Escape the Night

by Mignon Good Eberhart

  Well, of course she wouldn’t.

  Everybody was talking; she was replying; yes she’d had a marvelous trip; yes, it was wonderful to be at home; no, she wasn’t at all tired; yes, she’d really had a job and was going back to it once her vacation was over. Amanda was sitting on the arm of her chair, one arm around its back and the other hand loosely flung—and gracefully—upon Amanda’s knee, which was smoothly outlined under the deep, carnation-red silk of her gown. The wide bracelet on it was magnificent. So barbaric in its richness that at first Serena thought, involuntarily, that the stones must be paste; yet, knowing Amanda, and seeing the stones so close, she believed that they were real. The thought crossed her mind swiftly and without taking any real hold upon her.

  For just then another man came into the bar, hesitated a moment and then came quickly toward them. It was Jem Daly.

  He was exactly as she remembered him.

  CHAPTER THREE

  AND HE REMEMBERED HER.

  His brown, rather taciturn face, exactly as Serena remembered it, except it was thinner, and a little older perhaps, broke into warmth and smiles. “Sissy,” he cried, and reached her and took both her hands. “Sissy, my dear. It’s wonderful to see you.” He drew her to her feet and put his arms around her and kissed her. On the cheek, as a matter of fact, and lightly, but still it was a kiss. She’d forgotten how tall he was; she hadn’t forgotten his voice, but still it seemed like a new voice. She was absurdly confused, but she thought no one noticed it, for again, all at once everyone was talking. She was in a chair and Jem sat on the arm of it, his face warm with pleasure and his eyes smiling down at her with a kind of pride. “You’ve grown up, Sissy,” he said. “You look swell. I’m glad you came home.”

  That was all to the good, thought Serena briefly, except there was something too brotherly about it; but naturally he hadn’t remembered her as she’d remembered him. It was nice, however, that he’d remembered her at all. And it was altogether incredible to be there, in the same place with Jem, breathing the same air, their eyes meeting, his brown tweed coat (for none of the men had changed) actually pressing against her, his arm around the back of her chair so by tilting her head back she could have touched it. She did, just to be sure of it and his arm was very solid and warm against the back of her head. She said, “You’re looking pretty nice yourself, Jem. Where have you been all this time?”

  His eyes met her own; they were so close that it was a deep and rather curiously unguarded look, but the smile had gone out of his own eyes as if a spark had kindled and then vanished. He didn’t reply at once; she heard someone say, “Isn’t it time to eat?” and someone else said: “Let’s have another round of drinks.”

  Then Jem said rather abruptly, “Oh, I’ve been here and there. Nothing very interesting,” and looked away as he leaned forward to set his empty glass on the table. She had another brief but rather disquieting impression, too small and tenuous to bear analysis, that he had leaned forward purposely so as to withdraw his look. Then Amanda, sitting now across the table, put down her glass decisively and got up, her red gown falling into beautiful lines about her.

  “We’ll go to the dining room,” she said, and shook back her loose, dark hair.

  “But, Amanda, I’ve not finished,” cried Leda.

  Sutton began, “Let’s wait a little, Amanda, we’ve not …”

  Amanda cut into his words: “You can bring your drinks along. Dinner’s ordered. Come on, Leda. Jem …”

  “Of course, Amanda,” said Jem quietly. He got up; Amanda slid her arm through Serena’s; still protesting, Leda and Sutton, Johnny and Alice followed them as they trailed out of the bar and down the hall toward the lovely dining room. Lights glittered in golden, crystal drops like great feathers; there were Tahitian scenes in glowing, rich murals on the walls. Gray chairs, again with red cushions, and the head waiter smiling and leading them to one of the round tables.

  Jem sat on one side of Amanda, Johnny on the other. For the first course at least; then Amanda remembered that Dave was the honor guest and made him change seats with Johnny, who protested, saying he was going into the service, too, as soon as they’d take him, and anyway he wanted to sit by Amanda. He was good-natured, blithely gallant, and completely natural. It was all said in raillery. Serena thought that and glanced at Leda who was looking at her knowingly again. And again Serena refused to acknowledge the tacit claim of mutual understanding, and looked quickly away.

