Five minutes after her brother's departure, she got up to go,said a polite but not at all obsequious good-bye to Mr. andMrs. Jones, and preceded Darel out of the room. His closing ofthe living room door behind him sent a shiver of anticipationdown her spine. He fetched her coat, held it up for her, said,when she thought utter silence was to be maintained until their farewells, "Have you had any more trouble from that guy who was following you?"
"Not really," she said, and thought, why lie to him of all people? "Well, yes, I have. Today. I won't go into it, it's a long story, but he spoke to me. Put his face up to mine actually, right up, and said things. Oh, nothing horrible, just compliments."
"I see." He was silent, thoughtful. "Next time that happens,next time anything happens, will you call me? Here's my card with my mobile number. Will you do that?"
"But you're such a long way away."
"Not that far and I'm a fast driver. Just call me. Especially at night. Don't hesitate after dark."
"All right," she said. "Good-bye. Thank you for asking me,I've had a nice time. You're a very good cook."
"Good night, Nerissa."
Shoshana looked at her e-mails before going to bed on Sundaynight. Only one had come. It read:
Shoshana: On mature consideration I have decided phoning his chief executive your wisest course. Teratomancy has revealed to me that this individual's name is Desmond Pearson.I have also made you up a spell which I am not risking on line but sending by snail mail. It is a very effective one that cramps the object's spinal column and lasts up to one week, though it is renewable. Yours, in the shadows, Hecate.
Very satisfactory. First thing tomorrow morning-that is,at ten, the late hour at which these sort of people got in towork-she would phone Desmond Pearson and tell him MixC ellini was breaking the rules by instituting a private contract with her, and as soon as the spell arrived she would think of ways of administering it. She could always think of something, it was a gift she had.
Chapter 20
The lodger might be in or he might be out. For once Gwendolen had no idea. She was too weak to bother, too sleepy to listen for his comings and goings. That nonsense this morning, young people behaving in an ungoverned way, as she never had,had taken it out of her. If they had all gone as soon as she was.home, she was convinced she would by now have been feeling much better instead of as weak as a kitten. Talking of kittens, here had been a letter from Mr. Singh among the few that hadcome for her, complaining that Otto had killed and eaten both his guinea fowl. Being a peaceable man, he wrote, he didn't intend to "take the matter further." He just wanted her to be aware of the "predatory instincts and achievements" of her "savage pet." Meanwhile, he had purchased two geese which would be more than a match for the "ornithophagous beast."Gwendolen cared very little about guinea fowl or, come to that, Otto, but she grimly contrasted this excellently educated "native,"his use of polysyllabic words and his perfect spelling, witht he illiterate English of the present generation. Even she wasn'te ntirely sure if "ornithophagous" meant "bird-eating."
The rest of the post had been the electricity bill, the menuf rom a Vietnamese takeaway, and an invitation to the opening of a new Bond Street store. Nothing from Stephen Reeves. Perhaps he was away on holiday. He had always gone away alot and no doubt he hadn't changed. She would never forget,even after they were ultimately reunited she wouldn't forget,how he had been on his honeymoon while she waited andwaited for him to come. Wherever he was now, he'd probably be coming back today or tomorrow.
The new orderliness in the kitchen, which she surveyed after she had had a sleep, made her cross. What business had those two to go about tidying her home? Now she wouldn't be able to find anything. All the tinned food was in one cupboard, all the brushes and dusters in another. Someone had washed the dusters, removing the encrusted grime of years that had comfortably transformed them from yellow to gray, gray to dark brown. Now they were more or less yellow again. She slammed the cupboard door in disgust. And what had become of all the things she kept in the washhouse?
The bulb in the overhead lamp had gone out. She wasn't climbing up to change that now, not in her state of health. Olive or Queenie could do it tomorrow. She looked for her flashlight, which should have been in the fridge so that shecould see it when she opened the fridge door and the lightcame on. The flashlight wasn't there and she had to hunt for it, finally discovering it on a cupboard shelf along with some cano peners, a screwdriver, and a box of shoe-cleaning equipment. Olive and Queenie and their tidiness mania again. In the halfdark she lifted the lid of the copper. It had formerly held a lot of clothes. Although just about past wearing, these would have come in useful for tearing up for washrags and plugging the sink, its original plug having perished years before. Olive and Queenie had very high-handedly disposed of the lot. She shone the beam of the torch inside, illuminating the depths.
What was that lying in the bottom? A mysterious object to Gwendolen's eyes. At first she saw it as a sling, the kind of weapon she remembered being taught in Sunday school that David had employed against Goliath, then surely as a garment. A kind of truss? It looked hardly strong enough to contain a hernia. Perhaps it was a body belt but if it was, it lacked anything in the nature of a purse. After several attempts, she succeededin fishing it out by means of a pole with a hook on the end of it, originally intended for opening a skylight. She wouldshow it to Olive or Queenie. The thing must belong to one of them.
Exhausted from her explorations, she went to bed and slept heavily till morning.
Off to spend Sunday with friends who had a house with a rive rfrontage at Marlow, Nerissa left her house in Rodney's car ten minutes before Mix arrived on foot. He had read in a magazine that the thirties film star Ramon Novarro had kept his figure by walking a mile around Hollywood every day, holding his navel pressed as near as he could to his spine. Emulating hi mon the fairly long walk, surely a mile, from St. Blaise Avenuedown Ladbroke Grove and along Holland Park Avenue toCampden Hill Square, Mix was conscious of twinges in hisback. They were nothing like the agony he had suffered the other night and he tried to ignore them.
Her car was parked outside. Good. He had been afraid he had started out too late and she'd have gone out. For about halfan hour he hung about in the square, walking down and backagain. The milk arrived and sat on the doorstep in the full sun. She must be counting on the breeze keeping the temperaturedown. He was wondering if she had already taken the newspaper in when it came and was deposited on the doormat beside the milk.
Someone would steal it and the milk as well. She'd thankhim for ringing the doorbell and handing in the cartons andthe enormous Sunday paper. It might even be possible for himnot to hand but to carry them in for her. Ifhe did that she'd bebound to ask him to stay for coffee. She'd probably be only half-dressed, in deshabille as they said. He imagined her in ababy doll nightdress, barely covered by a diaphanous robe, and he marched up to the door and rang the bell.
No reply. He put his ear to the grille of the entryphone. Silence.He rang again. She wasn't in. She must have gone out onfoot, running perhaps, or caught a train somewhere. He was bitterly disappointed. So near and yet so far, he said to himself, going back down the steps but still lingering in case she cameback from her run.