He walked out on to the muddy water-logged lawn and the Slipper House came into view and he paused. The idea of seeing Hattie now seemed colossally important, ambiguous, unpredictable, dangerous, as if something enormous were at stake. Was it, and if so what? He had been going to ask Hattie a question. What question? What could he say to her now which would not be some sort of awful impertinence, would not his presence, especially his unheralded presence, be an impertinence? And suppose John Robert was there? He had not considered, after the reception of his last call, telephoning. He thought, maybe I’ll give it up and see Alex instead. But his fate drew him on with a siren song of menace, and he thought, better a smash than any more abject waiting.
The Slipper House, surrounded by dripping trees (the rain was abating) looked melancholy and mysterious like a lonely secluded house in a Japanese story. The shutters were closed, but there appeared to be a light on in the sitting-room and one upstairs. Tom put down his umbrella. He could not find his handkerchief (his cold persisted), but blew his nose on the sleeve of his shirt. He felt sick with apprehension as he approached the door. Some light was coming from the hall through the stained-glass, but he could not find the bell. He tried the door. It was not locked. He opened it softly and stepped into the hall. He stood a moment in silence looking at some faded roses in a mauve vase, and taking in the self-possessed quietness of the house which for a moment struck him as being clearly empty. He slithered out of his mackintosh, laid down his umbrella on the floor, and before he went any farther automatically kicked off his shoes and put on a pair of slippers from the box in the hall. He went to the sitting-room door, which was ajar, and looked in. There was no one there. The gas fire was on. There was a book and a scarf on a chair, writing-paper and a pen on the table. Even these evidences struck Tom as signs of a place overtaken by sudden disaster and abandoned.
He moved back into the hall. The continued silence began to be frightening. He shuffled his feet; then called out, ‘Hello’. Then again, ‘Hello! It’s Tom McCaffrey.’ Silence. He opened the front door and shut it noisily, then reopened it seeing the bell in the light from the hall, rang the bell and shut the door again and waited.
There was a sound of movement, steps, and a door opening up above. Then after a short interval a figure appeared at the top of the stairs. It was a man, tucking the tail of his white shirt into the top of his black trousers. The man was Emma.
Tom was so surprised, so shocked, that he leapt backwards coming into resounding contact with the front door.
Emma, red in the face, and breathing deeply, was equally distressed. He reached the bottom of the stairs, advanced a step or two, and stood looking sternly at Tom, his eyes narrowed without his glasses. Tom moved forward and they faced each other.
‘Emma! What on earth are you doing here?’
‘Well, what are you, if it comes to that?’
‘How can you speak so? Where is Hattie? Why are you intruding?’
‘Don’t shout!’
‘Is she - is she up there?’
‘I don’t know where she is.’
‘I think you’ve been with her!’
‘Oh Tom, stop, think, don’t be crazy! Hattie isn’t here.’
‘Then what — ’
‘There were two women in this house, though I know you only noticed one. Your lady, the mistress, has gone away. I, as befits my position as the hero’s friend, have been in bed with the maid.’
‘You’ve been - oh Emma — ’
‘You’re shocked.’
‘I resent your being here.’
‘You have no rights in this house as far as I know.’
‘You behave as if you have! What a charade, what an affront to - to her - to Hattie Meynell.’
‘All right, it takes some explaining, but if you take on so I can’t explain.’
‘To treat this house like a — ’
‘Oh come, come, Tom.’
‘I thought you were a serious person with decent standards of behaviour.’
‘Do you mean someone who doesn’t make love to maidservants?’
‘You know I don’t mean that.’
‘What did you want, if it comes to that, creeping in unannounced at this hour?’
‘Are you suggesting —?’
‘No! I’m just asking you to calm down.’
‘You go about it in a funny way. What else have you been doing that I don’t know about? You tried to wreck things, at any rate you did wreck things — ’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You gave away what I told you about John Robert and Hattie and me. I told it to you as a secret and you gave it away, and now it’s been all over the press, you don’t know how horrible it’s been and what awful damage it’s done.’
‘I did not give it away.’
‘You must have done. You told it to Hector Gaines.’
‘I did not!’
‘You did. You bloody liar.’
Emma picked up a paperback book (his own copy of Thucydides’ History of the Peloponnesian War) which was lying on a table beside the faded roses and hit Tom across the face.
Then instantly they started to fight. Both were athletic and agile and for the moment very angry, but neither was much good at fighting. Tom gave a violent push against Emma’s shoulder. Emma lunged at Tom’s chest and sent him reeling back towards the door. Then they sprang at each other like two dogs, clutching and staggering round in a circle, Tom dragging at Emma’s shirt and Emma at Tom’s jacket. Emma tried to get a wrestling hold, one foot driving behind Tom’s leg. Tom punched him in the ribs. They crashed into the table, sending the vase of roses flying.
This scrimmage might have gone on longer, only it was suddenly ended by a deluge of cold water which descended on the combatants, decanted from a bedroom jug by Pearl on the landing above.
Startled, soaked and ridiculous, they drew apart.
‘Hell!’
‘Damn!’
Tom took off his jacket and shook it. Emma wrung out the end of his shirt, which had emerged again.
‘Thank heavens I wasn’t wearing my glasses.’
Tom had closed his eyes and lowered his head.
‘Are you all right, Tom?’
‘Yes, let’s go in here.’
They marched into the sitting-room and closed the door.
Tom said, ‘Is there anything to drink?’
‘No, it’s a teetotal house. There’s some Coca-Cola here.’
‘Give me some.’
Emma opened the cupboard and poured out two glasses. His hand shook.
‘That was absurd, to fight like that,’ said Tom.
Emma said nothing.
‘Emma, I’m sorry.’
‘OK.’
Tom looked anxiously at his friend, then looked away. He said, ‘What’s been happening here, how long have you been here?’
‘I arrived this evening. John Robert took Hattie away last night.’
‘Where to?’
‘Back to America. Well, I suppose first to his place here, or to London — ’
‘Oh -God - but I don’t understand. How did you know? I mean, did you come here looking for Hattie?’
‘No, you fool.’
‘But then why - how - you don’t know Pearl, you’d never exchanged a word with her, was it just accident, a sort of impulse, when you found her alone?’