1951 - In a Vain Shadow

by James Hadley Chase

  It was then that Sarek asked me if I played chess.

  ‘I’ve played a bit.’

  ‘I like chess. When I lived in Cairo I play every night with my father. I try to teach Rita but is no good. She has not the brain for chess. Is smart and clever, but no good at chess. You have to have a special brain: she has not got it.’

  That was her name - Rita.

  ‘Well, you can’t be good at everything.’

  He was looking hopefully at me.

  ‘We have a game, hey? Nothing serious, you understand. I have not played chess for months.’

  ‘All right.’

  He beamed at me, rubbing his small brown hands.

  ‘Not much to do in the country after dark. Chess is the best game in the world.’

  If she had been my wife I wouldn’t have said there wasn’t much to do in the country after dark. Nor would I have let her remain in the kitchen alone for two seconds.

  He set up a card table in front of the fire.

  ‘Won’t Mrs. Sarek want to sit here?’

  ‘Is all right. You know what women are. She fuss in the kitchen, then she go to bed early. She read in bed: trash. All women read trash.’ He chuckled as he crossed the room to a cupboard. ‘Paper-backed books she reads; love stories. Is very romantic.’

  But not with you, I thought. I bet she’s not very romantic with you.

  He produced a set of hand-carved, ivory chessmen and an ivory board. It was the most impressive set of chessmen I had ever seen.

  ‘Nice set.’

  ‘Is beautiful set.’ He handed me the Queen. ‘Fourteenth century work by Pisano. My father he found them in Italy. He give them to me. He want me to give them to my son. He felt very strong about it, but what can I do? I have no son.’ He began to set out the pieces on the board, his thick eyebrows knitted in a frown. ‘Not yet, in a little while; next year. Is what she says, but what is the use of a son to me if I am too old to enjoy him?’

  I went over to the window, pulled aside the curtain and looked into the darkness, scared he would see the rush of blood that had risen to my neck and face. To hear him talk like that gave me a feeling I had never had before: a feeling of rage that was suffocating.

  ‘Let us begin. Come and sit down.’

  I heard the door open and I turned.

  She stood just inside the room, looking at Sarek. Her pointed chin jutted out aggressively. Every line of her was aggressive as if she had screwed herself up in anger over something she had been brooding about for a long time.

  ‘There’s no coal. Do I have to lug coal when there are two men in the house?’

  Her voice was low pitched and hard and angry.

  Sarek frowned at her.

  ‘You must not worry me now, dear. I play chess!’

  ‘I’ll get it.’

  I started across the room.

  Sarek gaped at me, but I took no notice of him.

  ‘Show me where it is and I’ll get it.’

  She didn’t look at me, but turned and went out of the room. I followed her.

  ‘Mitchell...’

  I didn’t pause nor look round. I wouldn’t have stopped if he had been pointing a gun at me.

  I followed her into the kitchen: a barn of a place, chilly and not over clean. The washed crockery was piled on the table. A soiled dishcloth lay on the floor by the sink, where she had dropped it.

  She pointed to two coalscuttles. I picked them up.

  ‘I suppose I’d better come with you. It’s dark out there.’

  ‘Tell me. I’ll find it.’

  It was like talking to someone in a dream: the words meant nothing. I just wanted to grab her, ‘I’ll show you.’

  She opened the back door and went out into the darkness.

  I followed the sound of her footsteps, scarcely breathing, the pulse each side of my temples pounding.

  She opened a door and turned on a light.

  ‘You can find your way back, can’t you?’

  I put the two scuttles down.

  ‘Yes.’

  As she turned I reached out and caught hold of her wrist. She showed no surprise, but looked at me with the same blank, stony stare, wrenched her wrist free and walked away, neither fast nor slow; as if it hadn’t happened.

  I clenched my fist, trying to imprison the feet of her flesh that I imagined was still on my hand. I stared into the darkness, listening to her footfalls, bewildered by the suddenness of this thing: unable to explain it, hating Sarek and hating myself.

