‘I’m Dave Calvin,’ Calvin said. ‘Did Miss Craig
…
?’
‘Oh, yes. Come in, Mr. Calvin. Alice said you were coming.’
He entered a large hall with a table set in the middle of a fawn-coloured carpet. The lighting was pleasantly subdued. From a room at the end of the passage
he could hear music from a tele
vision set.
He looked curiously at the woman
who
had closed the door and he felt a quickening of interest.
She was wearing a dress that had a crimson top and a black skirt. The dress looked home-made and not very well made at that. Her long legs were bare and she was wearing shabby red slippers. Her hair was anyhow and fell to her shoulders: it was brown and might have lo
oked attractive if it had been c
ared for. She had rather fine features with a longish nose, a large mouth and clear glittering eyes. Her appearance meant little to Calvin, but he was immediately aware of a vital sensual quality in her that sparked off his own sensual quality.
‘I’m Kit Loring,’ she said a
nd smiled. She had good teeth, w
hite and even. ‘I run this place. If you would like to stay here, I would be very happy.’
Calvin switched on his charm.
‘I would be too,’ he said. ‘I have no idea how long I’ll be here, I’m taking over until Mr. Lamb gets better. He’s pretty bad from what I’m told.’
‘Yes.’ She lifted her hair off her shoulders with
a
quick, two-handed movement. Her breasts lifted as she raised her arms. ‘I’m so sorry for Mrs. Lamb.’
‘I’ve just come from seeing her
…
it’s tough.’
‘You must be tired. Come upstairs and I’ll show you the rooms. I have two vacant rooms. You can choose
which
one you like best.’
He followed her up the stairs. She held herself well and she moved gracefully. He watched the movement of her hips under the creased material of her skirt. He wondered how old she was
…
thirty-five or -six, perhaps even more: an age he appreciated. He saw the wedding ring. So she was married.
They reached the head of the stairs, and she led him down
a
passage with doors either side. She paused outside a door at the end of the passage, opened it and flicked on the light.
‘Pretty nice,’ he said, ‘but what’s it going to cost? Bank managers have to struggle these days to live.’
‘This is forty a week including breakfast and dinner,’ she told him. ‘The room upstairs is smaller but, of course, it is cheaper.’
‘May
I
see it?’ he asked and smiled at her. ‘How much cheaper?’
She looked steadily at him for a brief moment. He felt a strange creepy sensation crawl up his spine. It was something he couldn’t explain to himself.
‘Thirty,’ she said. ‘If you are going to stay some time, I could make a slight reduction.’
‘May I see it?’
The room was smaller, but as comfortably furnished as the room he had already seen. There was a double bed instead of
a
single one and to its right was a door. Facing the bed was
a
wide, curtained window.
He pointed
a
thick finger at the door by the bed.
‘Does that lead to the bathroom?’
‘The bathroom is the second door down the passage. This door isn’t used.’ He was aware she was now looking intently at him. ‘It communicates with my room. This is really my floor, but sometimes I don’t mind someone being up here.’
He was suddenly aware that his heart was beating slightly faster than normal.
‘I prefer this room if it’
s all right with you,’ he said.
She smiled: the amused expression in her eyes wasn’t lost on him.
‘Have it by all means,’ she said, and then she looked at her wrist watch. ‘I must start dinner. I’ll tell Flo to bring up your bags.’
‘That’s okay,’ Calvin said. ‘I have only one and I’ll bring it up myself. Ca
n I leave my car in the drive?’
‘There’s
a
garage around the back. Dinner is at eight. If there is anything you want, please ask.’ She smiled at him, then moving to the door, she was gone.
Calvin remained motionless for some seconds, then he walked deliberately to the communicating door and turned the handle. The door was locked.
He rubbed the side of his jaw with a thick finger as he stared at the door, then he went out of the room, humming tunelessly under his breath, and descended the stairs to collect his bag.
There w
ere only two other guests besides Alice Craig staying at the rooming-house: a Miss Pearson and
a
Major Hardy. Miss Pearson,
a
bright, bird-like little woman in her late sixties was in charge of the local Welfare Clinic. Major Hardy, in his early seventies, was the secretary of the Downside Golf Club.
Calvin met them when he went downstairs for dinner.
The talk centred around
Joe
Lamb and his stroke. Calvin listened while Alice described how she had found the old man on the floor of his office. From time to time, Calvin said the right thing at the right moment, and wondered irritably when they were going to eat.
When the topic of Mr. Lamb was finally exhausted, they sat down to an excellent dinner, served by Flo, a large, cheerful coloured woman. Calvin was vaguely disappointed that Kit Loring didn’t eat with them. With his ready charm and his confident man
ner, he easily won over the two
old people who hung on his every word. Even Alice Craig seemed more relaxed as he chatted. He wa
s careful not to embarrass her b
y addressing his remarks directly to her, but making sure she wasn’t left out of the conversation.
After the meal, Alice went upstairs to write letters and Miss Pearson went to listen to a quiz programme on television. Calvin and Major Hardy wandered into the lounge and sat down.
Calvin allowed the m
ajor to question him about his war record, his golf, his career as a banker until the old man had satisfied his curiosity. Then Calvin felt it was his turn to satisfy his own curiosity.
‘I’ve only just arrived here,’ he said, stretching out his long, powerful legs. ‘Miss Craig was good enough to recommend this place.’ He smiled his charming smile. ‘Who is Mrs. Loring? What’s happened to her husband?’
