Woman in the Mirror

by Winston Graham

  ‘I was looking for Simon’s pills.’

  ‘Simon’s pills? But why here?’

  ‘Why not? He needs them.’

  ‘My dear, he has them. They were where he had left them.’

  ‘They were not the same. The bottle was similar but the pills were not the same shape.’

  ‘Norah, d’you really believe that?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Althea sighed and came farther into the room, leaving the door ajar. Her bulk was formidable but her tone was still light. ‘My pet, it’s all part of his persecution complex. Didn’t you hear him at dinner?’

  ‘I heard him very well.’

  ‘Anyway, he’ll have more tomorrow . . . But you still haven’t answered why you expected to find them here.’

  ‘I thought they might just have got here by accident.’

  Althea Syme closed the cupboard, brushing against Norah to do so. A breath of brandy went with her. ‘That’s not a very polite remark. I know you came here as my special, personal friend but there are liberties one shouldn’t take. Ransacking my study on such a flimsy excuse, for instance.’

  ‘I thought I came as your personal friend. Not as an understudy for Simon’s sister.’

  Althea laughed. ‘You’re looking at everything in such a distorted way tonight. Perhaps it’s the thundery weather. I know I . . .’

  ‘The weather has nothing to do with it.’

  ‘But you accept everything Simon tells you as the literal truth. You forget that he has been mentally disturbed.’

  ‘Did you forget that he had been mentally disturbed when you invited me here?’

  ‘I’ve told you. I told you when you mentioned it last week. Do I have to repeat it yet again?’

  ‘Not unless you wish to.’

  A hand on her arm. ‘Please, dear. You know we’ve been quite fond of each other, haven’t we? So you really must believe me in this. I’ve said it over and over.’

  They looked at each other, Norah assailed by a sudden weak wish to believe her friend, Althea warmly affectionate, fractionally glassy, her eyes bloodshot. Enmity could still be kept out of sight, with a few evasions could perhaps be prevented from ever surfacing. Much easier to keep it all in, to feel it, not to express it. Dear Althea who had invited her here, with her quick wit, her youthful brain. Let it all remain as a suspicion, a doubt. Let them separate tomorrow and . . .

  ‘The resemblance to Marion is really so slight. I’ve told you so often before, pet. No one could possibly mistake you for her. No one in his right mind, that is. My fault, my only fault, lay in supposing Simon was cured and would not pick a chance likeness to make so much of it.’

  ‘I wonder,’ Norah said, ‘why on the evening he came you persuaded me to change the style of my hair so that it should be more in the fashion that Marion used to do it.’

  ‘Oh, Norah.’ That squeeze on her arm again. ‘You do think badly of me, don’t you? I didn’t suggest you should change your hair to a style more like Marion’s but less like hers! The way you did it before was rather similar to hers.’

  Norah listened to the rain. ‘But,’ she said, ‘you’ve said repeatedly that you’d forgotten all about my likeness to Marion and that it never occurred to you that Simon would be upset.’

  Althea withdrew her hand. ‘No, I didn’t say quite that.’

  ‘Oh, yes, you did.’

  ‘You’re trying to trap me into a fancied contradiction, pet.’

  ‘That isn’t difficult, is it, all the way along?’

  ‘I don’t understand what you mean.’

  ‘Besides, you must know; I expect Gregory’s told you: I’ve been up to Simon’s studio and seen all the portraits he did of Marion. The likeness is obvious.’

  ‘Gregory told me he went up with a message this afternoon and found you sitting there half naked. It’s not something I would personally be proud of.’

  It was all sliding now, sliding with every sentence spoken, down the road to open war.

  ‘My likeness to Marion made an impression on you when we first met. Didn’t it? So when you knew Simon was going to come out you got rid of your other secretary and offered me the job in the hope that confronting him with me every day would upset his new balance. Everything’s been to that end, hasn’t it: your sending Doole to meet him as if he couldn’t be trusted to come alone, the sort of supervision you’ve imposed on him here; the tape with Marion’s voice “accidentally” on it, mislaying his pills, which are so vital to him; every little contrivance! My part in it was to be passive, wasn’t it: it didn’t much matter what happened to me – whether I might find myself embarrassed or – or humiliated or even put in danger. That was all unimportant so long as it worked your way. From the beginning your pretending to be fond of me was a sham!’

  ‘Never a sham, Norah, never a sham! That’s absolutely untrue.’

  ‘Then what do you call it?’

  Althea seemed to struggle for a moment with an inability to express herself. ‘You can leave tomorrow, Norah. I’m grieved – bitterly upset – but I won’t have these insults thrown . . . Do you think, do you seriously believe that I’d have made so much of you for petty personal advantage?’

  ‘Yes, I do! And the advantage isn’t petty, is it . . . ?’

  ‘Well, it’s not true! My fondness went deeper, far deeper than that. You must have known. This sort of hysteria is something I hadn’t expected . . .’

  ‘What had you expected? Just tell me, please.’

  ‘Some loyalty, some affection felt for me! But you can leave. You can leave first thing tomorrow, Norah, and that’s the end of it.’

  ‘I’ll leave,’ Norah said, ‘and take Simon with me!’

  The rain had stopped at last. Its silence emphasized the silence in the room. She wished now she hadn’t said it, but it was out.

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Simon is coming with me. When I leave he leaves. I want to see he gets a fair deal. So long as he needs me I’ll stay with him.’

  They had moved farther apart, like adversaries sparring, but she was still near enough to see the mottled pink of Althea’s arms, looking more naked for their half concealment, the flush under the heavily powdered cheek, the yellowing tinge that drink had brought to the eyes.

  ‘This – romantic attachment – this shallow little love affair with my nephew . . . Perhaps you’ll tell me what you intend to do.’

  ‘Romantic . . . My romantic attachment simply means getting him out of this house and to a place where he won’t be subjected to petty annoyances and persecutions. Especially to a lawyer who’ll see that his rights are safeguarded.’

  ‘What rights are those?’

  ‘You’ll know them – and he’ll know them – better than I do.’

  ‘If you call in the law, dear, it can be a two-edged weapon. Never forget that.’

  ‘I shan’t be concerned in it except to help Simon if he needs me.’

  ‘You already are concerned in it. Aren’t you? By interfering in my private affairs, by prying . . .’

  ‘You’ve thrust me into your private affairs . . . !’

  ‘By prying, by questioning my maids and my butler, by – by pursuing Simon up to his studio in the other house this afternoon, and by offering yourself to him. Gregory says the way you were sitting . . .’

  ‘Gregory’s an ignorant boy . . .’

  ‘The law, I think, wouldn’t quite approve of the way you’ve thrown yourself at every man in the house since you came – even Doole – or the way you were caught tonight pilfering my study . . . It wouldn’t – be a pretty picture, would it?’

  Venom now, spilling from plump lips. Worse, more virulent, wounding more because there had been this physical attraction between them – innocent enough, at least on Norah’s part, yet sincerely felt – quite aside from any obvious contrivance or need. Unctuous, angry, hurt, Althea was no doubt uttering the first threats that entered her head. But don’t underestimate. She could count on her staff, ce
rtainly Doole and Timson, to back up any slanderous counter-attack. Her influence in Morb House was still strong. She was a fighter; no holds barred.

  Norah walked away to the other side of the room, partly to put more distance between them, partly to have time to think. A quarrel like this . . . She stood with her fingers white on the back of a chair listening to her friend.

  And her friend was changing tack again. ‘I don’t understand you, Norah. All these wild accusations. And based on what? The words of a poor unfortunate half crazy man you’ve known less than a week. Why do you have to believe everything he tells you and nothing I do?’

  ‘Because I’ve already detected you in so many lies,’ Norah said quietly.

  ‘You insolent little . . .’ The words were bitten off.

  ‘Honestly I wonder . . . I wonder, Althea, how much insanity there is in the Syme family, and whether Simon is not the only sane one . . .’

  Anger was alive now, genuine, sickening, rough as tinder. It was as if they stood defenceless before each other, defenceless and armed with knives.

  ‘You’d better go to your room. I’ll see that you are sent away first thing in the morning.’