  I remained still for several minutes, then I took hold of myself and shovelled the coal into the scuttles. I turned out the light, picked up the scuttles and groped my way back to the house.

  She had left the back door open and the light from the kitchen lamp came out into the dark yard.

  She wasn’t in the kitchen.

  I put the two scuttles down by the boiler, washed my hands in the sink, turned to the door.

  On the dresser was a bottle of whisky. I picked it up, jerked out the cork and took a long pull from the bottle. I drank until the neat spirit burned my mouth and throat, then I rammed the cork back and put the bottle where I had found it.

  ‘Checkmate.’

  I pushed back my chair and somehow hitched on a smile.

  ‘Well, I asked for it. Thanks’ anyway, for the game. I’m sorry I put up such a rotten show.’

  He began rearranging the pieces.

  ‘Is all right. You play a good game. I was very surprised when you open with the Steinitz gambit. Ah! I thought, is a chess player. Steinitz make a very difficult game. But then poof! You no longer think of the game. Your mind go far away. You play automatic. Is no good for chess. What is it you think about, hey?’

  I wondered what he would say if I told him.

  ‘I wasn’t in the mood; that’s all; I play a fair game when I’m in the mood, but it was no good tonight.’

  ‘It was no good.’

  I looked furtively at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was twenty minutes past nine.

  ‘Well, I guess I’ll take a walk around the house.’

  ‘A walk? What for do you want to walk round the house?’

  ‘I’m your bodyguard, aren’t I? I’m going to have a look around before turning in.’

  His little eyes opened wide.

  ‘You think is danger - here?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ I lit a cigarette and tossed the match into the fireplace. ‘I’m not even convinced you’re in danger anywhere, but so long as you think you are and so long as you pay me I’m not taking any chances.’

  That seemed to please him.

  ‘Have a look around then. Is a good torch in the kitchen. Maybe when you get back we play more chess, hey?’

  ‘I’d just as soon go to bed I’m not in the mood for chess.’

  ‘All right. Go to bed. You read in bed?’

  ‘No I don’t read much.’

  ‘Mrs. Sarek read all the time. Read trash.’ He scowled into the fire. ‘Love stories. You read love stories perhaps?’

  ‘I don’t need to. I can get a woman when I want one.’

  That jumped out before I could stop it. He looked up quickly, his brows coming down, his face darkening.

  ‘What was that you say?’

  ‘Oh, nothing.’

  There was a cold wind blowing when I stepped into the darkness; no moon, and I could feel a damp mist against my face. I swung the beam of the torch to light up the brick path that led away from the house towards the farm buildings. I was glad to get out into the open. Another ten minutes inside that house would have sent me crazy.

  I walked down the path, crossed the lawn that felt soft and squelchy under my feet, turned by the barn wall to face the house.

  A light burned in the right upper room. I could see the pattern on the ceiling, but nothing else. The curtains weren’t drawn. I knew she was up there.

  I could also see into the room I had just left. Sarek was sitting motionless before the fire, his great,
bulging forehead supported on his head. I watched him for a moment. He didn’t move.

  I turned the beam of the torch on the barn wall, moved a few paces until I came to the barn door, pushed it open and went in.

  At the far end of the barn was a wooden ladder that led to the loft. I crossed the earth floor, skirted some bales of straw, avoided a stack a sawn logs and climbed the ladder.

  There was a door in the loft through which hay could be pitched direct from the cart. I examined the hinges. They were rusty. The door hadn’t been opened in years.

  I shoved my shoulder against it, felt it move, shoved again, forcing it open about four inches. That was wide enough to see through.

  From that level I could look right into her room. It was big.

  A double bed stood against the wall, facing the door. There was an old-fashioned wardrobe facing me: the kind with a full-length mirror, cupboards and drawers. By the window stood a dressing table.

  She was sitting before the dressing table, brushing her hair. She had on a green silk dressing gown. A cigarette hung from her soft, full mouth.

