Home through the Dark (12 page)

Agonizingly, standing there trembling in the tiny green and white hallway, I resolved to agree to a divorce if that was what Carl wanted. Theatrical marriages were notoriously short-lived. Why should I have imagined my own to be any different?

I SPENT most of the Sunday at the theatre, since I was afraid of alerting Stephen to further suspicion if I suddenly stopped going. “She might have been sent ahead to spy out the land.” I wondered if there was some obvious solution to the whole thing that I had unaccountably overlooked, but after a night of restless tossing and turning I was no nearer finding it. The fact that Carl seemed to be involved in some way filled me with dread, since to my illogical way of thinking that effectively cut me off from what I had all along been considering my last emergency line of defence – the police.

That afternoon, in my customary seat with Kitty, I became aware of someone humming softly in the row behind us, and my temples started to pound as I recognized the tune – “Roses of Picardy.” It was obviously a test of nerves and I braced myself to withstand it.

Kitty glanced over her shoulder and whispered, “Do shut up, Steve.” He leaned forward, his head between ours. “ ‘I do perceive it hath offended you. Pardon me, sweet one.'”

“Shut up, I'm trying to listen.”

He said softly, “Does it offend you too, Ginnie?”

“Not really, though it does make it harder to concentrate on the play. And I won't pander to you with the obvious quotation, either,” I added steadily above the clattering of my heart.

He laughed. “ ‘The food of love'? Well-resisted! You know the tune though, don't you?”

“A bit before my time,” I replied, marvelling at my steady voice. “ ‘Moonlight and Roses,' isn't it?”

“Not quite, try again.”

Kitty said in a fierce whisper, “Steve, if you won't be quiet, I shall have to go and sit somewhere else.”

“Okay, okay.” He sat back and a few minutes later got up and walked down the aisle in time for Sebastian's cue. I drew a long, shuddering breath of relief. Now that Stephen and I had embarked on an almost declared war of nerves it would be safer not to spend so much time at the theatre after all, and I resolved to stay away until the opening on Thursday.

On Monday evening, therefore, I arrived back at the Beeches earlier than I had been doing and Sarah tapped on her window and beckoned me up. The front door was on the latch, presumably ready for Andrew's homecoming, and I went up the stairs to find her waiting at the top.

“I've just put the kettle on. You'll stay for a cup of tea, won't you? I haven't seen you for ages. What have you been doing with yourself?”

I explained about my commitment at the theatre and she was most intrigued. “Andy and I must go along one night. Isn't it shocking, we've lived here for three years and I didn't even know there was a Little Theatre. And you seem to have tracked it down after about three days!”

Less than that, actually, I reflected wryly, taking the cup and saucer she handed me.

“Seen any more of M.M.?” she asked, pushing across the sugar basin.

I smiled. “He frightened the life out of me the other evening, suddenly materializing in the dark.”

“Yes, I imagine that could be one of his specialties.”

“Oh, come on, Sarah. I told you what he really does for a living.”

“All the same –” She looked at me quickly under her lashes. “Am I speaking out of turn?”

“Of course not, why?”

“Well, he did seem to fancy you at the party and you told me about having lunch with him.”

“That was quite unpremeditated, I assure you.”

“From your point of view, perhaps.”

“Sarah, what is this?”

She said slowly, “I rather think he knows a lot more about your movements than you imagine.”

“Marcus does?” I stared at her, a creeping coldness spreading up my back.

“Ginnie, it sounds silly but I think he's been following you. I'm almost sure of it. On at least three occasions he came hurrying out of his flat as soon as you'd gone and drove quickly after you. You know he keeps his car at the door except at night. When I noticed it, I started to look out for you coming back – and sure enough he's never far behind you.”

I knew for a fact he had followed me to the Picardy that first Sunday. I said jerkily, “Well, I hope he enjoys himself. I don't do anything very exciting.”

“I'm sorry if I've alarmed you, but I thought you ought to know.”