  ‘I’ll go to my room when I choose.’

  They stared at each other, words halted.

  Althea swung round and pressed the bell. They both waited. Norah was short of breath. Like violent exercise: heart and head pounded. Her friend’s dignified brown back was towards her, ominous and silent.

  Doole appeared.

  His mistress made a horizontal cut with her hand. ‘Will you please show Miss Faulkner to her room?’

  One eyebrow moved ironically, otherwise the expression was correct.

  ‘Yes, madam.’ He held the door open and waited to follow the girl out.

  Norah did not move.

  ‘Doole is waiting,’ Althea said.

  ‘I have no intention of going to my room,’ Norah said; and then fatally added: ‘So you may go, Doole.’

  Mrs Syme’s back stiffened as if it had been struck.

  ‘Doole!’

  ‘Yes, madam.’

  ‘I have found Miss Faulkner ransacking my desk. It is not a pleasant thing to discover that one’s secretary is dishonest and a thief. She will leave this house first thing tomorrow morning. In the meantime, lest we have something else stolen, you will see that she is confined to her room. What method you employ is in your hands.’

  She swept out. They heard her padding heavily away.

  Norah blew out a slow breath, thought: nothing can happen. I’ve called her bluff. A pity this had to be tonight . . . But what if it isn’t bluff . . . ?

  She turned down the lamp, which was smoking. Well, he can’t lay hands on me. But can he? He’ll get hurt if he tries . . . but so will I. Well, he can’t. Simon would hear or Mr Croome-Nichols, or . . . It’s fantastic, nobody would attempt physical force. It can’t be.

  ‘Thank you, Doole, I’ll stay here.’

  ‘I’m sorry, miss.’

  She’s probably standing in the hall waiting for the noise of a struggle . . . If he touches me I’ll sue them . . . But sueing won’t stop anything tonight. And if Simon’s in his room at the other end of the house, where are the witnesses? Who’s to say I was mauled by this man? Who’s to stop him now? Better to give way . . . I’m damned if I will. But it makes sense, to go. It’s playing into their hands, this refusal.

  ‘Miss Faulkner, please.’ Deadpan face, but in his eyes a tiny flame. He thought he was going to enjoy this. He’d discover his mistake. But he’d win in the end. To be carried struggling up to bed like a naughty child – it was what Doole was anticipating. Either she must satisfy Althea by obeying or satisfy him by refusing. Did they propose to lock her in her room? It wasn’t possible!

  Her eyes strayed to the hearth. A poker. But she was as far from it as he was.

  Doole smiled. ‘Now come along. Don’t try any tricks. You’d only get hurt, and I don’t want to hurt you . . .’

  And then he stopped, head up listening. Someone was knocking. They both listened. The rain had started again.

  Gregory put his head round the door, eyes askew. ‘There’s someone at the front door, Doole. Mother told me to tell you. Alice is answering it.’

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  I

  ‘Stay where you are,’ Doole said. ‘Please, miss.’

  In silence they listened to the sound of voices. He went out.

  Gregory peered scrutinizingly at Norah and then followed. She went slowly and shakily to the threshold of the study. Only when the crisis is over do you realize the cost.

  Voices. Several voices. Too far away to hear. Like an invalid just out of bed she went towards the front door.

  Mrs Syme: ‘But of course you must all come in. What a terrible night. You must all be soaked.’

  A man’s voice: ‘I counted on it. I said your hospitality was famous. “I was a stranger and ye took me in.” I always think of that as particularly applying to this house and to you.’

  Only one person surely would be capable of opening a conversation with such a double entendre. Relief in a great wave threatened to upset her; she wanted to burst into tears.

  Althea in the hall, Christopher Carew and three people in rough walking clothes, just pulling off plastic macks. A running fire of explanations and apologies. Had started out from Eisteddfa Gurig this morning to walk to Plynlimon – been overtaken by mist on the mountain and then this rain, and then the dark. Had reached Mr Carew’s cottage an hour ago. Had tried to dry out there. ‘But my kitchen was almost awash and the coal was damp and wouldn’t burn. When the rain eased off I put them in the car and brought them here. Hope you don’t mind.’

