Towards Zero (6 page)

On the whole he was glad that his work would take him out of England. He was to sail for South America the end of September. The next few weeks would be busy getting together certain equipment and being put in touch with the somewhat complicated ramifications of the business.

But there would be a week's leisure before he left the country.
He wondered what he should do with that week? Stay in London? Go away?

An idea stirred nebulously in his brain.

Saltcreek?

“I've a damned good mind to go down there,” said MacWhirter to himself.

It would be, he thought, grimly amusing.

August 19th

“And bang goes my holiday,” said Superintendent Battle disgustedly.

Mrs. Battle was disappointed, but long years as the wife of a police officer had prepared her to take disappointments philosophically.

“Oh well,” she said, “it can't be helped. And I suppose it
is
an interesting case?”

“Not so that you'd notice it,” said Superintendent Battle. “It's got the Foreign Office in a twitter—all those tall thin young men rushing about and saying Hush Hush here, there and everywhere. It'll straighten out easy enough—and we shall save everybody's face. But it's not the kind of case I'd put in my Memoirs, supposing I was ever foolish enough to write any.”

“We could put our holiday off, I suppose—” began Mrs. Battle doubtfully, but her husband interrupted her decisively.

“Not a bit of it. You and the girls go off to Britlington—the rooms have been booked since March—pity to waste them. I tell you what I'll do—go down and spend a week with Jim when this blows over.”

Jim was Superintendent Battle's nephew, Inspector James Leach.

“Saltington's quite close to Easterhead Bay and Saltcreek,” he went on. “I can get a bit of sea air and a dip in the briny.”

Mrs. Battle sniffed.

“More likely he'll rope you in to help him over a case!”

“They don't have any cases this time of the year—unless it's a woman who pinches a few sixpennyworths from Woolworth's. And anyway Jim's all right—he doesn't need his wits sharpening for him.”

“Oh well,” said Mrs. Battle. “I suppose it will work out all right, but it is disappointing.”

“These things are sent to try us,” Superintendent Battle assured her.

I

T
homas Royde found Mary Aldin waiting for him on the platform at Saltington when he got out of the train.

He had only a dim recollection of her, and now that he saw her again he was rather surprisedly aware of pleasure in her brisk capable way of dealing with things.

She called him by his Christian name.

“How nice to see you, Thomas. After all these years.”

“Nice of you to put me up. Hope it isn't a bother.”

“Not at all. On the contrary. You'll be particularly welcome. Is that your porter? Tell him to bring the things out this way. I've got the car right at the end.”

The bags were stowed in the Ford. Mary took the wheel and Royde got in beside her. They drove off and Thomas noticed that she was a good driver, deft and careful in traffic and with a nice judgement of distance and spaces.

Saltington was seven miles from Saltcreek. Once they were out of the small market town and on the open road, Mary Aldin reopened the subject of his visit.

“Really, Thomas, your visit just now is going to be a godsend. Things are rather difficult—and a stranger—or partial stranger is just what is needed.”

“What's the trouble?”

His manner, as always, was incurious—almost lazy. He asked the question, it seemed, more from politeness than because he had any desire for the information. It was a manner particularly soothing to Mary Aldin. She wanted badly to talk to someone—but she much preferred to talk to someone who was not too much interested.

She said:

“Well—we've got rather a difficult situation. Audrey is here, as you probably know?”

She paused questioningly and Thomas Royde nodded.

“And Nevile and his wife also.”

Thomas Royde's eyebrows went up. He said after a minute or two: “Bit awkward—what?”

“Yes it is. It was Nevile's idea.”

She paused. Royde did not speak, but as though aware of some current of disbelief issuing from him, she repeated assertively: “It
was
Nevile's idea.”

“Why?”

She raised her hands for a moment from the steering wheel.

“Oh, some modern reaction! All sensible and friends together. That idea. But I don't think, you know, it's working very well.”

“Possibly it mightn't.” He added, “What's the new wife like?”

“Kay? Good-looking, of course. Really very good-looking. And quite young.”

“And Nevile's keen on her?”

“Oh yes. Of course they've only been married a year.”

Thomas Royde turned his head slowly to look at her. His mouth smiled a little. Mary said hastily:

“I didn't mean that exactly.”

“Come now, Mary. I think you did.”

“Well, one can't help seeing that they've really got very little in common. Their friends, for instance—” She came to a stop.

Royde asked:

“He met her, didn't he, on the Riviera? I don't know much about it. Only just the bare facts that the mater wrote.”

