Woman in the Mirror

by Winston Graham

  ‘You have?’

  ‘It’s happened as I rather thought it would. A lot of what I felt slipped out. So it’s absolutely impossible for me to stay.’

  ‘You’ll leave in the morning?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then I’ll come with you. Whenever you say.’

  ‘I’m glad.’ She smiled at him. ‘I may need your support as well as . . .’

  ‘I need yours even more, and for always.’

  As he still hesitated she said: ‘Are you coming in tonight? Everybody’s talking and drinking coffee.’

  ‘No. I’m not really one for parties yet. Good night, Norah.’

  ‘Good night.’

  She rejoined Ann Dawson who was waiting by the door.

  ‘What a nice man,’ Ann said. ‘Is he sweet on you?’

  II

  When they went in Althea Syme had just done what Simon had suggested. With the road to Aberystwyth closed, there remained only the station and to get to Aberystwyth by rail from here meant a long detour. So she could hardly do less, as Christopher probably assumed when he brought them.

  ‘I’ll tell Alice and Shirley to make up the beds. And you, Mr Carew? We have ample room.’

  ‘Thank you, my dear. You’re very kind; but I think I must go back to my cot, make sure it’s not altogether washed away.’ He caught Norah’s eye, and she willed him to change his mind; but he went on: ‘I’m anxious about some of my equipment. I’d like to make sure it’s not floating out of the door. But I’ll be round in the morning to see how things have gone on. Can I have some more of your delectable coffee then?’

  All the same he stayed on a while talking to one or another of them; and it was eleven before he left. She had two minutes alone with him as he went for his coat.

  ‘If this was to help me, thank you. It couldn’t have come at a better moment.’

  ‘Too good a chance to miss.’ He looked at her closely. ‘More trouble since you rang?’

  ‘Afraid so. A really nasty time with Althea.’

  ‘Nasty?’

  ‘Just a quarrel – but really nasty all the same. All that you said about her . . .’

  ‘Are you all right tonight?’

  ‘Yes. Now.’

  ‘You’ll leave with me tomorrow?’

  ‘It isn’t just that simple.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Christopher, there’s a lot I’m going to have to explain to you.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘I’ll tell you tomorrow.’

  ‘I don’t like the sound of that. Tell me now.’

  ‘There’s no time . . .’

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘so long as we’re of the same mind.’

  ‘I’m not – sure . . .’

  ‘Your coat, sir,’ said Doole.

  ‘Thanks. Thank you. Goodbye, Mrs Syme, Mr Croome-Nichols, Gregory. ’Bye Ann, Ted, Leslie. I leave you in good hands.’

  They all chorused good night and presently the front door closed on him and the house was much quieter for his going.

  ‘The moon is out,’ Althea said, sipping another brandy. ‘I think the storm is over.’

  III

  The arrival of the three walkers had broken the tension altogether. There need be no more trouble now. A few hours of a single night to be negotiated, then she would leave with Christopher and Simon. Beyond the act of leaving there were no plans. Christopher would help them. Simon was still perplexed on one or two points, not because he couldn’t reason straight but because he didn’t have the facts and had never been interested enough to ask. It would be necessary to obtain those facts before making the next move. A good lawyer could do that for them.

  Seeing the hikers trying to hide their yawns, she forestalled them by wishing them good night and leaving first.

  ‘I’ll walk with you as far as the stairs, dear,’ said Althea. With a nasty feeling in her stomach Norah felt her come up behind her, felt the breath of the brandy again on her cheek.

  She linked her arm as affectionately as if they were mother and daughter. ‘I believe I lost my temper with you after dinner, Norah. And you lost your temper with me. Very harsh things were said on both sides.’

  ‘Yes . . .’

  ‘Whatever you think now – however harshly you may misjudge me – never fall into the error of supposing I wasn’t fond of you. You have a very charming side to your nature, and I saw only that to begin with. Indeed, my – my fondness could have grown into something more. Of course, it’s all finished now.’

  ‘I’m sorry it ever began.’