  By that time, Dave had moved up to the chair beside Amanda and Johnny was sitting next to Serena. “Serena,” he said gallantly, his round red face beaming and his bald head shining, “Amanda has turned me out, but I’m delighted if it gives me a chance to sit by you and hold your hand. May I say that you’ve grown up to be a very pretty woman?”

  “Does he hold your hand, Amanda, when he sits next to you?” inquired Alice Lanier, her green eyes glittering, her smile sweet.

  Leda’s fingers tightened around the glass she’d brought in with her from the bar. Serena saw that and felt again absurdly uncomfortable; Alice Lanier was not, as she remembered her, either petty or malicious. But then Alice never said much; she was rightly content to look lovely and languid with her red hair in its abundant waves, her shining, light-green eyes, her white skin, and her indolent red mouth. “Where’s Bill?” Serena said suddenly into the little silence, more from curiosity, however, than to divert the conversation to peaceful channels. “I hear he’s gone to war. Do you know where he is, Alice?”

  Alice looked at her. The little indolent smile that lay on her lovely red mouth remained there and her eyes widened. “Bill,” she said languidly and sweetly, “I’m afraid I wouldn’t know where he is. Haven’t you heard? Bill and I were divorced a year ago. Didn’t Amanda tell you?”

  Sutton said, rather abruptly, “We’d better have some wine. We’ve got some grand California wines now. Sissy, you’ll like them.” Amanda looked calmly and quietly at Alice, her dark eyes heavy-lidded and unfathomable. Jem said, “Sissy’s not been here long enough to get caught up on all of us yet. By the way, Dave, do you know when you’re going to leave?”

  “Next week,” replied Dave Seabrooke. And immediately Sutton asked him a question about his house which, it appeared, Jem was about to take over as a tenant. The discomfort Serena had felt at perceiving suddenly warring yet masked elements gradually disappeared.

  But it was to return.

  Twice, in fact. Once when the talk veered to Serena’s return and her vacation and what she intended to do with it and someone mentioned her own house, Casa Madrone.

  “Why don’t you sell the place?” asked Alice Lanier.

  And when Serena said it was home and she liked it and, besides, she probably couldn’t get a buyer in war time, even if she wanted to sell it, Alice said: “Let me try to sell it. I’ve nothing to do. I’ve been thinking of getting started in some business—real estate or something. Give me the key. I’ll try to sell it.”

  “Oh, you don’t need a key,” said Leda, her cheeks flushed. “The back door is open. Isn’t it, Amanda?”

  “Why, Leda,” cried Alice. “How could you know that?” And Johnny said quickly, “You’d better get a different caretaker if he’s leaving the doors unlocked. Did you hear the seven o’clock news, anybody? I missed it.”

  Sutton began to tell him the news; Amanda said nothing; Leda lifted the glass she’d brought to the table with her, her eyes defiant and her cheeks definitely too flushed. The sense of discomfort passed, but came again before they left the table; it was as they were drinking coffee, in fact, that an odd thing happened. Amanda had reached for a cigarette and Dave Seabrooke lighted it and the wide beautiful bracelet on Amanda’s wrist glittered and shone, and Alice said: “Why, Amanda, what a marvelous bracelet! It’s new, isn’t it?”

  Everyone looked at the bracelet. Everyone, that is, but Amanda. Amanda took a long breath which made the cigarette glow red and strong, blew smoke out softly, and said, “Not at all. I’ve had it ages. We
ll, dears, shall we move? It’s early but …”

  “Why, Amanda Condit! That’s a new bracelet and you know it!” cried Leda suddenly.

  “Leda, darling!” Amanda’s voice, amused and indulgent, stopped Leda in full flight; Amanda laughed. “You’re having a brainstorm, pet! You’ve seen me wear this hundreds of times.”

  “Amanda, you know perfectly well …” Leda was flushed and suddenly angry. The little flame touched Dave’s fingers and he put the burned match down with a jerk, and Johnny said abruptly: “Leda, you’ve had too much to drink.”