  I knelt on one knee on the dusty floor of the loft and watched her. Every movement she made, the rise and fall of her breasts as she breathed, the spiral of her cigarette smoke, the glitter of light in the copper colour hair, the triangle of white flesh that showed above the V-neck of the dressing gown fascinated me the way a rabbit is fascinated by a snake.

  She brushed her hair for perhaps five minutes. It could have been longer or shorter. Kneeling there in the darkness I had no sense of time. I could have stayed watching her all night and through the next day. Then she put down the brush, swung around on the stool so her back was to me.

  Sarek had come in. I looked hastily at the downstairs room.

  The light was still burning. Probably he had just come up to say goodnight.

  He stood in the doorway, talking. He was scowling, and every now and then he made an angry gesture with his hands.

  I guessed he was talking about me.

  She sat motionless, her hands gripped between her knees and let him talk. I would have given a lot to have heard what he was saying.

  Suddenly his anger seemed to go away and he became ingratiating. He came over to her, and put his thin, brown hand on her shoulder. Just to see him touch her brought me out in a sweat. I leaned forward, gripping the side of the doorway, not missing a thing.

  She pulled away from his hand and stood up. He continued to talk, his smile fixed, imploring her to do something But she wouldn’t play. She didn’t argue with him. She said nothing, fixing her green, stony eyes on his face contemptuously, and when he came too close she moved out of his reach.

  He gave up suddenly, scowling again, and as quickly and as silently as he had come, went out, leaving the door open.

  She remained looking at the door for some moments, then she stubbed out her cigarette, shut the door and locked it. She came to the window and looked out.

  I drew back into the shadows and watched her. I had a sudden suspicion that she knew I was up there in the loft, watching her. And when she jerked down the blind with a quick, savage movement, I was sure of it.

  chapter five

  The next three days more or less conformed to pattern. Each morning at eight o’clock I drove Sarek to Wardour Street. Each evening at six o’clock I drove him back to Four Winds. During the day I sat around in the outer office or drove him to the East End where he did business. In the evenings I played chess with him, patrolled the farm buildings, locked up and went to bed.

  I still slept in the maid’s room. I had made no effort to get out of it. I knew she didn’t want me in the house, and I knew it would be dangerous to complain about the room. She might use my grouse as an excuse to get rid of me. She had enough on Sarek to force him to sack me if she could go to him with a real grievance, and she was looking for that grievance the way a cat hunts a mouse.

  Since that first night when I had touched her I kept her at arm’s length. She did everything she could to provoke me.

  I got in the coals, chopped the wood, fed the chickens, locked them up at night, lit the fires and cleaned the windows. I did these chores because she told me to, knowing she would take a tale to Sarek if I refused.

  If she had told me to pump out the cesspit I would have done it. There was nothing I wouldn’t have done to remain in that house within sight of her. Sooner or later I was going to have her. I was sure of that. No one could want anything as much as I wanted her and not get it in the long run. It was just a matter of waiting for the right opportunity, and then going bald-headed for it.

  I puzzled Sarek. When he caught me cleaning windows at seven o’clock in the morning he looked as if he thought I had gone crazy.

  ‘She tell you to do that?’

  ‘She said they wanted cleaning. They do. I got bored with staying in bed so I thought I’d clean them.’

  He scratched his baldhead, puzzled and embarrassed.

  ‘You don’t have to do that unless you want to, Mitchell. I hired you for a bodyguard, not a servant.’

  But I wasn’t fooled for a moment. She had only to go to him and tell him I had been rude to her and out I’d go. A man who needed a son as badly as Sarek did couldn’t afford to be on the wrong side of his wife for long. And make no mistake about it, he wanted a son as badly as I wanted his wife. The only difference between us was he talked about his son-to-be whenever he wasn’t talking business or playing chess, while I had to keep my mouth shut. No other difference. Both our desires centred on her, and as far as I could see, she didn’t give a damn for either of us.

