Home through the Dark Page 7

  I watched them go through it three or four times before he allowed them to pass on to the next scene, and by that time I was tired of sitting still. I left my seat quietly and pushed my way through the swing doors into the foyer. It was deserted – a coat slung over the bar, a cup and saucer pushed under one chair. I picked up the latter, carried them through to the kitchenette and retrieved my jacket and the empty shopping bag. No one was about, everyone being grouped on or around the stage engrossed in the rehearsal. I turned towards the stairs and then on an impulse, passed them and moved instead to the bend in the passage beyond. It was a fascinating old building, this, with countless hidden nooks and crannies and now seemed as good a time as any to explore it. A long corridor, dim and unlit, stretched away ahead of me to another bend where it turned once more to the right, presumably in the direction of the stage. The left-hand wall was bare along its entire length but there were two or three doors on the right. I started silently along the passage, wondering rather nervously if I was trespassing. I turned the knob of the first door but it would not yield. The next one was more forthcoming and opened onto a dusty storeroom, full of stacked chairs and trestle tables. The third room was empty except for an old washbasin leaning drunkenly on the floor. By this time I had come to the bend. The corridor continued beyond it but a few yards further on a short flight of steps led upwards, presumably to the wings, but a door at the top blocked off what lay behind. The passage itself continued beyond the stairs and after a moment’s hesitation, so did I. Somewhere in the distance now I could see light and the faint noise of voices from the stage reached me.

  Suddenly I stiffened. No, the voices weren’t coming from the stage; they were nearer at hand. Someone was coming. Instinct told me I should not be discovered here and I glanced quickly over my shoulder. There was not time to reach the bend in the passage; the voices were growing louder. I turned and fled silently back to the stairs, swung myself round the post and up the steps two at a time. The door at the top resisted my frantic fingers. It was securely locked. I was trapped. Crouching down, I pressed myself into the bannister as closely as I could, hoping desperately that whoever was coming would not glance back as they passed the stairs. My heart seemed literally to be in my mouth, great muffled beats which were painful to swallow past. Footsteps came nearer and I heard Stephen’s voice quite clearly. “Suppose he goes on refusing to eat?”

  “God knows. You tell me.” It was a girl’s voice, offhand and sullen. And then they were there, scarcely six feet below me. I tucked my head down behind the cumbersome bag I was still carrying and pressed still further back in my corner, not daring to look down in case the force of my gaze should communicate itself to them. And a moment later, blessedly, they turned the corner of the passage and their footsteps faded away. Time passed and at last, stiff and cold from my cramped position, I pulled myself to my feet and, as though suddenly released from paralysis, fled down the passages and the steep stairs and out into the mews. Minutes later, my heart still beating a tattoo high in my chest, I was in the car and driving like a maniac for home. Only then, in the safety of familiar surroundings, did I stop to wonder why I had panicked so. Technically I might have been trespassing, but I had never heard that the passage beyond the staircase was private property. I could have stood my ground and explained to whoever was coming that I had been exploring and hoped it was all right. But the fact that it had been Stephen who came only reinforced my thankfulness that I had not been seen, for if after all there was some undercurrent at the theatre, Stephen Darby was undoubtedly behind it.

  Chapter 6

  THROUGHOUT Sunday evening my mind kept going back to the two new puzzles which the afternoon at the theatre had presented: the curious reaction by practically everyone present to my casual mention of Madame Lefevre and the tantalizingly brief fragment of conversation I had overheard in the dark passageway.

  I also spent some time wondering who the girl with Stephen could have been. Liz, Joanna and Marion were on or around the stage, Kitty had presumably gone home long since, Suzanne Grey had not been at the theatre at all. The only other girl at lunch had been June Seacombe the stage director and she must surely have been fully occupied with the rehearsal. The one positive thing in the whole affair was that Stephen had once more had a part to play in the mystery. I told myself that the remark could have been passed about a dog or cat which was off its food, but one explanation which I hardly dared acknowledge was surely that the he who was not eating was the man who had never known what hit him and had left the Picardy Hotel trustingly with his “friend” only to disappear into thin air.

  I was still occupied with these theories the next morning when I drove once more to Culpepper’s. Miss Derbyshire was there before me, her left wrist in a bandage. She was small and dark with rather a sulky face overshadowed by exceptionally heavy and unplucked eyebrows.

  “I’m not going to be much use to you,” she greeted me unenthusiastically. “I can’t even drive yet, so you’ll have to cope with all the client-cosseting as well as the typing. I’ll do the bookkeeping, though, and anything that can be copied by hand.”

  “I believe you had an accident? What happened?”

  “It was too stupid. I slipped and fell for no reason on my way to work one morning. Someone very kindly whipped me straight off to the Out Patients to have my wrist x-rayed. I was lucky it wasn’t broken; it was bent right back under me. Anyway, there were only two days of the week left and I was due to be off all last week, so I simply went home. How have things been here?”

  “Pretty quiet, really.”

  “Has 16 Crofton Road gone yet?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “I said all along they’d have to bring the price down.” She leaned back in her chair and watched me set out papers on the desk. “So old Isobel’s gone away – I never thought she would.”

  “Oh?”

  She smiled spitefully. “Didn’t you notice? She and His Lordship” – she jerked her head in the direction of Mr. Holding’s office – “they’ve got a very cosy little arrangement going.”

  “Really?” I felt uncomfortable but at a loss to know how to halt her unwelcome confidences.

  “Yes, his wife’s an invalid so it’s all very convenient. They’ve been having it off for years. You wouldn’t think so to look at her, would you? Prim and prissie and butter-wouldn’t-melt.” She gave a short, derisive laugh and I reflected ruefully that it hadn’t taken me long to decide that I did not like Miss Derbyshire.

  For once I actually hoped that Marcus would join me for lunch again but he did not come. I would have welcomed the chance to talk to someone reasonably pleasant for a change. When I had finished my meal I walked along to a grocer’s to buy the coffee I had promised to take to the theatre. It was spitting with rain as I returned to the office and I felt unaccountably depressed. At least I was spared any further conversation with the surly Miss Derbyshire; Peter Holding collected me almost as soon as I got back and whipped me off to pick up some clients and escort them round a flat. It was five o’clock by the time we returned to the office and Miss Derbyshire had already gone home. I breathed a sigh of relief. I was not looking forward to the next two weeks in her company.

  The rain had settled in now and as I hurried from the car through to Phoenix Street it was coming down quite heavily, darkening the shoulders of my jacket and stinging my cheeks with its sharp cold needles. Clutching the tin of coffee, I ran lightly up the stairs and into the foyer, straight into an unexpected crowd of people who were gathered round a tall, fair man with his back to me. Laurence saw my hesitant approach and smiled.

  “Ah, the angel of mercy with the coffee!”

  The stranger turned, and all the breath was driven out of my body with the force of a sledge hammer.

  “Ginnie!” The word seemed to be jolted out of him. “What in hell are you doing here?”

  I said aridly, “Hello, Carl.”

  From behind me Stephen’s voice came incongruously.<
br />
  “Ah, Ginnie, I thought I heard you. Let me introduce you to someone whom you can boast about to those theatrical friends of yours.”

  “I rather think, Steve,” Laurence Grey broke in drily, “that introductions are unnecessary. It would seem that Mr. Clements and Miss Durrell have already met.”

  “Miss Durrell?” Carl’s voice was wrongly pitched and the look on his face dissipated any pleasure I might have felt at Stephen’s obvious discomfiture. “Yes indeed,” he went on after a moment, “Miss Durrell and I are old acquaintances – one might almost say sparring partners.”

  I wrenched my eyes away from his. “Well, I won’t hold you up any longer. I’ll just leave the coffee in the kitchen.”

  Stephen said evenly, “Don’t run away, Ginnie. Stay and join the party.”

  “No, really, I must go.”

  “Then I’ll see you home.” Carl’s voice did not invite argument but I said feebly, “Really, it’s all right – I have the car.”

  He had taken my arm. “I’ll be back later,” he said over his shoulder, and marched me out of the foyer and down the stairs, leaving them all staring after us. Out in the mews puddles lay between the cobblestones and the rain slanted down. Carl said in a low voice, “God, Ginnie, if you knew the state I’ve been in. Why did you do it? Why ever didn’t you let me try to explain?”

  “Explain?” I choked over the word. “From what I saw, no explanation was necessary. I couldn’t take any more, Carl; it’s as simple as that.”

  We had paused on the roadway and now he turned his collar up with his free hand and looked up and down the street. “Where’s the car, for Pete’s sake?”

  “Through the alleyway. Carl, please don’t come with me.”

  “We have to talk, Ginnie. I’m not going to let you vanish out of sight again. These last two weeks have been pretty grim, I can tell you.”

  “I haven’t exactly enjoyed them myself.”

  “But you don’t seem to have wasted any time in making a new life for yourself,” he said bitterly. He stopped again and looked down at me, the rain plastering his hair against his forehead. “How did you get mixed up with that theatre crowd, anyway?”

  “It’s the story of my life, isn’t it? I never learn.”

  He still hesitated but I started to walk again and he fell into step beside me. At last, drenched and uncomfortable, we reached the car. “Please let me go, Carl. I’m not in any state to go over everything just now.”

  “Give me the key.”

  He took it out of my hand and opened the door. “You’d better drive. I don’t know my way round this godforsaken place.” Ridiculous that everything hinged on the rain. If he hadn’t looked so wet and bedraggled I would probably have driven off without him. As it was, I hesitated and was lost.

  “Where’s your own car?”

  “Being serviced. This all blew up unexpectedly, so I had to come by train.”

  The drive home was a nightmare, the gleaming, prematurely darkened streets, the wet clothes sticking to my body and the tense, silent figure of Carl beside me.

  “Where are you going?” His voice sharpened as I came round the third corner of the square and drew up outside the Beeches.

  “Home – my flat.” I was beginning to shake now, a mixture of trembling and shivering.

  “Your flat?” His voice was incredulous. “You mean you’re not at a hotel?”

  “I can’t stay at a hotel indefinitely,” I said through juddering lips.

  “Indefinitely?”

  Something snapped inside me. I said shrilly, “Do you have to repeat everything I say?”

  “Ginnie –” He broke off and I saw him moisten his lips. “Look, this has gone far enough.” He moved impatiently. “Hell, let’s go inside where we can at least talk in comfort.”

  “No, Carl.” My hands were laced tightly together.

  “What do you mean, no?”

  “I don’t want you to come in. I told you, there’s nothing to say.”

  “There’s one hell of a lot to say!” he said explosively. “How you can just – my God, have you any idea of the embarrassment you’ve caused me, quite apart from anything else? How do you think I felt, ringing round all our friends and saying, ‘Please, is Ginnie there?’ And all the time –”

  “It must have been most humiliating,” I said stiffly. “I’m sorry your pride was hurt, but I doubt if anything else was.”

  He said furiously, “What do I have to do to make you see –”

  I had had more than enough. I tore the car door open and half fell outside. In the same moment Carl flung himself out the other side and in two strides had caught hold of my arm again, swinging me round to face him.

  “Let me go!” I cried wildly.

  “Ginnie, will you for God’s sake be reasonable!”

  Beside us Marcus’s voice said calmly, “Can I be of any help?”

  Carl released me so suddenly that I stumbled and Marcus’s arm came round to steady me. For a second longer Carl stood there, magnificent in the rain, staring down at us. Then without a word he turned on his heel and strode off.

  “He hasn’t got a car,” I said foolishly through trembling lips.

  “I’m worried!” Marcus retorted grimly. “Give me your key, there’s a good girl. I’ve never been particularly in favour of pneumonia.”

  I thrust my handbag at him and a moment later we were inside the little hall, dripping on the emerald carpet.

  “Have you any drink in the house?”