  “Johnny, I’ve not! Amanda knows perfectly well where she …” began Leda angrily again, her face puffy and swollen. Amanda interrupted: “Darling, Johnny must be right if you don’t remember this piece of junk! If it were only real!” She smiled in a frank and friendly way at Sutton and said, “Sutton, dear, shall we move? It does seem early, but Sissy must be tired. And, besides, I want to get her alone and talk to her. I haven’t seen her for far too long …”

  One of the things Serena had always liked about her sister was Amanda’s decisiveness. At once they were on their feet and strolling toward the door, talking. Leda, still flushed and angry, had her arm through Johnny’s, or rather, Serena saw suddenly, he had taken her hand and was holding it rather tightly. Johnny’s round, cheerful face, however, was still merely round and cheerful. But just as they passed the door to the bar, Leda detached herself quietly from Johnny, took Serena’s hand and drew her inside the bar. Johnny apparently went on with the others; Leda held Serena’s hand tightly. There were several groups around the low tables and among the palms; the radio in one corner was going softly; no one glanced at them.

  “You see?” said Leda. ‘Thank Heaven, you’ve come.”

  “Nonsense, Leda. I told you it was nonsense.”

  “But it isn’t. Johnny’s perfectly crazy about Amanda and she won’t let him go. She doesn’t want him; she’s just a—like a vampire. She won’t ever give up anything—or anybody. Especially a man.”

  “Leda …”

  “No, don’t try to defend her. You did that in New York and now you see I was right and you were wrong. I know she’s your sister but …”

  “Leda, please. Somebody will hear you. I tell you Amanda doesn’t mean anything. Johnny …”

  Leda leaned close to her, her fingers pressing hard into Serena’s hand. “It’s just as I told you. You’ve got to do something, Sissy. That’s why I begged you to come home. I knew you’d come, Sissy …”

  “That’s not why I came. I had a—well, an unexpected vacation. I didn’t come because I was worried about Amanda and Johnny. You’re mistaken …”

  “Mistaken!” Leda gave a short laugh. “Haven’t you any eyes, Sissy? Can’t you see that Johnny, yes, and Jem too, are just eating their hearts out?”

  “Jem!”

  “Oh, Jem’s been in love with her for years. He can’t stay away. Sissy, that’s not important—Jem, I mean. It’s Johnny and …” She glanced swiftly around the room with something surreptitious and sidelong in her look that was not pleasant.

  But Leda was wrong, thought Serena quickly; Leda exaggerated; Leda was hysterical. And then Leda leaned so near to Serena that she could hear her whisper below the sounds of music from the radio and the low talk and laughter in the room, so near that a warm wave of Leda’s perfume struck her face. “I told you. In New York. There in the Plaza bar. It’s just as I told you. Something’s going to happen. And it won’t be nice. You see …”

  Johnny appeared in the doorway. His rosy, round face shone good-naturedly; his eyes were bright and very friendly—and observant. He said, “Come on, you two. Everybody’s waiting. No more drinks tonight.”

  Leda’s hand dug into Serena’s arm meaningly as they walked with Johnny to join the others. It was a curious relief to extract herself from that clutching hand, and from Leda.

  Leda couldn’t have been right about Jem. He wasn’t in love with Amanda, his friend’s wife. Jem was—well, Jem.

  But suppose Leda was right.

  They were gathered in the lobby; everybody was talking; all at once the party was breaking up. She tried to talk and smile as if nothing had happened, and not to watch Jem—and Amanda.

  Johnny and Leda would drop Alice at her home; Jem was going home with Dave Seabrooke and (it had developed from the talk) was already living there, pending Dave’s departure. Dave got Amanda’s stone marten cape and put it around her and he and Jem walked across the parking space to Sutton’s long, enclosed car, parked beside Dave’s station wagon. They waved good-bye again as Johnny’s coupe pulled away from the lighted area in front of the Lodge, shielded from the sea by the Lodge itself so no betraying lights showed even upon the enclosure of the bay. “Good night, Amanda, and thanks for the party,” said Dave. “I don’t think really I deserve it.”

  Amanda smiled. Sutton said, “Good night, old fellow. It’s not every day one of us leaves for war.”

  “You’ll all be gone before it’s over,” said Dave rather dourly, and Jem said, “Good night, Amanda. Good night, Sissy. See you tomorrow.”

  “Of course,” said Amanda. “Come to lunch, Jem. I’ll expect you. Good night, dear.”