  ‘The other side – the other side is like Marion. Did I tell you once, d’you remember I told you – like a peach; you couldn’t avoid the stone. It’s exactly the same with you – I don’t wonder Robert Jenkin cried off.’

  Her hand was gripping Norah’s arm.

  ‘I’ll go to bed,’ said Norah. ‘Good night.’

  ‘My fondness could have grown into something more. And my affection is worth having, if only you knew. Together we could have . . . stormed many citadels. But you have to throw it all away for the prattling complaints of a sick young man who half the time mistakes you for his sister. What misjudgment! The peach will never prosper in his company. Nor in the company of the twice married Mr Christopher Carew, if I may say so.’

  Norah tried to free her arm but the grip tightened. Short of making another scene, for the Repples were now in the hall, she could not break away.

  ‘Mr Christopher Carew would find the stone in the peach a lot quicker than my unfortunate nephew. For he has had no sister to upset him. His – his judgment is better.’

  ‘I’m leaving in the morning,’ Norah said. ‘Good night.’

  ‘I don’t wonder Robert Jenkin cried off. You’re hard – you see. No doubt he discovered that. But I was very fond of you. You have a very charming side to your nature, and that at first is what everyone sees.’

  They were at the foot of the stairs.

  ‘I’ll tell Timson to have the car ready for you at nine. I’m very disappointed in you. I am indeed. Together, you know, we could have stormed many a citadel. But it’s this fundamental lack of judgment – lack of balance – that’s so deplorable. Instability. One perceives the hysteria behind it all. Robert Jenkin – he saw it too, he just bowed out in time. So would the others if they but knew. Oh, yes, they would, I know they would . . . I’ll tell Timson to have the car ready. Flood or no flood, you can leave at nine.’

  Norah said nothing.

  ‘I shall not see you again; I shall not be up by then; I shall have a morning of rest, for this has upset me very much. So this is goodbye. Just one word of warning, if I may offer it to you, if an old friend may offer it to you, who now sees the defects in your nature all too clearly. Take my advice and when you leave this house forget all about us – including Simon. It will be for your own good, I assure you.’

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  I

  Well, that was it. She sat heavily on the edge of the bed and let out a deep breath. She was still shaky. An ugly evening! It left a taste in the mouth like some acid, corrupting the mind and the tongue.

  Guile, that was what she needed and had always lacked. A little guile, a few lies, would have saved it all. Searching for the pills hadn’t helped Simon – anyway he seemed to be getting on well enough without them – then by refusing to back down when discovered she’d precipitated all the rest of the horrible scene. So simple to lie, that was the maddening thing; the study was where she typed; she could have been looking for more carbon paper, anything. But no. Blunt little Snow White had to blurt out the truth.

  Couldn’t be helped now. But Christopher’s arrival with the hikers had averted the worst crisis . . . In spite of what she might feel for Simon, Christopher was her lifeline to stability and the outside world.

  The moon was bright now, though clouds still hung about the sky like discarded scenery. She rubbed her forearm where three little pink crescents still showed the imprint of Althea�
��s nails. They didn’t go.

  She remained perched on the edge of the bed for about twenty minutes, turning over the pages of a novel, trying to empty her mind of the events of the day. The effort was not a success. The marks Althea had left on her arm were duplicated in her mind. Soft lips moving in a gentle whisper, trying to sting, to stain. The brain behind them seeking any crevice, any chink. Odd that one could come to detest so much what one had once admired. At close quarters in the shadowy light of the hall the face had looked coarse, the make-up smeared and sticky, the hair as powerful as Medusa’s.

  Well, there was no sleep this way. She threw the book down, walked about the room a few times, then picked up the lamp and went into her sitting-room.

  The heap of stripped wallpaper still lay beside the repaired wall. She stood lightly on the carpet where the rocking-horse used to stand and felt the loose floorboard move under her weight. All this afternoon she had been on the other side of the wall, helping Simon – she hoped – but also obeying her own secret impulses. There was no question but that, under the rational distaste and reluctance, she had wanted to go. She had wanted to prove something to Simon about herself. And she had wanted to defeat Marion.

