn’t speak; did not attempt to move his hand. When they were close to the riverbank at a spot where the moon as well as stars were reflected in the gurgling water he went on: “Will you help me to?”

  “What?”

  “Don’t be dense, Janey. Will you help me to escape?” After a moment there was a note of mockery in his voice. “Or are you too afraid for that, too?”

  “Are you really sure it is a prison?” she demanded, and he paused for a while before answering: “I’ve come to the conclusion that it isn’t what we thought when we came – a kind of consortium of big industrialists who want the work done secretly. I feel as if every move I make is watched, every word I say overheard – except out here in the open. I want to go and see the situation from the outside. Have you nerve enough to help?”

  “Yes,” she said quietly. “If there is a safe way for you, I’ll help. Philip—”

  “Don’t make conditions,” he pleaded.

  “Philip, when did you first think of leaving?”

  “It’s been in and out of my mind for weeks,” he told her.

  “Good gracious! I would have thought you were the last one to be thinking of it. You seemed so—satisfied.”

  “The better to fool Big Brother with,” he said lightly. “I have now placed myself well and truly into your hands, sweet lass. One murmur from you to Ashley or Parsons, and all hope for me will be gone.”

  “You know I won’t talk,” she said, half-resentfully, looking at his profile. She was acutely aware of the gentle pressure of his hand. “How can I help?”

  “You really will?”

  “Of course I will. I—I’ve been worried for some time, too.”

  “Then this is how you can help,” he said, and he drew her closer until their bodies touched and his arm was very firm about her. “You can pretend to have succumbed to my charms. You can come and spend the night with me or I can come and spend it with you. We shall talk of nothing except passion and lovemaking, we shall ooh and ah, and giggle and quip, like any pair of lovers. We might be more convincing if we let all our inhibitions go and did the real thing, without pretending, but that I leave to you. If I come to you or vice versa for a few nights, then they are likely to see us as cooing doves likely to become permanent mates.” She had never known him talk so freely, and with this light and amusing tone. “Once we are known as lovers, they will never be sure which bed we shall be in, and as they told us with such endearing frankness when we enlisted, they will care less. Whenever I am not in my bed they will assume I am in yours.” He squeezed, gently, and went on: “Delectable thought. Delectable prospect, if only you will share it.”

  “And when you have deflowered me you will fly away,” said Janey, drily.

  “Oh, my dear,” he said, startled. And then almost in alarm he went on: “Janey, if it really would be a complete beginning, I—I—Good God! Forget the whole thing.” He took his hand away quickly and they walked side by side in the moonlight; for the first time, her heart began to beat very fast. At last he gave a hollow kind of laugh and went on in a tone of great dismay: “I will gladly sleep in a chair in your kitchen, or—” his voice rose as if with inspiration: “In the bath! Now why didn’t I think of that before?”

  “Philip,” Janey said, “why didn’t you let me know you could be such an idiot?”

  “You must blame my natural shyness,” Philip retorted; and then he whispered so that she could only just hear the words. “We’re being followed. Don’t mind what I do.” On the instant he took her in his arms and their bodies were locked, and it was as if fire ran through her. He held her in such a way that her thighs were close to his, her bosom too, but her head was back, pale in that lovely light; and he bent forward and placed his open lips against hers in a kiss which seemed to draw the very breath out of her body.

  She was not aware of it, but two men passed as they embraced; and soon afterwards, two women.

  “So he went to her apartment,” Ashley said with satisfaction. “Good.”

  “Why so good?” asked Parsons.

  “Oh, don’t be absurd,” rasped Ashley. “If they are having a passionate love affair, they will be much more inclined to get through their work quickly, living for the evenings or for the weekends. I don’t think we need let them see Taylor’s body, after all.”

  4: Lovers

  Janey felt a quickening sense of excitement as they walked from the grounds towards her apartment block. Hers consisted of two rooms with a little kitchen recess, maintained by the organisation’s staff; whenever she cooked herself a meal here instead of going to the restaurant for the senior employees, the Jamaican maid did the washing up next morning. In some ways it was a luxurious or at least self-indulgent life. Now and again she threw a cocktail party up here, with everyone from the laboratory as well as a few friends, or rather acquaintances. These might be from the offices, people she had met at the restaurant or at the weekly Project Party, open to everyone of a certain rank. It reminded her of the big Captain’s Party on board an ocean liner: everyone from the laboratories was welcome and most made friends.

  But this was the first time she had brought a man up with her.

  She had never felt anything but tentative liking for Philip, he had always been formal, so intent on his work, so aloof. He had been here when she had come and his first year must nearly be up. She wondered what made him so anxious to escape when he had only a few months to go. She had occasionally wondered whether he looked on her as a woman or simply as a physicist, a creature with two arms and two legs mostly covered by a shapeless white smock, and a head sticking out from the top. Now, his hand was at her waist, prompting rather than pushing.

  She opened the door, and dropped her keys, she was so nervous. He picked them up, held the door open, and gave a faintly mocking bow. She went into the big living room which had a wide window fronting lawns and flowerbeds. She stood looking out, yet was acutely aware of his approach although after the click of the closing door he made hardly any sound. She knew the moment when he was behind her. She felt his arms pass between her body and her arms, and the gentle cupping of her breasts. She began to tremble. Again, he held her in such a position that
she could lean her head back against his shoulder, and he held her gently and ran his lips over her cheeks, her lips, her eyes, her forehead. Then he drew back so that she was acutely aware of him.

  He let her go.

  “Janey,” he said. “You are a most exciting woman.”

  “Philip,” she retorted, “the only woman on an island is always exciting.”

  “I don’t agree with you,” replied Philip. “In the first place there are plenty of women on this island, some of them – as if you didn’t know – here just for the titillation and pleasure of men.”

  She turned her head; he was very close. “I really didn’t know.”

  “Then you’ve kept your eyes closed!”

  “Perhaps,” she said. “In a way I always have.”

  “And you want to keep them closed? To be aware of no one but yourself and your fellow workers. That’s how you’ve always seemed to me.”

  “Aloof, you mean?” She was astonished.

  “Yes.”

  “Good gracious! It was you who was aloof!”

  He laughed and moved so that he could sit on the window ledge and look at her. There was a light from the moon and from the lamps outside, enough to see her clearly, although his face was in shadow. But his head and shoulders and lean body were sharp and dark against the window. He hugged one knee.

  “I regarded you as untouchable,” he told her. “Unapproachable, too. And I always knew you would be exciting if the barriers could be broken down.”

  “Thank you, sir,” she managed to retort.

  “I’ve never meant anything more – and I’ve never been more sure,” he said.

  She simply stood there, her heart racing and her body aquiver, aware not only of him but of desire. She had not known what toll the months had taken of her, how much he had been in her mind; indeed, how often she had told herself it was absurd to think of him, he was so aloof.

  “Janey,” he said, softly.

  “Yes.”

  “You are not really a virgin, are you?”