Murder most frivolous
Horace Kelland
A SEASON IN PURGATORY by Dominick Dunne Bantam, f14.99, pp. 409 Provided you enjoy such sparkling conversation as is to be met with in this novel, when, for instance, the notorious patriarch of the Bradley family, Gerald, runs into the episcopal prelate at the local Country Club and after the prelate has expressed his narrow views on the Bradley family, says to him, 'F— you, Bishop', this book is for you.
A Season in Purgatory is the story of Constant Bradley and his side-kick, Harrison Burns. Burns worships Constant, the charismatic, randy son of the all- powerful, Irish-Catholic, Gerald Bradley, and everything Harrison is not, Harrison being silent, willing, poor and a bit of a bore besides. Constant is the shining star of the Bradley family. Nothing is too good for him and expectations run high for his future. There are even whispers of the Presidency.
When a boy, Harrison is taken up by Constant as a sort of dogsbody, and intro- duced to the family as his closest school chum. The family takes Harrison to its collective bosom more for his usefulness than his charm. When Constant is expelled from his prep school it is Harrison who ghosts a paper on Morality, a stipulation demanded by the headmaster, which reinstates Constant, the paper being reinforced by the gift of a new school library made by Constant's father, who has not taken his son's expulsion lightly. Indeed not. It has put him into a fine old state not because Constant has been caught with pornography in his possession but because the dear boy hasn't been astute enough to lie his way out of his predicament. From this the boys learn an invaluable lesson. Lie like a trooper. Money gets you everything.
In a bit of throw-away information we learn that Harrison's father and mother have been murdered by one or more unknown assailants on the very day of Con- stant's expulsion. Just what this shocking event has to do with the story is not clear and becomes no clearer when Harrison some years later refuses to leave his studies in Paris to attend the trial of the eventually caught murderer. Perhaps it is to point up Harrison's reluctance to face the real world.
The Bradley clan is a large one and bears more than a passing resemblance to the K---y family. Gerald, believes that money can achieve everything, including getting him into bed with a raft of women for the modest price of a mink coat. Then there is Grace, wife and mother, a religious flibber- tigibbet whose only friends are priests, the family, you understand, being insupport- able socially. No one ever comes to call. Grace's interests are in getting her brood to mass, going to Paris for her clothes and pulling strings to have herself made a Papal Countess.
Next there is an assortment of games- playing, fun-loving brothers and sisters barring the one sister who is not quite as others and kept in an expensive institution in Maine, hardly acknowledged and never visited by any members of her family, except for Kitt who is rather the best of the bunch until, after an upstanding affair with Harrison, he becomes a drunk.
While the males of the family, the Senator, the doctor, the whole caboodle behave badly, getting themselves involved in everything from rape to murder, having a series of crippling motor accidents all brought about, one imagines, by collective and perpetual erections (boys will be boys and there's dear old Dad at hand to foot the bills), not one of the women is aware, of any of these shenanigans. The Bradley men are a tight-lipped bunch. The Bradleys possess a luxurious country
seat in an exclusive enclave, so exclusive that in fact none of the neighbouring fami- lies speaks to them. However, certain financial dealings with this snooty lot have bought the family membership to the Country Club where we first learn that the Bradleys are not 'our kind'. Nevertheless, at a party, spritely Winifred Utley, a precocious 15-year-old, asks Constant for a dance, he being so handsome and charm- ing, and therefore more acceptable than the rest of the tribe. The young couple hit it off and arrange to meet later that evening. They rendezvous in the woods near the Bradley mansion. Constant attempts rape. He is, however, unable to achieve it and becomes so enraged that he batters poor Winifred to death with a base- ball bat. Liquor does not agree with Con- stant. With his old buddy, Harrison, he contrives to move Winifred's body off the Bradley property, and put in a call to Dads.
Gerald summons his aides, and they rush, shining knights in armour, to Con- stant's rescue. It is all quite jolly for them, sweeping the evidence under the carpet, so to speak, deciding how to dispose of the bloody clothes both boys have removed, and spreading money like jam on the bread of certain complaisant officials. Gerald is not unduly upset about the crime, for he knows no ill that money cannot cure. Only poor, worry-wart Harrison is uneasy.
It takes Harrison 20-odd years to repent — more or less pushed into action against the Bradley family by Winifred's mother and by an attempt on his life made by a member of the Bradley mafia. Dominick Dunne has written his novel more in the style of Elinor Glynn out to epater la bour- geoisie than in the precise style of Truman Capote's In Cold Blood. His tale of corrup- tion skims along with the speed of Con- corde. It is in fact a great read for the trip from London to New York, provided you have a strong stomach.
One character in the novel, a bit-player, deserves mention. She is Claire, Constant's long-suffering wife, a decent girl and clever enough to accept a million-dollar cheque from Gerald every time she threatens to leave Constant and who bears, you will be happy to hear, little or no resemblance to Jackie.
'It seems the scarecrow attracted them here!'
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