“Yes, they met first at Cannes. Nevile was attracted, but I should imagine he'd been attracted before—in a harmless sort of way. I still think myself that if he'd been left to himself nothing would have come of it. He
was
fond of Audrey, you know.”

Thomas nodded.

Mary went on:

“I don't think he wanted to break up his marriage—I'm sure he didn't. But the girl was absolutely determined. She wouldn't rest until she'd got him to leave his wife—and what's a man to do in those circumstances? It flatters him, of course.”

“Head over heels in love with him, was she?”

“I suppose it may have been that.”

Mary's tone sounded doubtful. She met his inquiring glance with a flush.

“What a cat I am! There's a young man always hanging about—good-looking in a gigolo kind of way—an old friend of hers—and I can't help wondering sometimes whether the fact that Nevile is very well off and distinguished and all that didn't have something to do with it. The girl hadn't a penny of her own, I gather.”

She paused, looking rather ashamed. Thomas Royde merely said: “Uh hum,” in a speculative voice.

“However,” said Mary, “that's probably plain cat! The girl is what one would call glamorous—and that probably rouses the feline instincts of middle-aged spinsters.”

Royde looked thoughtfully at her, but his poker face showed no recognizable reaction. He said, after a minute or two:

“But what, exactly, is the present trouble about?”

“Really, you know, I haven't the least idea! That's what's so odd. Naturally we consulted Audrey first—and she seemed to have no feeling against meeting Kay—she was charming about it all. She
has
been charming. No one could have been nicer. Audrey, of course, in everything she does is always just right. Her manner to them both is perfect. She's very reserved, as you know, and one never has any idea of what she is really thinking or feeling—but honestly I don't believe she
minds at all.
”

“No reason why she should,” said Thomas Royde. He added, rather belatedly, “After all, it's three years ago.”

“Do people like Audrey forget? She was very fond of Nevile.”

Thomas Royde shifted in his seat.

“She's only thirty-two. Got her life in front of her.”

“Oh, I know. But she
did
take it hard. She had quite a bad nervous breakdown, you know.”

“I know. The mater wrote me.”

“In a way,” said Mary, “I think it was good for your mother to have Audrey to look after. It took her mind off her own grief—about your brother's death. We were so sorry about that.”

“Yes. Poor old Adrian. Always did drive too fast.”

There was a pause. Mary stretched out her hand as a sign she was taking the turn that led down the hill to Saltcreek.

Presently, as they were slipping down the narrow twisting road, she said:

“Thomas—you know Audrey very well?”

“So so. Haven't seen much of her for the last ten years.”

“No, but you knew her as a child. She was like a sister to you and Adrian?”

He nodded.

“Was she—was she at all unbalanced in any way? Oh I don't mean that quite the way it sounds. But I've a feeling that there is something very wrong with her now. She's so completely detached, her poise is so unnaturally perfect—but I wonder sometimes what is going on behind the façade. I've a feeling, now and then, of some really powerful emotion. And I don't quite know what it is! But I do feel that she isn't
normal.
There's
something!
It worries me. I do know that there's an atmosphere in the house that affects everybody. We're all nervous and jumpy. But I don't know what it is. And sometimes, Thomas, it frightens me.”

“Frightens you?” His slow wondering tone made her pull herself together with a little nervous laugh.

“It sounds absurd…But that's what I meant just now—your arrival will be good for us—create a diversion. Ah, here we are.”

They had slipped round the last corner. Gull's Point was built on a plateau of rock overlooking the river. On two sides it had sheer cliff going down to the water. The gardens and tennis court were on the left of the house. The garage—a modern afterthought—was actually farther along the road, on the other side of it.

Mary said:

“I'll put the car away now and come back. Hurstall will look after you.”

Hurstall, the aged butler, was greeting Thomas with the pleasure of an old friend.

“Very glad to see you, Mr. Royde, after all these years. And so will her ladyship be. You're in the east room, sir. I think you'll find everyone in the garden, unless you want to go to your room first.”

Thomas shook his head. He went through the drawing room to the window which opened on to the terrace. He stood there for a moment, watching, unobserved himself.

Two women were the only occupants of the terrace. One was sitting on the corner of the balustrade looking out over the water. The other woman was watching her.

The first was Audrey—the other, he knew, must be Kay Strange. Kay did not know she was being overlooked and she took no pains to disguise her expression. Thomas Royde was not, perhaps, a very observant man where women were concerned, but he could not fail to notice that Kay Strange disliked Audrey Strange very much.

As for Audrey, she was looking out across the river and seemed unconscious of, or indifferent to, the other's presence.