  Each night, after I had walked around the farm. Making believe I was checking on marauders I’d go up into the loft and look at her window. But she was on to that move, and kept the blind drawn, but even her shadow passing to and fro on the blind set my blood racing and turned my mouth dry. I had to go up there even though I knew I shouldn’t see anything but her shadow.

  During those three days I got to know Sarek. He wasn’t such a bad little guy once you got beyond his looks, and he was as smart and as bright as they come. He had three things continually on his mind: a son, money, and chess, in that order.

  I didn’t get the chance to find out exactly what his business was. He always left me outside in the car, but I could make a near guess. He was continually going to little shops or offices in the East End and coming away with a parcel or sometimes a couple of suitcases which he would dump in the back of the car and take around to other little shops or offices in the West End. Black market stuff or stolen stuff. He knew where to find it and whom to sell it to. I ached to find out how much money was involved, but as with Rita, it was a matter of patience. Sooner or later I would gain his confidence and then it was up to me to make use of it. In the meantime I memorized addresses and names and faces, butting in whenever I could, joining in street-corner conversations when he was gossiping to his friends, trying to get known so when the time came I would be already half-accepted Then there was Emmie. Thinking back I can see now I played my cards badly with Emmie. I know now she was crazy about Sarek, and there was nothing she wouldn’t have done for him. She was as worried as he was about the threatening letters, and had encouraged him to hire himself a bodyguard.

  The scene had been set for me if I hadn’t been such a blind fool and stepped out of turn from the beginning. If I had been courteous to her, treated her like a human being, she would have been strong for me, and I could have handled her when the time came when I had to handle her or go under.

  Instead, I treated her as I saw her: a tat, hideous little Jewess, who had weak eyes and a spotty complexion. I didn’t make any pretence that that sight of her turned my stomach.

  I scarcely spoke a word to her, and when I did I pointedly looked away from her so I shouldn’t be unnecessarily sickened by the sight of her face.

  So she did what anyone would have done after being treated like that: she hated me with everything she had: a vicious, spiteful
angry hatred, full of patience for the time to get even, and that’s about the most dangerous type of hatred to come up against.

  But I was so smug, so sure of myself, I didn’t care. All I could think of was Rita and Sarek’s money. To me, Emmie was a joke: and not even a good joke at that.

  If I was in bad with Emmie I was going great guns with Sarek. By now I had my feelings about Rita under control. I could sit in the same room with her without feeling I wanted to walk across the ceiling, and I could get my mind on to chess.

  I had learned chess from a Russian who had once drawn three games and won one against Alekhine. I had run into him at a Prisoner of War Camp in Germany, and he and I spent five hours a day for eighteen months playing chess.

  Sarek was no slouch either, and the battles we had in the evening were tournament stuff.

  Whenever she went to bed early I beat him. But so long as she remained in the room, some of my mind was on her, and he beat me. But he reckoned I was the most stylish player he had ever met, and those nightly games cemented his liking for me as nothing else could.

  And another thing pleased him. He was expecting another threatening letter. He had received one every Thursday morning for the past month, but this Thursday it didn’t turn up. That put him right on top of the world, for those letters scared him more than he admitted.

  ‘They take a look at you, Mitchell. You scare them off.’

  And that began to worry me. If he didn’t receive any more threatening letters he might begin to think he was paying out ten pounds a week for nothing. Even a nightly game of chess doesn’t rate at ten pounds a week. I couldn’t imagine him feeding and paying me to sit around his office and home, doing nothing once he got over his scare. Maybe he did like me, but not to that extent.

  Then on the fourth day, a Friday, the opportunity I had been waiting for turned up.

  I had driven Sarek to Shoreditch where he had collected a parcel, and we were on our way back to the West End when he said suddenly, ‘Tomorrow I go to Paris. Maybe I stay a week; maybe two weeks. Is not necessary for you to come.’

  And I thought this was the payoff. I couldn’t imagine him handing me ten pounds a week for two weeks while he was in Paris.