It was with a slight sense of shock, when I drew back the curtains, that I noticed the man still seated on the park bench. For a moment I wondered if he were ill, even dead, before reason came to my aid. It was not the same man; this one was older and differently dressed. It seemed an odd whim that should have taken him to the park at eight o’clock on a late September morning, but he was breaking no law that I could see. It occurred to me for the first time that my own movements would be almost totally visible to anyone seated in that vantage point, since both drawing room and bedroom gave onto the park. It was not a pleasant thought, particularly in view of the night’s adventure. I stood for a moment longer staring across, but the man was apparently deep in his paper and I eventually abandoned him and went through to the kitchen to make breakfast.
When I saw Stephanie and Pamela again at the garages, I asked casually, “Is the park opposite locked at night?”
“I couldn’t say. I’ve never really thought about it. I dare say it should be, but the railings are so low that anyone who wanted to could easily climb over them. Why?”
“I just wondered,” I answered vaguely.
The week wore on. I did not go to the theatre again and at the office Rachel was as unforthcoming as ever. I reflected that I only had one more week at Culpepper’s, and was thankful. Rachel was on her guard with me now and there was nothing else to be learned there.
On the Friday evening Carl phoned. “Ginnie, I’m coming down to Westhampton for the first night on Thursday; they’ve sent me tickets. I shan’t be able to get there much before the performance, but I’d be glad if you would arrange to meet me at the theatre and have dinner with me afterwards.” His businesslike tone managed to convey that he expected my instant compliance.
“I’m not sure that I’ll be free,” I said on principle.
“Please arrange to be. There’s no need to panic. It will be strictly business.” And he rang off, leaving me seething at his high-handedness. This was a side of Carl that consistently irritated his associates but he had never shown it to me before. Obviously I had forfeited my right to any special privileges.
The next phone call was from Kitty. “Ginnie, you won’t feel, will you, that we don’t want you any more now that Rachel’s back? I’d hate you to think we’d just been making use of you.”
“And,” I interrupted with a smile, “she can’t do much anyway at the moment, with her wrist still bandaged.”
“It’s not that at all,” Kitty said indignantly. She added with a giggle, “But I do have to confess I’d much rather have you with me. Will you be coming over the weekend?”
I hesitated. The long hours of Saturday and Sunday stretched barrenly ahead of me and I found I was not looking forward to spending them alone at the flat, with the possibility of unexplained doorbells and a motionless figure in the park across the way.
“Yes, Kitty, of course I’ll come. Lunch again? I’ll see you about eleven-thirty then.”
The following morning I went out early to do the weekend shopping before going on to the theatre. As I swung the car out of the driveway and turned left to drive past the house, I was vaguely conscious of a flicker of movement at Marcus’s window, but when I turned my head fully, no one was in sight. No doubt he was closing or opening the window again, I thought with a touch of self-mockery. I was becoming altogether too jumpy these days.
If the others were glad to see me at the theatre, very obviously Stephen and his sister were not. Stephen gave me a curt nod, Rachel not even that. Outwardly unperturbed, I joined Kitty in the kitchen and set to work on preparing chili con carne. As before, we ate it companionably grouped round the foyer. There was a noticeable change in the cast’s attitude to me compared with last weekend. The glamour of Carl had rubbed off a little onto me. They brought me more often into the conversation and listened respectfully to my most banal replies. And all the time Stephen Darby sat with a mirthless twist to his mouth and his half-closed eyes on my face.
I watched the rehearsal after lunch and, as Joanna had predicted, felt the usual thrill of accomplishment as all the different passages began to fall neatly into place. I did notice, however, that the innovation which I had reluctantly discussed with Joanna on Tuesday had not after all been incorporated. However much he admired Carl, Laurence Grey was obviously not going to stand for interference with his own direction. I didn’t blame him.
It was almost seven o’clock before he called a halt to the rehearsal and I was stiff with sitting so long in the seat at the back of the stalls. I stood up and stretched. Marion Dobie called, “ ’Bye, Ginnie; thanks for the lunch. See you tomorrow?”
