Shroud of Silence (9 page)

He was giving me the treatment now. His smile slowly faded, replaced by a tentative brushing of the soulful.

“You’re a very attractive girl, Kim. But you must have been told that often enough.”

I adjusted my armor. “Let’s get this straight, Felix. There’s nothing doing. Absolutely nothing. I’m here on a job.”

“You know what they say about all work and no play.”

“Maybe. But that’s how it’s going to be.”

His grin came back, a glint of malice underneath. “It must be nice to be wanted.”

So my crack back at him still rankled. He’d deserved a slap down on that occasion, but had I been a mite too savage?

“You did leave yourself wide open,” I muttered.

He sensed my part-way remorse, and he wasn’t having any of that.

“Don’t you worry about me,” he said, his grin quite gone. “I can look after myself.”

And that was how we left things between us—an armed truce. We both had reserved the right to use our weapons if the need arose.

* * * *

Corinne arrived home in great commotion just before dinner. Her new hairdo looked terrific. I reckoned she’d had a facial, too—the whole works, in fact.

At the table she hogged the conversation with an account of her shopping spree in London. It was angled so as to rouse green-eyed envy in Verity—and no doubt in me too, as a bonus.

“Such a gorgeous suit, and only ninety-five guineas. And there were two dresses I simply couldn’t choose between—an aquamarine and a crushed pink.” She gave a pretty laugh. “In the end I decided to take them both.”

As usual, Drew appeared to ignore his wife completely. I wondered if he paid her extravagant bills with the same stony indifference.

Tansy came napping in with a dish of vegetables,

“Have you seen the darling little puppy Drew has bought for Jane?” she inquired chirpily.

Here was another of my suppressed worries bobbing up to the surface. I’d been thinking since the deed was done that perhaps Drew had made a big mistake in not consulting his wife before rushing to buy Jane a dog.

“It was Kim’s idea,” Tansy rippled on brightly. “So clever of her, don’t you think?”

Corinne’s face was coldly blank. I guessed she was preparing a few barbed words on the subject.

Felix helpfully egged her on. “So that’s what Drew and Kim were being so cosy about just now out in the hall.” He stretched mocking eyes at his two sisters. “Honestly, you should have seen them. The way they had their heads together.”

“Don’t be a damn fool, Felix,” said Drew sharply.

Corinne decided after all to control her fury. “Of course,” she announced, her voice only a mere shade too loud for perfect calmness, “the dog will have to be got rid of immediately. We can’t possibly keep it.”

Drew looked at her without raising his head.

“The dog will not be your responsibility, Corinne,” he said levelly. “No one expects you to take any part in looking after it.”

“But Jane is my daughter ...”

“And mine. Miss Bennett says the puppy will do Jane good, and I agree with her. I should have thought of it before. There was always a dog at Mildenhall when I was a child.”

If I’d had any doubt left about Corinne’s raging hostility, it disappeared now. I think that she could have killed me. She didn’t say another word throughout the meal, and that worried me more than any verbal attack. Bottled up, her venom was even deadlier. She might end up by striking wildly.

During the next couple of days I called in every bit of diplomatic talent I possessed. I was determined to succeed with this job I’d taken on, whatever the odds piled up against me. I think I worked harder on Corinne than on Jane herself, doggedly asking for her approval of every step I took.

I felt I was making a small but measurable progress. Immediately after lunch Jane and I—and naturally the puppy too—would go up to her playroom. We got along fine together as long as we weren’t interrupted. For the moment the great thing was to get her to like me. To trust me.

The puppy was a godsend. I wasn’t one to go goofy about dogs, but I couldn’t resist this soft bundle of wriggling, tail-thumping fur. Jane adored Badger. I encouraged her to play with him all she wanted. And in between I’d slip in a bit of play-work. Or work-play. Jane couldn’t read yet, but she liked to pretend she could. We went through her story books over and over, and as with all stammerers the repetition made it easier. By maybe the fifth time round she was “reading” with hardly a fluff.

Poor Tansy fretted when we were shut up together and would break in on us with the flimsiest of excuses. She’d wonder if we would like something to drink. Or whether Jane was warm enough without her cardigan. Tansy loved Jane, I knew. But over-protection never did a stammerer any good. Somehow I had to strike a clear chord of reason in the jangle of Tansy’s mind.

