“You—wouldn’t—dare!”
“I shall,” she insisted.
“You mustn’t go to the police,” he said in a low-pitched voice, and although she hardly understood why, she had a feeling that something had changed within him, too. “I shall be all right, I shan’t make a fool of myself. It—it won’t last for ever.”
“It’s lasted too long,” she said.
Suddenly he let her go and pushed her away.
Then clear out!” he shouted. “Clear out! You’re tired of me, you’re tired of a sick husband, of a physical wreck. You haven’t any patience left, you hate the sight of me. Clear out, I tell you! You’ve still got youth and beauty on your side, plenty of men——”
“Bob!”
“Plenty of men would find you worth bedding,” he went on almost hysterically. “Men who stayed at home, men who weren’t hurt, the men who gave you a good time while I——”
She slapped him across the face.
He backed away and his right hand rose slowly to his cheek, fingering the spot where she had hit him. There was something akin to wonder in his eyes; at least she had driven that devouring fear away, if only for a few minutes.
Suddenly he turned away.
“Oh, God!” he groaned. “I’m sorry. But it’s no use. I’m no good to you. I never will be. But it’s my trouble, not yours. You shouldn’t try to share it.” He limped across to his hat, stooped down and picked it up. “The advice was sound. You’d better leave me, Bar.”
“I shan’t leave you,” said Barbara quietly. “I’ve told you what I shall do.”
He shook his head, turning to face her.
“You mustn’t go to the police,” he said. “That tells you plenty, doesn’t it? I am afraid of the police as well as a lot of other things. But I’m not going to tell you why, nothing will drag it out of me. I’m not going to involve you.”
“But, Bob, surely—surely you know that if you’re in trouble, I can’t keep out.”
“You needn’t jump in with both feet.” Allen’s voice was harsh and dry. “Stop this idea of the police, Bar. It won’t help. Might do a lot more harm. I’ve a chance of getting through. Saturday should tell.”
“Saturday?” She felt a flare of hope. “This Saturday?”
“Yes. So he said. Believe it or not, I don’t know him, but he knows a lot about me. Knows I once did a crazy thing.” He paused. “Forget it until Saturday. I’ll try to behave like a rational human being until then.”
It was tempting to press questions because he was in a mood when he might talk freely. On the other hand, they might send him back into his shell again, and this was the first time he had talked about it at all. She forced herself to accept his mood.
“All right, darling,” she said. “I will.”
The “darling” brought a hoarse cry to his lips. He gripped her hands again and this time pulled her close; they strained against each other. His hands played with her hair, with her shoulders, his fingers pressing deep into her flesh. When at last he let her go, a ghost of the old smile played at the corner of his lips and there was a brighter light in his eyes.
“Believe it or not,” he said, “I love you.”
“Talking of my foul innuendo, as one might say, ever see anything of Snub these days?” asked Allen.
They were in the sitting-room. The sun had broken through the clouds, brightening the red of nearby chimneys and the blue tiles of the block of flats opposite. In the distance some trees were touched with gold. The view from the flat had never looked better; and not since his return, had Barbara felt so light-hearted. He had been almost himself for nearly an hour.
“Snub?” echoed Barbara.
“Snub Higginbottom,” said Allen, grinning. “Don’t say you’ve forgotten——”
“Oh, Snub!” Her eyes lit up. “The last time he came up, was just after you’d been reported missing. What on earth made you think of him?”
“I caught sight of him in Regent Street the other day,” said Allen. “He was with one of those Tailor-and-Cutter types—I thought they’d died with the war. Didn’t see me. And I saw something about him in one of those old newspapers I’ve been reading—to try to bring myself up to date. Snub gave evidence in a nasty murder case, apparently he had quite a time. Useful chap, in a tight corner.” He did not appear to be thinking of his own tight corner. “Well, what shall we do this afternoon?”
“Anything you like!”
Allen gave her a meaning grin.
“That’s dangerous, ducky, in my present sentimental mood! But let’s go out. Let’s——”
The telephone bell rang again.
His lips clamped together and he glanced towards the hall.
The first “ting” had brought everything back vividly, and Barbara had come to hate the telephone. Neither of them got up, and the bell kept ringing. Then they started to move together, and Barbara reached her feet first. But Allen said:
“No, I’ll go.”
He limped into the hall.
He had broken his leg when he had crashed on the flight which had nearly ended his life, and the natives who had rescued him had set the bone badly. There was some talk of having it broken and re-set, but he hadn’t shown much interest in that or in anything else, except—fear and the mellow-voiced man.
“Allen speaking,” he said harshly. There was an agonising pause; she did not move, felt numbed and stiff. Then he went on in a completely different voice in which there was a throb of excitement. “You want me to what?”
Barbara jumped up and rushed into the hall. He looked round at her, obviously excited, and mouthed the word: “Quiet.” She waited, close by his side, and he kept saying: “Yes, if you like,” over and over again. Then at last he said decidedly: “No, not to-morrow, I’m engaged all day to-morrow. I could manage this afternoon, if that’s any good . . . Right-ho! Where is it? . . . Aeolian Hall, New Bond Street, yes, I’ve got that, and I ask for . . . Mr Hedley . . . Right, thanks, good-bye!”
He rang off, and stared at Barbara with his eyes glistening.
“Well, what do you make of that,” he demanded.
“Bob, what is it?”
“Fame in a night!” cried Allen. “A three minutes” wonder! That was the B.B.C.! A man named Hedley thinks I can fill up a gap in the In Town To-night show. Saturday,” he added. “He wants to see me beforehand. I wouldn’t go to-morrow because you and I are having a day in the country.”
“Bob, it’s glorious!”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” he said, more calmly. “I shall be as nervous as Old Harry. Still——” A shadow entered his eyes as he went on: “Saturday will be quite a day, won’t it?”
CHAPTER TWO
FRIGHT
THE little chiming clock in the sitting-room struck four. Barbara heard it as she sat in the bedroom, putting on lipstick. “I must hurry,” she thought, but she didn’t hurry; she finished with the lipstick and looked at her face, carefree for the first time for weeks. She looked better, too; the little furrow between her eyes, which had become almost permanent, had gone. And this bright green suited her; it was a smart suit, and the wide-brimmed hat had gone on just right. She ought to have a set, but her hair wasn’t too bad. She tucked in a few light brown strands, and then suddenly laughed aloud.
Everything would be all right!
Anxiety hadn’t quite gone; Bob had been too emphatic about the police, as if some crime were heavy on his conscience, but he had been transformed, almost normal, since the call from the B.B.C. Bob to broadcast! Would she be able to go with him? Or would it be better to hear him on their own radio? She glanced at it, where it stood on the bedside table, then stepped across the room and picked up the Radio Times. She turned over the pages to Saturday and read: