After waiting a moment to take a fresh grip on my slight courage, I turned the knob and pushed the door open against the force of the wind. I don’t know what I expected to find, but nothing so prosaic as reality. The room was dark and the window was open and Vivien was standing in the middle of the floor. There was nothing else. But when I turned on the light switch I saw the terror in Vivien’s wide eyes.
I walked by Vivien and closed the window and the hall door slammed shut. I returned to Vivien and stood directly before her. Her body was rigid with fear and her eyes were staring wildly into space. I don’t think she was even aware of my presence. In another moment, though, she was going to be hysterical. I raised my hands and began slapping her face as hard as I could. I realized, even then, that I was deriving a certain amount of enjoyment from the act.
Color flooded into Vivien’s face, her shoulders quivered, she staggered back and raised her hands to her face and then she was all right. She moaned softly and turned away from me to collapse onto the bed. On the dresser was a tray with water, glasses, and a jigger of whisky in one glass. That would be John’s thoughtful touch. I poured some of the water into the whisky and brought it to Vivien. She raised herself on an elbow and drank it down, with her eyes fixed on mine. She coughed and choked and I gave her more water.
When I had put the glasses back on the tray I turned my attention to Vivien. She was still leaning on one elbow, but her eyes had narrowed with speculative appraisal and she seemed as normal as possible under the circumstances. At least, there was no longer the danger of hysteria. I placed a chair near the bed and sat down to face her. The tingling sensation of fear was deeper in me than it was in Vivien.
She said, “Surprised to find me here?”
I shook my head. “No. I knew you were here. What happened? What made you scream?”
“Oh, did I scream?”
“Yes. Your screams awakened me.”
“Maybe I got the whole house up.”
I considered that and again shook my head. “I don’t think so. I heard you because you were so close but Lynecrest has awfully thick walls. I doubt if anyone else heard. Now, what happened?”
“I don’t know.” She was not being evasive. She was trying to remember. Then she said “It was a dream. I think it was a dream and yet it was not a dream. It seemed real to me. Did you close a window when you came in here, or did I dream that too?”
“No. The window was open. I closed it.”
She nodded. “Then I didn’t dream that. It was open. Do you think a maid would have opened it when I went to bed?”
I said dryly, “You were put to bed, darling. You wouldn’t know, would you? But I don’t think a maid would have opened a window even to help sober you. Lynecrest’s air-conditioning is perfect, especially in the upper floors. It’s never necessary to have a window open.”
A shudder ran through her shoulders. “But that would seem to make it not a dream. I don’t understand it.”
I was fast losing my patience and cried “What on earth happened?”
“Well, I was lying in bed. I was awake. I was trying to remember where I was. The room was dark, but not too dark to see. I remember looking at the bureau and the mirror and I could see the moon in the mirror and the chairs at either side of the dresser. This man was standing by the side of the bed looking down at me.”
“What man?”
“I don’t know. It was just a man. His knees were leaning against the bed and he was holding something in his hands. It was either a thick wire or a piece of clothesline or something like that. It was too dark to see anything else and I guess he couldn’t see that my eyes were open.” She nodded and whispered, “Now I remember it plainly. I wasn’t frightened. There was no feeling of any kind. I just lay there looking at him, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and he just stood there looking down at me.”
I drew in my breath sharply and said, “You must have been dreaming.”
“Yes. It was a dream. It had to be a dream. But it was all so clear and real. Then he crossed the room and opened the window and the wind swept in and I could even feel that on my face. He came back and stood there looking at me for a long time and then he leaned over the bed. Whatever he had in his hand, I couldn’t see it plainly, he wrapped that around my throat and then he pulled back the covers and his arms slid under me and — it’s the damnedest thing — I still wasn’t frightened. He lifted me in his arms and walked toward the window and there he stopped. I could see the moon then and the edge of that ledge down below, and then I knew he was going to strangle me and drop me out the window and over the ledge, and if I didn’t go over, why, he would just walk out and push me over. It was very clear what I was thinking and what I knew he was going to do, and I guess that’s when I got frightened and screamed.”