“Yes. I'm just grateful I have nothing to hide.” That was the irony of it, really. They were obviously all suspicious of me – Stephen and Laurence, Rachel, even Carl – and now Marcus. And all for nothing. If I
did
know anything of importance, I couldn't imagine what it was.

Back in my own flat I resolved to test Marcus's interest in my comings and goings. I cooked myself a meal, forced myself to eat it and then, armed at last with a torch, I let myself out of the flat, being careful to let the door close with an audible bang. The light from Marcus's window shone down onto the gravel making a pool of brilliance that I had to cross. As I did so, I was momentarily aware of a shadow other than my own falling across it, and felt a little tingle of excitement. The bait had been taken. Marcus's car was still in the forecourt; perhaps he had been expecting me to go out again.

With the beam of the torch to guide me, I went round to the garages, got the car out and drove slowly onto the road, my mind moving swiftly ahead. I turned left, remembering the flicker of movement I thought I had noticed the other morning, and drove out of the square. Once round the corner, I put my foot down on the accelerator, went quickly down the length of Grove Street and then, coming to the poorly lit turning on the left which I had remembered, turned into it and drove some way along before stopping the car. With my hands tight on the wheel I stared into the driving mirror. I had not long to wait. Two minutes later, Marcus's car passed the end of the road, unmistakable under the light of the street lamp. Sarah had been right. I turned the car and slowly drove home. Once there, I took a pad of writing paper out of the desk and wrote in the middle of the page:

I shall be going to the office every day this week from nine till five. As far as I know, I shall not be out in the evening until Thursday.

I trust this advance notice of my movements will save you any unnecessary vigilance.

I dropped it, folded once, through his letter box on my way out the next morning, and that evening he was watching out for me coming home and had reached my front door before I did.

“Ginnie, may I speak to you? I seem to have a bit of explaining to do.”

“I'm not interested in your explanations, Marcus,” I said coldly. “I strongly resent being followed and if you continue to do so, I shall report you to the police.” Brave, and had he but known, empty words.

“Ginnie, please!” He caught hold of the door as I was about to close it, a mixture of embarrassment and quizzical amusement on his face. “All right, I had no right whatsoever to follow you and I apologize, but you are the most intriguing young woman, you know.”

“I've no idea what you're talking about.”

“In the first place, you weren't who you said you were. Then there was that curious business about that crummy hotel. You went as white as a sheet when it was mentioned at the Fosses' and as soon as the party was over you shot off there immediately. And there's no doubt you were really frightened when I bumped into you the other evening. Why?” He smiled. “There's nothing like a bit of mystery to make a woman exciting. You really can't blame me that my interest was aroused.”

“I'm afraid that you simply have an overactive imagination. Now will you please let go of the door. The flat is getting cold.”

“Another brush-off?”

“If you like to call it that.”

He sighed and released the door. “All right, have it your own way.”

However, the disquiet and indignation I had felt about Marcus following me were swallowed up in the much greater apprehension of my coming meeting with Carl. By Thursday evening I was in quite as bad a state of nerves as any of the cast preparing for the first night. Since presumably he would be coming down by car this time, there was no point in taking my own to the theatre and I phoned for a taxi, sitting swaying on the vast back seat as we drove through the familiar dark streets of the town. It was strange to be an outsider at the theatre, one of the onlookers again. Kitty had done more than her share of serving and two other girls whom I did not know were engaged in pouring the coffee. I moved instead to the queue at the bar. A man called Harry whom I'd seen before was on duty there and passed me my glass of sherry. I took it to a seat that gave a good view of the foyer and prepared to wait for Carl.

The second bell had sounded by the time he arrived. He came bounding up the stairs unwinding his scarf and tossed it and his coat to the girl in the cloakroom before striding into the foyer.

“Sorry I'm late,” he said briefly. “We'd better go straight in.”

The curtains were just moving as we hurriedly took our seats in the front row.