I got Jane singing whenever I could, both in chorus with me and on her own. The phenomenally free flow of words was still a thrilling new experience for her.

One time we were going through a part song when Corinne burst in abruptly.

“What on earth was all that noise? I thought you were supposed to be working.”

Jane’s thin little body went rigid.

I smiled at her gently, and tried hard to include Corinne in the warmth.

“Jane sings very nicely, doesn’t she? And she picks up new songs so quickly.” In a quiet aside, I added, “It’s considered to be an excellent form of therapy.”

Her look was calculated to wither me.

“I should have thought I was in a better position than you to judge my daughter’s voice, Miss Bennett, She was hopelessly off-key.” She swung round on Jane. “Now listen! This is how it goes!

London’s burning. London’s burning,

Fetch the engine, fetch the engine ...”

She sang it through to the end at full volume, a concert performance.

The terrified Jane was made to try it for herself. She gagged hopelessly at the first
burning,
and gulped into silence.

Corinne was triumphant. “It doesn’t look as if your ‘excellent therapy’ has achieved much, Miss Bennett.”

I could have felt triumphant too, at the way I held on to my patience.

“Mrs. Barrington, I noticed a tape recorder downstairs. I wonder if I might borrow it. I’d like you to be able to hear some of the things Jane and I are doing together.”

She shrugged carelessly. “It belongs to my husband. If he’s fool enough to let you play about with valuable equipment, and it gets broken, that’s his funeral.”

She was scanning the room for something new to pick on. Badger was curled up fast asleep in a patch of sunlight.

“Just you see that dog doesn’t make a mess on the carpet,” she warned.

Jane fought off terror in defense of her pet. “B-b-but B-B-Badger wouldn’t...”

“He’d better not, or there’ll really be trouble.” On this unmotherly note Corinne made her exit.

I asked Drew about the tape recorder later. H« agreed at once. But all the same I had an idea he was feeling new doubts about the wisdom of having me at Mildenhall. Sometimes, across the room, I would catch his pensive eyes, gray eyes whose depths I couldn’t fathom. And always his gaze would be swiftly withdrawn.

On Wednesday evening there were people to dinner, two married couples and an unattached girl called Rona. They were Corinne’s friends, every one of them as hard and brittle as she was. It was obvious that Drew scarcely knew them, and didn’t want to- know them, either. As soon as the meal was over he slipped quietly away in the direction of his study.

Tansy, too, faded gently out of sight. I guessed she had a standing evening date with Miss Pink and the television.

The visitors were properly insistent that Corinne should sing for them, and the party headed for the music room, I hung back, glad enough to see them go. But Felix wasn’t having any. I might have been fooled by his persuasive charm if I hadn’t guessed what he was up to. All evening he’d been piling it on, and the girl Rona could hardly keep her jealous eyes off him. For that matter, neither could the two wives. Felix clearly worked on women in devious ways.

If I pointedly spurned an invitation to hear Corinne sing, it would only drive her to fresh fury against me. So reluctantly I went along with them.

Accompanying herself at the piano, Corinne whacked out a selection of big-time stuff. She’d
just finished singing “
I
Could Have Danced All Night”
when Bill Wayne’s head slid diffidently around the door.

“Mrs. Hearne told me to come on in.”

From the sofa Felix waved a wide arm. “Hi there, friend and neighbor. Get some booze and perch yourself—that is, if you can stand Corinne’s yodeling.”

“As a matter of fact,” Bill grinned, “it’s Kim I’m after.” He looked across at me. “I was wondering if you’d like to come out for a drive around?”

“You’d better watch out, Kim,” Felix shoved in. “He’s a lousy one-armed driver.”

Corinne had so far ignored Bill completely. Now, ready for her next song, she said to him aggressively, “Well—are you going or staying?”

“No, I’m not staying, Corinne. I’ve
only come to collect Kim.”

She smiled falsely at me and her silvery laugh trilled higher than her singing voice.

“I didn’t know you’d already found a ... a
follower,
Miss Bennett.”