By now th
e m
ajor,
a
lean, burnt-up
old man, was ready to gossip.
‘Mrs. Loring is a remarkable woman,’ he said. ‘There isn’t
a
better cook in the district. I’ve known her off and on for ten years. Her husband was Jack Loring, a successful insurance agent who worked this district. In some ways, it was a pity they married. They didn’t hit it off. Loring wa
s always after the women.’ The m
ajor shook his head and paused to polish his beaky nose with a silk handkerchief. ‘But that’s neither here nor there. There was a child: a girl. Loring was killed in a car crash. Mrs. Loring was left a little money. She bought this house and set it up as a rooming-house and educated her daughter. She has had a very hard struggle and she’s still having a struggle.’
‘Does her daughter live with her?’ Calvin asked.
‘Certainly. She’s a nice girl and she works hard too. She’s in the box office of a movie house at Downside.
She works the late shift.’ The m
ajor smiled slyly. ‘She and young Travers, the deputy Sheriff, are courting. He does the night shift at the sheriff’s office more often than not so Iris prefers to have her days free. You probably won’t see much of her. She doesn’t get to bed before two o’clock and is seldom up before ten.’
They continued to chat until half past ten, then Calvin said he was ready for bed.
He went up to his room and lay
in
bed, smok
ing and staring up at the ceiling
. He never read books. Occasion
ally, he would flick through a magazine, but reading didn’t interest him.
He had a habit of talking to himself, and he began a silent monologue as he lay in the double bed, a cigar
ette burning be
tween his thick fingers.
‘This looks as if it is going to be yet another wasted year,’ he said t
o himself. ‘I’m thirty-eight. I
have less than five hundred dollars saved. I owe money. If I don’t do something pretty soon, I’ll never do anything. I’ll never be any good as a banker, but that doesn’t mean I couldn’t be good at something else
…
but what? If only I could lay my hands on a big sum of money! Without capital, I can’t hope to get anywhere. For seventeen years now I have been waiting for the right opportunity. Now, I’ve just got to do something. I can’t go on hesitating. Is there something I can do here in this one-eyed hole? I don’t think there can be. If I’m going to take a risk, it’s got to be for something worthwhile. It’s got to be for big money, and I can’t believe there is big money in Pittsville.’
A sound coming through the wall from the next room jerked him out of this silent monologue. He lifted his head from the pillow to listen.
He could hear Kit Loring moving around in the other room. He heard the closet door being opened and he imagined her getting ready for bed. A few minutes later, he heard the bath water running.
He reached for another cigarette. As he lit it, he heard her walk from her room with a slip
-
slap sound of slippers into the bathroom. He slid out of bed and silently opened his door and peered into the passage. He was in time to see the bathroom door close.
Moving silently, he walked down the passage and looked into the next room.
It was a pleasant room. There was a double bed: on it lay her dress, a pair of flesh-coloured panties, stockings and a girdle. There were two comfortable armchairs, a writing-desk, a television set and a range of closets. On the wall was a
good repro
duction of an early Picasso.
He returned to his room and closed the door. For some moments he remained motionless, his blue eyes fixed in a blank stare at the opposite wall. Then he sat on the bed and waited.
After twenty minutes or so, he heard Kit Loring come from the bathroom, enter her room and close the door. He imagined her getting into bed. The click of the light switch told him she had turned out the light.
She was interesting, he thought. She had that something that could compensate him for the dreariness of this job and the town. He had an idea she might be easy, but he wasn’t entirely sure. That amused expression he had seen in her eyes warned him it would be unwise to rush anything.
He stubbed out his cigarette, then settled himself once again in bed. He turned off the light.
It was when he was enclosed by darkness that his stifling fear of failure, his pressing need for money, his realisation that unless he broke out of this rut, he would never get anywhere, crowded in on him as it did every night when he turned off the light.
He lay still, struggling to throw off this depression, saying to himself, ‘You’re no good. You never will be any good. You might be able to kid yourself sometimes, but you’re still no good.’
It was only when he turned on the bedside light that he finally fell into a restless, uneasy sleep.
2
The next four days followed a
pattern that Calvin forced him
self to endure: a pattern of boredom and meaningless routine. Each morning he had breakfast with Alice, Miss Pearson and Major Hardy. At nine o’clock, he drove with Alice to the bank. The girl seemed embarrassed to be with him in the car, but ther
e was no alternative. He lived w
here she did: it would be impossible for him to go to the bank by car and leave her to get to the bank by bus.
The business at the bank was dull and of no interest to him. A
ll
the time he was in the bank dealing with this financial problem and that financial problem, he was constantly aware of his need for money and the need to get away from this routine job.
At four o’clock, the bank closed. Then he and Alice completed the bank business behind locked doors. At five-thirty they left the bank and drove back to the rooming-house. Calvin would remain in his room, smoking and staring blankly at the ceiling until dinner time, then he would go down to the dining-room, eat with the other three, making polite conversation, and then pass an hour watching television before retiring to his room again.
During these four days, he got to know something about Alice Craig. She was a good worker, and once she got used to him, an easy companion. He found he could leave most of the routine work to her and he was happy to do so. He was thankful she was so completely sexless and negative. To share such long hours with her if she had been otherwise would have been dangerous. Calvin had always made a point never to have an association with any girl employed by the bank.