“If music be the food of love, play on, give me excess of it.” Roses of Picardy, I thought numbly. Carl thrust a program into my hand but I had no need of it. Half of my mind repeated the text of the play word for word with the actors, the other half was centred exclusively on Carl; his arm on the rest between us, the familiar tang of his after-shave lotion, his general physical nearness, which was as disturbing to me as it had always been. Attuned to him as I was, I was conscious of his only partial concentration on the play, and wondered what was claiming the other half of his attention. Not myself, that much was obvious. “Strictly business,” he had said, and that was the way he was going to play it.

There was no interval at the end of Act 1 and with the beginning of Act 2 I sensed his interest begin to stir. Robert Harling, his official reason for being here, was playing Antonio to Stephen Darby's Sebastian. “Though it was said she much resembled me” . . . She did, too, I thought. Joanna Lacy as Viola, tall and strong-featured with her rich brown hair, was a much more likely sister for Stephen than small dark Rachel. My mind wandered backwards. When had Carl and I last sat side by side in an auditorium?

“Do you want a drink, Ginnie?”

I came back to my present surroundings to find the lights going up at the end of the second act. “Will you mind being stared at by the populace?”

He grimaced. “I can thole it, if you can.”

I nodded and he guided me out to the foyer, his hand light under my elbow, but even this casual contact was enough to make me long vehemently for the time for us to be alone together when, surely, we should be able to settle everything. In the meantime I made a determined effort at light conversation. “What do you think of Antonio?”

His eyes went quickly to my face. “Why do you ask?”

“I thought you were considering him for Clarence.”

“So you did remember that,” he said, an odd note in his voice.

“Isn't that why you came down?”

He handed me my glass. “Yes, yes it is. What do you think of him?”

“Good – I think they're all good.”

“Yes, it's a pretty high standard.”

“Did you speak to Laurence about releasing Robert?”

“In broad terms, yes. He has no objection.”

“Joanna said she wishes you could take them all lock, stock and barrel.”

His eyes narrowed. “You seem on remarkably good terms with them all.”

“Not all of them, actually.”

“Oh?” He waited for an explanation but I sipped my drink without replying.

The play unfolded, its complexities were solved and at last it was over. Carl said, “Where's the best place to eat around here?”

“I don't know, really. The George Hotel is probably as good as anywhere.”

Margaret Baillie was at the reception desk as we went into the hall. “Miss Durrell! I was wondering how you were getting on. How nice to see you.”

“Hello, Mrs. Baillie. May I introduce you to Carl Clements? Carl, Mrs. Baillie, who was very good to me when I first arrived.”

Mrs. Baillie's face had flushed. “Carl Clements? Of course! How exciting! I'm delighted to meet you.”

Carl made some smooth, conventional reply and led me away. There was a grillroom downstairs, which I felt would be more conducive to an intimate conversation than the large, impersonal dining room I had used before. We went together down the wide carpeted stairs to be met by a waiter and led to a corner table. Carl ordered the meal, after a minimal consultation with me, and then leaned forward, his hands folded on the table.

“Now, Ginnie, I have to know what your connection is with that theatre. How well do you know those people and how did you come to get mixed up in it? It would be as well if you told me the truth.”

“I'm not in the habit of lying to you, Carl,” I said stiffly. My brief, rosy hopes of a reconciliation faded and were gone. Business he had said, and business he meant. His tone left no room for doubt.

“Well then?” he prompted impatiently.

“I've been helping out in the kitchen, so of course I know them, some better than others.”

“And?”

“That's all.” I stared at him defiantly, willing the tears not to come.

His gaze was locked onto mine. “I hope to God it is.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“I wish you'd be frank with me, that's all. Why didn't you admit in the first place that you came here because you knew I'd come soon to see Harling? That was why you made straight for the theatre, wasn't it?”

I glared at him furiously. “Of all the arrogant, conceited – ! Let's get one thing quite straight. I most emphatically did
not
know you would come. I'd forgotten all about Robert bloody Harling and I didn't remember until I saw his name on a program. Believe me, my only thought was to get as far away from you as possible. If I could have used the passport I would have done, but in this ghastly, male-oriented world I'm not allowed to!”