  I shook my head. We’d had wine on Saturday evening but it had all been finished and I’d never cared for spirits.

  “Then go and get out of those wet things while I put the kettle on.”

  “Marcus, it was –”

  “I know who it was. Do as I say, Ginnie.”

  I didn’t seem able to stop shaking, but I went through to the bedroom and hung my soaking wet trouser suit over the radiator. It didn’t occur to me until I went to bed that night that the heating wasn’t turned on. I rubbed ineffectually at my hair and went back to the kitchen, where Marcus was pouring boiling water into the teapot. He took one look at my face, put the lid quickly on the pot and came towards me.

  “I’m all right,” I said quickly.

  He hesitated and then went back to the teapot. “Sit down then and I’ll pour.” After a moment he added, “I can’t say I care for your husband’s manners.”

  “He wasn’t at his best. Marcus, he looked so strained.” I took a quick sip of the strong tea.

  “It’s hardly surprising. He probably feels strained, too. How did he find out where you were?”

  “He didn’t. I just ran into him at the theatre.”

  “Where?”

  “The Little Theatre. I’ve been helping out a bit by serving coffee and so on. Carl must have come down to see one of the actors. When I appeared, he was as shattered as I was.”

  “I can imagine.” Outside the window a skein of rain hung heavily across the garden, blotting out the last of the daylight several hours too soon. I pictured Carl walking about the streets not knowing where he was.

  “Would you like me to stay for a bit?”

  I pulled my attention back to Marcus. “No, thank you. I’m all right. Thanks very much for your support.”

  “Well, you know where I am if you want me.” He let himself out and I sat for a long time at the kitchen table while the dregs in the teacups grew cold and the rain darkened steadily outside. Eventually I went through to the drawing room. I didn’t put the light on. The park opposite was huddled under the dripping umbrella of its trees. I sat down in one of the easy chairs and all my surmises about Stephen and the theatre and Culpepper’s and the Picardy gave way to pulsating, agonizing thoughts of Carl. The phone rang and I went through the dark hall and lifted it. His voice said, “Don’t hang up, Ginnie.”

  I said dully, “How did you find the number?”

  “Grey got it from some girl.” Of course, I’d given it to Kitty. “Ginni
e, may I come round, please?”

  I shook my head, remembered he couldn’t see me, and said, “No.”

  “But we have to talk. How can I get through to you if –”

  “I don’t want to see you.”

  His voice changed. “Is that fellow still there?”

  “No,” I said wearily.

  “Look, Gin, I know I made things even worse this afternoon. Seeing you so unexpectedly completely threw me, and then finding out you were calling yourself Miss Durrell and had a flat of your own and a new circle of friends, and seem to have written me off completely – Ginnie, please come home.”

  “This is my home now.”

  There was a long silence. I wondered vaguely if he had hung up. Then he said, “I see. Just one more question, then, and I’ll stop bothering you. Why did you decide to come to Westhampton?”

  The complete change of direction bewildered me. After a moment I said slowly, “I don’t know. Does it matter?”

  “It might do, yes.”

  “Well, I’m sorry but I’ve no idea why I came here. The coast road was blocked,” I added lamely.

  “Obviously something else you refuse to discuss.” His voice was crisp. “And I suppose you can’t tell me either how you managed in such a short time to become so involved in the Little Theatre?”

  “Look,” I protested weakly, “what is this? You know I was interested in the theatre long before I met you.”

  There was a pause and then he said briskly, “Sorry, Ginnie, I don’t think that’s quite good enough. A word of warning, though. I know more than you think.”

  I said helplessly, “Carl, I’ve no idea –”

  “Goodbye, Ginnie.” The phone clicked in my ear. Carefully I replaced it on the cradle. His last words had sounded incredibly like a threat. Carl – ? Beyond the round hall window the wet branches of the beech trees lashed and writhed, invisible and somehow menacing. I reached up and wrenched the curtain across the glass. Then at last I snapped on the lights, in the hall and throughout the flat, running from one room to another as though the darkness were something tangible that must be kept at bay.