Still not broken into Corinne’s complete bitchiness, I couldn’t check a flush.

But Bill just laughed. His words pointed, his eyes hammering them in, he remarked, “Unlike some people I know, Kim wasn’t even on the lookout for one.”

I just couldn’t have stayed after that if I’d wanted to. Discretion told me to clear out of the room, and fast. Corinne’s slit-closed green eyes sped me on my way.

It was a warm evening and I didn’t need to stop to get a coat. As we walked straight out, Bill was chuckling.

“‘Hell hath no fury…”

What was he suggesting? Could it be that Corinne had once given him the come-hither and got a slap-down for her trouble? That would have maddened her, all right. With her looks, her figure, her terrific dress-flair, she wouldn’t expect any man not to come to heel when she whistled.

Corinne was plainly on very bad terms with Drew. I’d
not heard a single civil word pass between them. Even so, would she really dare to try playing around right on her own doorstep? Or was Bill Wayne just talking big for effect?

Bill opened the car door. His hand on my arm as he helped me in was more intimate than courteous. Jumping in himself he started off and swung down the drive towards the trout farm.

“You don’t mind if I stop for a minute? I’ve just remembered something I wanted to check at one of the ponds.”

We pulled up close to the packing shed, and Bill hopped out. “I’ll have to put the lights on,” he said as he disappeared inside. A moment later overhead lights came on, a dozen or more, floodlighting the whole place.

Bill came hurrying out and headed for the water. Then he stopped, looking back.

“Want to come with me?”

“All right.”

Up by the smaller ponds he took my hand to lead me through the maze of narrow concrete paths.

“I’ve got an idea one of the screens is punctured,” he explained. “I should have checked it this afternoon. If I leave the blessed thing overnight the fish will all get mixed up and we’ll have to regrade them.”

Bill knelt down at the sluice between two ponds, slid up the sleeve of his casual shirt, and fumbled around under the water.

“Damn. I’ll have to go and fetch another screen. I’ll only be a few minutes. You stay put, Kim.”

I whiled away the passing time by trying to spot baby trout. It wasn’t easy, because a soft evening breeze was rippling the surface of the water, reflecting the overhead lights in a thousand twinkling pinpoints. Eventually I squatted down on my heels and leaned forward, shading my eyes. I bent lower still....

And then suddenly the lights all went out.

The sheer surprise of it nearly threw me in. For a second I teetered, arms windmilling. Then I managed to jerk backwards and steady myself. I had to fight off panic as the secret, shaming fear of dark water came sneaking through from childhood. But reason soon took charge. I was in no danger.

“Bill,” I called. “What’s happened?”

There was no answer. Just the faint gurgling of water through the sluices.

Was he fooling about, trying to scare me?

“Bill! For heaven’s sake! I nearly fell in.”

It was only then I realized that he wasn’t near enough to hear me. The light switch was in the packing shed, over fifty yards away.

I was poised on a narrow concrete strip, surrounded by the black ponds. I shuddered. But I seemed to remember a wider, safer path a little way to my left.

I put a cautious foot forward. All right so far. I took another step, and yet another. At the next try my foot slipped over the edge and I got a shoeful of icy water before I recovered my balance.

That decided me. I was staying right here until the lights came on again.

“Bill,” I yelled with all my lung power. “Put the lights on, you idiot.”

Still he didn’t answer. Absurdly, I began to feel scared again. But there was really nothing to worry about. The worst I could suffer was a cold ducking in a couple of feet of cold water. At least, I imagined it was no more than two feet deep in these small ponds.

A picture came flashing into my mind of Bill feeding the trout. I remembered the way the quiet pool had boiled with savagely leaping fish.

I stood rigidly still, trying to reassure myself. All right then, let him have his stupid joke. I’d stick it out until he got bored with the game.

I expect it was about two minutes I stood there in the darkness. No more. One hundred and twenty dragging seconds. Then a door in one of the buildings at the back opened and yellow light streamed out.

I heard Bill’s startled exclamation. “What the devil!” He paused, then shouted urgently, “Kim! Are you okay?”

“Put the lights on, you halfwit,” I shouted back.

I heard him running; another door banged. Then the outside lights blazed on again, almost blinding me for a moment.