  Jem closed the door upon Amanda and Serena in the back seat. Sutton started the car. Serena looked out in time to see Jem’s tall figure crossing the lighted area and getting into the station wagon with Dave Seabrooke. Then Sutton pulled away from the Lodge and they were in complete gloom with only the tiny glow from the parking lights ahead and Amanda’s perfume in the thick blackness.

  “Do be careful,” said Amanda presently, out of the scented darkness.

  They stopped at the Carmel gate and were let out by the gatekeeper. Amanda yawned and settled herself more closely in her furs. No one spoke for a long time; they had, in fact, passed the turn to the mission and started along the valley, from whence presently a twisting road climbed up to the Condit ranch, before Sutton spoke. Then he said, his voice drifting backward in a disembodied way from the dim black outline of his shoulders and head, “Amanda, why did you tell them you’d had your bracelet a long time? I never saw it before tonight.”

  Serena had been thinking of Jem; the way he’d looked, what he’d said; there wasn’t much to think of, of course, except the fact that he was there and she had seen him again. And that Leda must be, again, wrong. She must convince herself of that. Sutton’s inquiry roused her so she felt the instant’s pause before Amanda spoke. Then Amanda laughed a little. “To tease Leda and Alice.”

  “Oh,” said Sutton presently.

  There was another silence; then Amanda said in a lower voice to Serena, “It’s only junk jewelry, of course; but they didn’t get a close enough look at it to be sure. I adore Leda and Alice, too, but they do amuse me. How anybody can be as dull as Leda, I don’t know! But I love her dearly.” She yawned. “We’re nearly home, thank Heaven. I hope you weren’t too bored, Sissy dear. I’ve put you in the guest room wing; you’ll be quiet there; it’s across the patio from us and not a soul near you.” The car lurched and she said sharply: “Sutton, do be careful.”

  “I know this road,” said Sutton. “I could drive it with my eyes shut.”

  “Well, don’t try it,” said Amanda with a shudder. “It’s really a dreadful road, Sissy. It’s as well you can’t see it. There are places where we could roll straight down for two hundred feet.”

  But nothing happened. They climbed and climbed, presently came into a straight and level road, climbed some more, and all at once a high white wall showed up dimly at their side, and the car stopped.

  Someone had transferred her bags from Dave’s station wagon to the Condit car. Sutton carried them in and across the patio. Not a light showed anywhere; the house was only a deep shadow surrounding them, yet, as she walked into the patio, the sense of being enclosed by the house with all its black windows and verandas gave Serena an additional and rather odd sense of being under covert, hidden observation. It was a momentary feeling w
hich she dismissed at once, sensibly, for besides its patent absurdity the night was so dark that only a cat, or somebody with the eyes of a cat, could have seen them. The lovely scent of pines and sage floated pungently upon the night air. She followed Amanda across the patio and up the steep flight of wooden stairs at the left and on to a narrow, covered, second-floor veranda; the room she was to have was dimly lighted and the curtains pulled. “You have to pull them every night at sunset,” explained Amanda. “It’s the dimout and we are so high here that we are visible from the bay and out to sea.” She glanced around the bedroom. “I’ll unpack for you. Just your night things, of course; we’ll have your other things unpacked and pressed tomorrow. I couldn’t ask Modeste to wait up.” Sutton said, “Good night; glad you’re here,” patted her shoulder briefly and went away.

  But Serena unpacked herself while Amanda sat on the bed and smoked a cigarette and talked a little about the war and Serena’s job. Presently she got up. “Well, my dear, sleep well. Are you sure you’ll be comfortable?”

  Serena said yes. Amanda kissed her and went, closing the door to the veranda soundly.

  Two hours later Serena pulled on the little bedlight again, looked at her watch, remembered Amanda’s warning about the curtains and turned out the light again. She wasn’t comfortable at all.

  Which was, on the whole, rather odd. Everything in the room was conducive to comfort in the last luxurious detail. And in her own sister’s house certainly she ought to feel no sense of uneasiness.

  But after a while it began to seem to Serena that something was happening in the house.

  She didn’t know, she had no way of knowing, that Luisa Condit, over twelve hours ago, had had almost exactly the same unexpected and singularly disturbing impression.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  IT WAS SO DARK she could see nothing.