She paused for a moment and I thought, Small wonder. But it was odd that such a nightmare would be so clear. And why the open window?
She said, “When I screamed — I remember it very well, now — he came very close to dropping me, but he didn’t. He just let me slide from his arms to my feet. Then he ran out of the room. I saw the door open and heard it close. I had to get away from that window and then I was wide awake and scared to death and that’s when I screamed again.” She nodded, almost happy that she could remember it so clearly. She concluded, “You came in right after that.”
I got two cigarettes from her purse on the dresser and lit them and handed one to Vivien. She inhaled deeply and smiled gratefully. I was sparring for time, trying to make some sort of sense out of her words.
“It’s very peculiar,” I said.
“Yes, isn’t it? And that window was open.”
I looked toward the window and then back at Vivien. I said, “You had passed out when they put you to bed. I — ah — heard the servants discussing it. But I’m positive that no one would have opened a window. Have you ever walked in your sleep?”
“No. I mean, not that I know of. Is that what you think happened?”
“Look, Vivien; either someone was really attempting to strangle you, which I doubt seriously, or you were dreaming this thing in the aftermath of a drunken stupor and it was so real to you that you got up and opened the window yourself. That could happen.”
She puffed at the cigarette, her eyes fixed on the wall over my head. She looked back at me and nodded. “That must have been it. Who, in God’s name, would want to strangle me?”
“John?” I suggested.
She stared at me and then burst into laughter. “My dear,” she cried, “you do have an imagination. In his own house? All the servants knowing I’m here, my car around somewhere — ”
“It was a silly thought — ”
“It had to be a dream. It was so real to me I must have opened the window myself. God,” she shuddered, “I might even have fallen out.”
“The cold wind probably awakened you. It just isn’t reasonable to think of your allowing yourself to be carried that far without making a move or a sound. But in a dream the wind awakened you the second you opened that window and then you started screaming.” I yawned and patted my fingers to my mouth. “That must have been it.”
“Yes,” she said, “it had to be. Sorry I frightened you.” She got to her feet and walked to the closet where her clothes were hanging. When she came back with them she said, “But I’m getting out of here, just the same. I’ll feel better in my own house.”
I stood up, too, and said, “I’ll be going back to bed.”
Her eyes were again wide with fear. She gasped, “No, please. Stay here with me. I’ll be dressed in a minute.”
“You’re still frightened.”
“Well—”
“I’ll wait.”
I pulled the robe closer about my shoulders and sat on the edge of the chair to watch her. Then I noticed for the first time, rather shocked about it, that she was nude. I looked at the bundle of clothes she had dropped to the bed and saw that there was no bra or panties. So, I thought primly, that
kind. But, though I was embarrassed, I watched with fascination as she snapped a garter belt about her slim waist, then sat on the edge of the bed to pull on her stockings.
The contradiction that Vivien presented between her clothed and unclothed self was amazing. I had thought that Scott’s interpretation of the nude Vivien was a creation of his own imagination. She had always seemed to me so ethereal and lacking in substance. But then I realized that Scott had interpreted her correctly. Her body had a feline quality that was not apparent when it was clothed, but when it was exposed it was actually voluptuous. Even in the simple act of drawing on her stockings the graceful lines of her body became sensual and suggestive. There was a touch of the animal about her, and in spite of her obvious grace, she was earthy and provocative. No wonder she had such an appeal for the Hamlynes, or any other man. It was a fascinating contradiction in a woman; the angelic being in the sunlight and a sensuous mistress at night. It was all too easy to imagine a man’s losing himself in the worship of a body such as Vivien’s.
I dropped the thought as I would a burning coal and spoke about Scott as she dressed. I said, “I overheard the servants saying that he was plastered.”