  She touched the rocking-horse and watched its shadow move on the wall behind. Although it held no terrors for her now she felt a sensation of distaste. Well, tomorrow, thank Heaven – whatever happened tomorrow – all this would be behind her. Not to be forgotten, for Simon would be with her, but seen in perspective: Althea brought down to her true proportions as a clever, scheming, misguided woman, this house like any other old house, full of creaks and whispers and memories that were food for the over-active imagination. A new life to begin.

  But she wouldn’t sleep tonight. Too fatigued to relax, more so even than yesterday. She went back to her pretty chintzy bedroom; and as she got there she heard a tapping . . .

  For a distraught second she felt that all the relieving discoveries of the last two days were an illusion and that it was beginning over again. Then she knew that the tapping was on her door.

  It was so gentle and secret that she hesitated before opening it. Through a two-inch slit she saw a man.

  ‘Christopher?’

  ‘May I come in?’

  She stepped back, and he slid in, fingering the door lightly shut behind him. His mackintosh was over his arm.

  In the same whisper she said: ‘What is it? Why are you here again?’

  ‘I had to go back, I thought some of my photographic stuff might get wet. But as soon as I stopped worrying about that I started worrying about you.’

  ‘Oh, it’s all right. I’m all right . . .’

  ‘Why did you never tell me you were like Simon’s sister?’

  ‘It didn’t seem important. Who told you?’

  ‘Old Croome-Nichols let it out while I was talking to him. It must be important. And this nasty time you had with Althea. Why be so mysterious about having to explain something to me?’

  ‘Sorry, but I . . . How did you get in?’

  ‘Any fool could. Doole wastes his time locking doors with window catches like these.’

  After a moment she said: ‘You’re kind to be worried, Christopher. But really I’m all right. It could have waited.’

  He looked round the room with an ironical eye. ‘May I sit down?’

  She indicated a chair and herself sat on the edge of the bed. Perversely she half wished now he hadn’t come.

  ‘Will anyone hear us up here?’ he asked.

  ‘Not if we keep our voices low.’

  ‘Mind if I smoke?’

  She shook her head.

  He offered her a cigarette but she refused. He didn’t take out his pipe.

  ‘Where’s your car?’ she asked.

  ‘Where nobody will see it.’

  ‘Did you bring Ann Dawson and the Repples purposely – I mean, because of me?’

  ‘Of course. After you rang I couldn’t make up my mind whether to take you at your word or barge in on some excuse this evening. It already seemed too long since I’d seen you. And knowing you a bit, I felt pretty certain that you were playing down any crisis that had come up. Then my three hikers arrived. They took some moving again, I can tell you . . . Norah, now what’s been happening? I want to hear it all.’

  ‘It’s – a long story.’

  ‘We’ve all night.’

  ‘Well . . .’

  ‘Oh, in due course I’ll leave. Have no fear.’

  She said quietly, ‘I have no fear.’

  ‘OK, it was a figure of speech. But we’ve got an hour – or as long as you need. In the morning there’ll be others around us and I’d be expected to play it by ear. Tell me everything now.’

  When it came to the point she didn’t know how to start. Nor did she even want to. It was another confrontation she would have preferred to avoid tonight. She didn’t know how he would react at all; in this he was almost as much an unknown quantity as anyone else. But she forced herself to begin to speak. She began with the terrors of yesterday afternoon, her meeting with Simon and the long personal conversation that followed. He didn’t say very much, but now and then his long face tightened at some expression she used or at some tone that crept into her voice. He finished one cigarette and lit another.

  She came to today, her decision to sit for the portrait, what had come from it. In the middle of this he got up and walked a few paces about; but the creaking floorboards drove him to his chair.

  ‘And all this happened before you rang?’ He looked at her uneasily. ‘What since then?’

  So into battle with Althea Syme. But this was easier, for Simon was not part of it.