“Probably,” I said. I was glad to have the theatre to come to, despite Stephen and his sister, and the slight uneasiness I felt there. It was, after all, a second home to me. The lights in the foyer were out but the one at the stairhead gave enough reflected light to make it unnecessary to switch on the kitchen light as I went to collect my basket. The chili had made me thirsty, despite subsequent cups of tea, and I stopped to fill a cup with water at the sink and drank it slowly. I had rinsed and dried it and was almost back at the door when Stephen’s voice just outside made me instinctively dart back out of sight. He was speaking quickly in a low voice, and from my position immediately behind the open door, I could hear quite clearly.
“I tell you I don’t like it, Laurence. That girl’s his wife and he’s pally with the old dame. For all we know they’ve got a lead on us and he sent her ahead to spy out the land.”
Rigid and unbreathing, I waited for Laurence’s reply.
“Oh, I don’t think so. He didn’t know she was here. I’d stake my life on that. You should have seen his face when she walked in.”
Stephen snorted. “He’s an actor, isn’t he? And added to that, she turns up at Culpepper’s.”
“What the hell has that got to do with it?”
There was a brief pause. So Stephen had not told Laurence of the phone call that went astray. “Well, she might be keeping an eye on Rachel,” he said at last.
“Perhaps.” Laurence Grey’s voice was jerky with strain.
I heard the whir of his cigarette lighter and a spurt of flame through the door hinge enabled me to see his face for a moment, red-shadowed like a demon’s. “I just wish to God we’d never started it. If I’d had any idea it would drag on this long –”
He broke off as a crowd of actors came together through the foyer and he and Stephen moved away with them. How to get out of the theatre without being seen? I dare not wait, in case the door was about to be locked for the night. Praying no one would see me emerge from the dark kitchen, I slipped out and joined the end of the group. To my intense relief there was no sign of either Stephen or Laurence, and after a breathless “Good night” to the others, I hurried through the shadowed alleyway to the car. Perhaps they had reason to be suspicious of Carl. “I know more than you think,” he had told me. Presumably the “old dame” referred to Madame Lefevre, but I couldn’t begin to imagine how she fitted into the puzzle.
My hands were icy on the steering wheel. If only there was someone I could confide in, someone I could trust completely. I garaged the car and steeled myself for the walk in the darkness round to the front of the house. One of these days I might remember to bring a torch with me. The wind was getting up again, sighing through the branches overhead and sending little eddies of dried leaves swirling round my feet. My footsteps quickened until I was almost running and just as I reached the corner of the west wing someone came quickly round it and cannoned straight into me. I gave a gasp which was more like a strangled scream and struggled furiously to free myself from the grip in which I was held.
“Ginnie! Ginnie, is it you? For pity’s sake!” The voice penetrated my understanding and in the darkness I could just make out Marcus’s face peering down at me.
“Good grief, girl! You told me you were nervous of the dark, but I didn’t realize it turned you into a gibbering idiot! Who did you think I was, for Pete’s
sake? King Kong?”
Shakily I gathered together the shreds of my dignity.
“Sorry, Marcus, you startled me, that’s all.”
“Startled you! I shouldn’t like to see you really frightened! Come on, I’ll walk back to the door with you.”
He waited while my rubber fingers struggled to fit the key in the lock. “Any further word from your lord and master?”
“He’s coming down for the first night on Thursday. He wants me to go with him.”
“You’re not going? Good God, Ginnie, you let him walk all over you. Come with me instead, and tell him to go to hell!”
“He says he has some business to discuss. I’d better see him.”
“Divorce proceedings?”
My heart lurched. That was one interpretation I had completely overlooked. I said with difficulty, “Perhaps. Thanks for walking back with me, Marcus. Good night.” And before he could say anything else, I shut the door. Divorce? A wave of despair welled up and broke over me, buffeting me mercilessly. I had refused all Carl’s tentative overtures. Perhaps he was not prepared to try again. And even if he did, how could I go back to that unbalanced life with its continual insecurities and the suspicion which, however hard I combated it, would almost certainly never again leave me in peace while there were women like Leonie Pratt fawning round my husband?
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?
Chapter 8
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.
Home through the Dark Page 9