“Servants!” she snorted. ‘They always gossip. But he was drinking like a fish.”
“Is he difficult to get along with when he’s drinking that way?”
She slanted me a curious look from the corners of her eyes, then looked away. “Well,” she replied, “he isn’t easy to handle at any time. What time is it?”
“It must be after two.”
She sighed with relief. “Oh, that’s good. He must have passed out a long time ago. He was going somewhere, but he can’t drive when he’s drinking.” She paused, then added viciously, “I hope he ran off a cliff and killed himself.”
She was fully dressed and gave a final pat to her hair. She picked up her bag from the dresser, tucked it under her arm, and walked to the hall door. There she paused and said, “I’m going to ask a question you may not like to answer. But truthfully, now, isn’t there something weird about this place? I mean, I feel it. Do you feel it?”
I said, “Yes. I’ve felt it for some time.”
“Well,” she gasped, “you’re frank.”
“Have you felt it before?”
She frowned to concentrate on my question, then shook her head. “No. I used to think Lynecrest was delightful. And I don’t mean that I’ve changed my mind because of the nightmare. I’ve been feeling it for some months.” One shoulder quivered and then she smiled. “Silly, isn’t it? Well, good night, and sorry I disturbed you.”
She was gone without another word. I had no doubt that she knew how to find her way to the garage and her car.
I got to my feet and stretched my arms and yawned. I walked to the window to look out at the moon. It was now too high to be seen, but its reflection was a broad silver V on the water. I was turning away when something on the floor, behind a chair, caught my eye. I pushed the chair out of the way and picked up a red silk cord, with a small tassel at either end. I thought it belonged to Vivien’s dress.
I left the guest room and went to my apartment. I locked the hall door and went into the bedroom and locked that door. I put the cord on a chair by the bed and was just taking off my robe when I remembered that Vivien had been wearing a dress with a broad leather belt. Her coat, too, had had its own belt sewn on.
I glanced down at the cord and then remembered where I had seen it before. The cord belonged with the silk robe John had been wearing, as Jeffrey, and it had been knotted about his waist during the evening. Vivien’s nightmare had not been a dream. That cord had recently been wrapped around her slim throat.
I put the cord in a drawer of the dressing table, turned out the lights, and got into bed. I felt chilled, however, and the dark frightened me, so I got out of bed, switched on a small mirror light in the dressing room and left the door slightly ajar so that a slim shaft of light cut across the bedroom floor. I got back into bed, slightly reassured by the dim light.
But a few moments later fear was again racing through my body. Though the sound was soft, I could hear someone turning the knob of the outer door of the suite. It was turned repeatedly for a moment, then there was silence. After what seemed like hours, but was probably only a few minutes, I heard a key in the lock and then the door opening. The bedroom door was also unlocked and a man stepped into the room. I felt like screaming, but watched him silently as he crossed the room, took off a robe, and dropped it across the back of a chair. As he passed through the thin light from the dressing room I saw that it was John in a pair of Jeffrey’s pajamas. He stopped by the side of the bed and stood there looking down at me, though I could not see his face in the gloom.
He said softly, “Don’t ever lock your doors against me, Carol.”
I tried to pretend I was asleep. I clenched my hands into fists and lay there rigidly, hoping against wild hope, though I knew better, that he would leave. But he lowered himself to the bed and under the covers and slid an arm under my shoulders, the same arm that a short time before had dropped the hysterical Vivien. I wondered fearfully if he were still in a murderous frame of mind and what, if anything, I could do about it.
His arm tightened about my shoulders, drawing me closer to him, as he whispered huskily in my ear, “Carol, my darling …”
It was senseless trying to feign sleep. I stirred, as if just awakening, and tried to squirm away, but his other hand went about my waist to hold me. “Please,” I whispered. “I — I’m tired. Sleepy.”
