“If there’s anything I can do.”
“Since Mr. Pearson left day before yesterday she’s been worse than usual. She goes around...”
“Oh,” Steve said. “Has Mr. Pearson left?”
Brown became cautious. “What’s that to you?”
“I’m an old friend of the family.”
“You are, eh? I’ve been working for Mr. Pearson for a long time and I’ve never seen you before.”
“You haven’t been looking in the right places. I’ve been away. My name’s Ferris.”
Brown studied him a minute in silence. “Ex-army, aren’t you?”
“Air Force.”
“I was a corporal in the last war. Funny thing. Some people can remember all their war experiences and tell them over minute by minute. But all I can remember is being confused and shot at.”
“That’s enough,” Steve said. “About this window I broke...”
“Forget it. I’ll tell her a boy broke it.” Brown grinned. “An ex-boy.”
“You don’t have to do that. I’ll tell her myself. Is she in?”
“She’s in, all right. She can’t go out. Mr. Pearson took the chauffeur with him and she doesn’t trust me with the big car.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Me, I should care.”
“Mr. Pearson on a holiday?”
“Yes. This way, if you still want to see Mrs. Pearson.”
Brown started up the driveway. He walked as if he owned the place, or, at least, as if he was pretty sure of his position.
Steve followed him. “Nice lawns.”
“Not bad.”
“Do you look after them yourself?”
“When I feel like it.”
He said nothing more until they were inside the house. “Mrs. Pearson’s in the front room. Go on in.”
“Thanks.”
Brown began walking away.
Steve said, “Don’t you think you’d better tell her I’m here?”
Brown grinned again, slyly. “Why should I? She’ll find out when you walk in.”
He disappeared, chuckling to himself. Steve was left in the hall alone with the conviction that he had just made a complete fool of himself. He had acted on a lousy impulse, he had broken a window like a kid, and he was in the house of a woman he didn’t want to see and who didn’t want to see him. Sweet Jesus, let me out of here, he thought, and began tiptoeing toward the front door. He had it halfway open when he heard Martha call out, “Brown, come here a minute.”
He got out and closed the door in a hurry. Then, without giving it a second thought, he put his hand on the doorbell and pressed it.
Martha opened the door herself. She didn’t say, “Hello,” she said, “Well!” There was a great deal of feeling behind the word, of exactly the kind he had expected.
He wanted to get it over with in a hurry, so he said, in a fast monotone: “I broke one of your garage windows. Some man saw me do it and didn’t want to be blamed. So I came to tell you about it myself.”
“Well,” she said again.
“Whenever I see a pebbled driveway I want to throw pebbles. It’s a compulsion neurosis. I’ll be glad to pay for the window. I guess that covers everything.” He added dryly, “In case you’re wondering whether I can afford to pay for the window, the answer is yes. At least, I can if it was just made of ordinary glass and not encrusted with rubies, diamonds and other precious gems. How much?”
Her bewilderment gave place to anger. “You have no business breaking windows. What were you doing here anyway?”
“Oh, hell, Martha, let’s forget it,” he said wearily. “No reason. Will five dollars cover it?”
“The money isn’t important. I only want to know why you came here.”
“Okay.” He leaned against the door jamb and put his hands in his pockets. “I was sightseeing.”
“Why?”
“I dreamed of you last night and when I woke up this morning I wanted to see the house you lived in.” He added carefully, “Not you. Just the house.”
There was a long silence. She said finally, “You always did do crazy things. If you really want to see the house, come in and see it.”
“Thanks.” He stepped into the hall.
“Of course it’s not looking its best right now. We decided to get the housecleaning done while Charles was away. He’s on a holiday, you know.” She spoke with nervous little pauses between phrases. “I... This is the hall.”
He gazed solemnly up and down the hall, nodding his head slightly in a professional fashion.
“The table over there and the lamp and ashtray on it are myrtle wood. Myrtle wood is very l-light, you know.”
“I didn’t know.”
“Well, it is.”
He went over and picked up the ashtray. “So it is,” he said soberly.
She glanced away in confusion. “The — prints on the wall are by Borein. Charles loves horses. At — least I think he does.”
“It seems to me to be an easy thing to check. If a man talks about horses, rides horses and associates with horses in a general way, he probably loves horses.”
Her mouth tightened, but she went on, in the manner of a guide in a museum. “The drawing room is in here. Do you want to see it?”
“I’d like to.”
She led the way into the room, walking with jerky little steps like a marionette. “The two davenports are built in. The slipcovers were designed by a friend of Charles’s, and the... I wish you’d go away. You didn’t come to see the house, you came to make trouble for me.”
“All right, I’ll leave.” But he removed himself only as far as the doorway. There he turned back again and said quietly, “I didn’t come to make trouble for you, Martha. I told you the truth. I dreamed of you...”
“Well, you shouldn’t. It’s — bad manners.”
“It is, isn’t it?” Steve said with a smile. “I’ll have to learn to stay awake. Aren’t you curious at all, Martha? Don’t you want to know what I dreamed about you?”
“No.”
“Oh, it’s nothing that would offend your pure ears. In the dream, you were ignoring me. That’s all.” He brought out a pack of cigarettes. “Would you like a cigarette?”
“No, thanks.”
“Do you mind if I have one? I’d hate to waste that myrtle wood ashtray. Where did Charles go?”
“Away.”
“You’re quite happy with him, are you?”
“Yes, I am. Very happy.”
“I’m glad of that,” he said with no conviction behind his words. “I had the notion that when I left, you were rather upset. I see it didn’t last long.”
“You are romantic.” She had recovered her poise. She was looking at him now with frank appraisal. “You really have no right to feel so bitter about me. I don’t about you.”
“That’s fine.”
“We can at least act civilized. Would you like some tea?”
“No, thanks.”
“Have you started your book yet?”
“No. I can’t start until I find a place to live.”
“It must be difficult.”
“Yes.”
“They say the housing shortage is very bad.”
“I’m not worrying so much. If I get stuck I can stay at Beatrice’s. Remember my cousin, Beatrice Rogers?”
“Yes.”
“She wants me to stay there. She has a house out in the west end.”
“Oh. She’s quite pretty, isn’t she?”
“Not exactly.”
“I remember her as being quite pretty. Did she ever get married?”
“No. She asked after you, by the way. She knows your husband slightly, I believe. Well—” he made a half-turn — “I’d better be going. Don’t worry about me bothering you anymore. I won’t.”
“You were no bother at all,” she said with false brightness. “I hope you find a place to live.”