  Christopher said: ‘You didn’t actually accuse her of mismanaging Simon’s affairs?’

  ‘No, I thought it better to leave it until we were on firmer ground. You see, I don’t know how much Simon has consented to any of this.’

  ‘My God, that woman . . . ! And you’re sure Doole would have laid hands on you?’

  ‘I think so. And if I’d later sued him for assault, can’t you see the counter-charges? I wouldn’t have stood a chance of getting any satisfaction.’

  ‘Well . . .’ He blew out a breath. ‘The sooner you’re out of this place the better. And the sooner you forget the Symes ever existed the healthier you’ll be.’

  This was the point of embarkation.

  ‘Christopher . . . I can’t go without Simon.’

  ‘D’you mean he wants to leave with us?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He shrugged. ‘Fine. It might be a good thing if he comes with us as far as Bristol or somewhere and stays there until the whole legal position is cleared up. If he’s as completely recovered as he seems, then he’ll be perfectly capable of managing his affairs on his own.’

  It was the same sort of choice as there had been when facing Althea Syme. A discreet silence now would suffice. But this time was no excuse at all for compromise.

  ‘I don’t want him to be on his own.’

  He looked at her, his face long and serious again. ‘Can you explain that?’

  ‘Explain it? I wish I could, my dear, I wish I could tell you in so many words just what I mean. I’m . . .’ she hesitated, ‘I’m . . .’

  ‘Are you trying to tell me – no, you can’t be.’

  ‘I don’t know what I’m trying to tell you except that I want – I hope to be with Simon for some time to come . . . to help him, to give him the support that – I think – only I can give him . . .’

  There was silence. At last the question came. ‘Are you trying to tell me that you’re in love with him?’

  ‘I – I think so.’

  There was a longer silence. A third cigarette smouldered in the china ashtray.

  ‘It’s impossible!’

  ‘No, Christopher. No, it’s not.’

  ‘But he’s – ill, sick. Sick in the mind, surely.’

  ‘Not any longer. You don’t write off a man just because he once suffered from TB.
’

  ‘No, but this is different.’

  ‘Only different because it’s a different part of the body. Anyway – one doesn’t always reason with one’s feelings.’

  ‘No, that’s true. You haven’t forgotten,’ he said, ‘that I’m in love with you?’

  ‘I’ve never forgotten it for a moment.’

  ‘So you’ll see that you telling me this, it comes as quite a shock.’

  ‘Yes, I know. I wish . . .’

  ‘When – first of all, when did you begin to feel as you say you do?’

  ‘I don’t know. Quite early. But it was mixed up with fear and anxiety and . . .’

  ‘But these last two days you’ve become sure.’

  ‘. . . Yes.’

  ‘I’m sorry I ever left you alone here so long! I had misgivings at the time. But not these misgivings.’

  ‘I had to stay. For every reason. This amongst them.’

  ‘And how does he feel?’

  ‘I think he cares.’

  ‘For you or for Marion?’

  ‘I think I’ve taken her place.’

  ‘In other words he’s still in love with his sister and you provide the substitute.’

  ‘Not quite. But his sister was so much the centre of his life that he never looked at another woman. Now he has – he does. But not as a substitute.’

  ‘Even though you are so much like her?’

  ‘In spite of it. Over the last few years he has made a gradual recovery, so that he has come to accept the loss of Marion and all that goes with it. His complete recovery is in his discovery that he can live – and love – again.’

  He got up and sat on a chair nearer to her. ‘How do you know this is true?’

  ‘I feel it.’

  ‘How do I know this isn’t something born of this strange lunatic house, so that you’re hoodwinking yourself into a state of mind where – where Marion comes alive in you and you – you almost cease to be the person you were?’

  ‘That’s fanciful. But – yes, I’ve felt it myself. But that’s all past, Christopher. The world goes on. Simon is only thirty-four, and it’s his one chance to start again.’

  In saying this, in trying to explain to him how she felt she was for the first time formulating explanations to herself. She groped for words and found them and they helped her to understand.