His breath was warm against the side of my face and then he was kissing my lips and my throat, holding me tightly with his left arm, his right hand beginning to explore. My God, I thought, feeling hysteria rise within me, I had to find a way to stop him. There had to be a way. There was no longer even a small doubt for me to cling to and force myself to accept him as Jeffrey. It was John and I had to stop him.
I started to roll away. His fingers closed about my arm and bit into the flesh. There was an angry, biting edge — a dangerous edge — to his voice as he asked, “What’s the matter with you, Carol? Is anything wrong?”
“Please, Jeff. I — I don’t feel — ”
“But, my darling,” he purred, “I love you. I adore you.” “Please—”
“Now, really,” he chuckled, “do you think it possible for me to be in the same house with you without making love to you?” He pulled me back into his powerful embrace and whispered, “After all, my dear, I’m not made of iron. In spite of what you may think of me and of — well, the situation, I’m still in love with you.” He bent his lips to my throat and said huskily, yet with a touch of mockery, “And I am your husband, you know.”
I held my elbows against him and for a moment considered tearing myself free and denouncing him. It was the only possible way I could prevent the horror of his love-making. There was nothing else that could be done. But I thought of Vivien and the cord about her slim throat. It was possible, perhaps even probable, that murder had not actually been attempted, but I could not be sure. Of one thing I was positive, and that was that he was not quite sane. He was also, I knew, capable of great violence. The wrong move on my part, especially at that moment and on that night, could so easily lead to immediate fatal consequences. I had to accept him as Jeffrey. I had to submit.
I dropped my arms and no longer resisted.
There was more of an urgency about him that night than there ever had been before. It was almost as if it might be the last time, a sort of carnal farewell. His lust seemed insatiable, and in spite of my fears I responded to him, though it was a response built on pure hatred. For the first time in my life I could have killed another human being. I believe that’s the only reason I was able to carry through the gross performance, by concentrating on the ecstasy of his death. Perhaps, too, sex itself is a form of death, so that the thought of sticking a thousand knives in his back was not altogether incongruous at the time.
But it was all tortur
e. Forcing myself to respond to him, to halt the scream on my lips, and to listen to the almost incoherent whisperings of his love for me was the sheerest agony I have ever endured. And all the time I knew only too well that the hands caressing me could so easily close about my throat with murderous frenzy.
The torture went on and on for years and years and ages within ages of limitless time and at last he was spent and standing on the floor by the side of the bed. He stood there looking down at me for a long time while I stared up at him with death in my heart. If he had returned to that bed again I am sure I would have tried to kill him. But he turned away, took his robe from the chair, and closed the door behind him as he left the room.
The moment he had gone I rolled to my side and let hysteria take over. But the heavy tears were a blessing and helped, in some small degree, to cleanse my mind. When the sobbing fit had passed I went to the bathroom and stood under a cold shower that cut into my skin like icy needles. Normally, I hate cold showers, but this was purification and I remained under the cold water until it, too, was becoming torture.
That also helped to cleanse my mind. When I returned to bed I was able to think fairly clearly and questioned whether or not I would be able to face John in the morning. I realized, with a shock, that there was no need to worry about it. John himself would carry it off without difficulty, simply by being forced to continue his masquerade.
But I would need something more than that to help me get through the necessity of having to face him without revealing the hatred I was feeling. I thought of the cord in the drawer and decided that that could be the answer. It might be dangerous, but bringing that into the open at least had the merit of impersonality, where I was concerned. I closed my eyes at last, not too worried about what the morrow would bring.
Nothing could be worse than the night.
Chapter Fourteen
WHEN I WENT DOWNSTAIRS in the morning John was in the breakfast room by the solarium. He had finished breakfast and was drinking coffee. He looked tired and drawn and made no attempt to smile at me or even to say good morning. He watched me in silence as I sat down and Brannen brought more coffee. That was all I wanted, and when Brannen had served the coffee I asked him to leave us alone.
Marriage Bed Page 18