It was seven years since Thomas had seen Audrey Strange. He studied her now very carefully. Had she changed, and, if so, in what way?

There was a change, he decided. She was thinner, paler, altogether more ethereal-looking—but there was something else, something he could not quite define. It was as though she were holding herself tightly in leash, watchful over every movement—
and yet all the time intensely aware of everything going on round her. She was like a person, he thought, who had a secret to hide. But what secret? He knew a little of the events that had befallen her in the last few years. He had been prepared for lines of sorrow and loss—but this was something else. She was like a child who, by a tightly clenched hand over a treasure—calls attention to what it wants to hide.

And then his eyes went to the other woman—the girl who was now Nevile Strange's wife. Beautiful, yes. Mary Aldin had been right. He rather fancied dangerous, too. He thought: I wouldn't like to trust her near Audrey if she had a knife in her hand….

And yet, why should she hate Nevile's first wife? All that was over and done with. Audrey had no part or parcel in their lives nowadays. Footsteps rang out on the terrace as Nevile came round the corner of the house. He looked warm and was carrying a picture paper.

“Here's the
Illustrated Review,
” he said. “Couldn't get the other—”

Then two things happened at precisely the same minute.

Kay said: “Oh good, give it to me,” and Audrey, without moving her head, held out her hand almost absentmindedly.

Nevile had stopped halfway between the two women. A dawn of embarrassment showed in his face. Before he could speak, Kay said, her voice rising with a slight note of hysteria, “I want it. Give it me! Give it me, Nevile!”

Audrey Strange started, turned her head, withdrew her hand and murmured with just the slightest air of confusion:

“Oh sorry. I thought you were speaking to me, Nevile.”

Thomas Royde saw the colour come up brick red in Nevile
Strange's neck. He took three quick steps forward and held out the picture paper to Audrey.

She said, hesitating, her air of embarrassment growing:

“Oh, but—”

Kay pushed back her chair with a rough movement. She stood up, then, turning, she made for the drawing room window. Royde had no time to move before she had charged into him blindly.

The shock made her recoil; she looked at him as he apologized. He saw then why she had not seen him, her eyes were brimming with tears—tears, he fancied, of anger.

“Hullo,” she said. “Who are you? Oh, of course, the man from Malay!”

“Yes,” said Thomas. “I'm the man from Malay.”

“I wish to God I was in Malay,” said Kay. “Anywhere but here! I loathe this beastly lousy house! I loathe everyone in it!”

Emotional scenes always alarmed Thomas. He regarded Kay warily and murmured nervously:

“Ah—hum.”

“Unless they're very careful,” said Kay, “I shall kill someone! Either Nevile or that whey-faced cat out there!”

She brushed past him and went out of the room, banging the door.

Thomas Royde stood stock-still. He was not quite sure what to do next, but he was glad that young Mrs. Strange had gone. He stood and looked at the door that she had slammed so vigorously. Something of a tiger cat, the new Mrs. Strange.

The window was darkened as Nevile Strange paused in the space between the french doors. He was breathing rather fast.

He greeted Thomas vaguely.

“Oh—er—hullo, Royde, didn't know you'd arrived. I say, have you seen my wife?”

“She passed through about a minute ago,” said the other.

Nevile in his turn went out through the drawing room door. He was looking annoyed.

Thomas Royde went slowly through the open window. He was not a heavy walker. Not until he was a couple of yards away did Audrey turn her head.

Then he saw those wide-apart eyes open wider, saw her lips part. She slipped down from the wall and came towards him, hands outstretched.

“Oh Thomas,” she said. “Dear Thomas! How glad I am you've come.”

As he took the two small white hands in his and bent down to her, Mary Aldin in her turn arrived at the french windows. Seeing the two on the terrace she checked herself, watched them for a moment or two, then slowly turned away and went back into the house.

II

Upstairs Nevile had found Kay in her bedroom. The only large double bedroom in the house was Lady Tressilian's. A married couple was always given the two rooms with the communicating door and a small bathroom beyond on the west side of the house. It was a small isolated suite.

Nevile passed through his own room and on into his wife's. Kay had flung herself down on her bed. Raising a tearstained face, she cried angrily:

“So you've come! About time, too!”

“What
is
all this fuss about? Have you gone quite crazy, Kay?”

Nevile spoke quietly, but there was a dent at the corner of his nostril that registered restrained anger.

“Why did you give that
Illustrated Review
to her and not to me?”

“Really, Kay, you are a child! All this fuss about a wretched little picture paper.”

“You gave it to her and not to me,” repeated Kay obstinately.

“Well, why not? What does it matter?”