  ‘Oh, it wasn’t so bad; we were glad of any shelter till morning, but Mr Carew seemed to think . . .’

  Two young men and a girl; late twenties, she blonde but plain; the men brothers called Repple; she Ann Dawson.

  ‘Nice to see you again, Norah. A violet by a mossy stone.’ She smiled her relief at him. The smile must have been more emotional than she had intended for his eyes showed their surprise. His hair was lank with rain.

  They were soon all in the big drawing-room, Althea not betraying by any sign that they were unwelcome. The fire was stoked up, Doole sent for hot coffee, Mr Croome-Nichols standing beside his chair, having unfolded himself, keeping the place in his book with one finger, plucking at his bottom lip; Gregory the other side, scowling crooked heliograph messages as he peered at the newcomers.

  ‘My cottage,’ Christopher said, ‘is in a bad way. My bedroom’s dry, and the boxroom, but nothing I could do stopped the rain flooding over the step into the kitchen . . .’

  ‘Oh,’ said one of the Repples, ‘yes, it was a bit damp, but I can tell you we were glad to see that light.’ To Althea: ‘It’s very good of you, honestly. We wouldn’t’ve bothered you but . . . We took a bus to this Gurig place, we came over from Aberystwyth. Maybe later we can get a lift back . . .’

  ‘I told Ted,’ the girl said. ‘The weather was threatening when we set out. But he said it was always like this in Wales. I dunno . . .’

  Norah exchanged another glance across the room but made no attempt to get a private word. Whether this was an accidental arrival or not, it seemed at the moment important that he should not appear to be involved with her at all. Althea certainly showed no suspicion in her manner. Hair falling in charming disarray, she was being kind and hospitable and considerate, living up to the reputation Christopher had given her. And then coffee was brought and served by the man who ten minutes ago had been looking forward to the pleasure of laying hands on a young woman and carrying her kicking up the stairs. Two worlds. As if so much fresh air had been let into a chamber of lethal gas. People laughed and chatted and apologized and got up and down from chairs and sipped the hot coffee and looked self-conscious and smoothed damp hair and stretched a foot gratefully towards the fire.

  She wondered where Simon was, whether he would suddenly ap
pear among this group, whether he had gone to bed or back to his studio, trying to work by the light of a lamp. And how long would these people stay?

  Ann Dawson’s clothes were dark-edged with damp so Norah offered to fit her up with a pair of slacks and a jumper and cardigan. It enabled her to get away from the others for a few minutes and exchange agreeable platitudes with a normal girl of her own age. The house itself was so much less forbidding with these ordinary people in it. Ann was engaged to Ted Repple. They were from Birmingham and were having a late holiday because Ann’s father had been ill and had just died. Fellow feeling. Mum’s like a baby, so lost; you see, he did everything. You’d have always thought to see them together that she was the boss; but when it came to being without him you suddenly realized. Ann’s older sister was coping while she was away, but she was expecting her third and it was all rather difficult. At present Mum just couldn’t bear to be left, but she’d simply have to get used to it sometime. Ann wanted to get married in the spring – and then what? Does this look all right? I mean, I’m a bit fatter than you round the seat. Really? OK, then. I mean, you must be longer in the leg. But I expect this tuck won’t show.

  So down the two flights of stairs. Bit spooky, isn’t it? You been here long? Don’t think I could do without the electric. All these pictures. Family are they? Ever so nice of you to have us in like this. Mrs Sykes – Mrs Syme, is it, dear old lady. You don’t see many like her about nowadays.

  At the foot of the second flight Simon. He looked in surprise at Ann Dawson and then glanced enquiringly at Norah, who introduced them and explained what had happened.

  ‘Oh, I never heard them. I was in the other house. Bad luck. Of course they’ll stay the night?’

  ‘Oh, I dunno about that. You see . . .’

  ‘I hope they will,’ said Norah ‘You should, you know!’

  ‘Tell my aunt they’re to stay,’ Simon said.

  He passed on and then turned back. Norah allowed the other girl to get a few paces ahead.

  ‘Simon, I’ve had a frightful row with Althea.’