Dorothy Eden (41 page)

Now he was confusing her again, turning her thoughts upside down.

“Everything hasn’t been fancy. The burglar, for instance—”

But could it be herself, and not Luke, who had changed?

“Darling, now you’re looking white and miserable again. Get your hat on and let’s get out of here.”

Abby said that apart from buying the things Luke suggested she would like to look at that girdle in Simpsons, the one the shop assistant had rung up about. So would Luke wait downstairs while she did so.

Luke looked at her sharply. Was he suspicious again? But he said quite easily, “All right. But don’t be all day. I thought we’d go out to one of the bays for lunch.”

“Which one?”

“Any one you like. The famous Rose Bay, if you like.”

“What fun,” said Abby. (“Go to Bose Bay,” the woman had said. In a moment she would have found out why…)

She took the lift up to the third floor in case Luke should have thought she wasn’t going to the lingerie department, then slipped quickly across the carpeted room and down the stairs. The cosmetic counter was a long way from where she had left Luke, and the store crowded enough for her to be unobserved. She had purposely worn an inconspicuous gray hat and suit.

The same woman, chic and smiling, was behind the counter. Abby leaned across conspiratorially.

“I’m Mrs. Fearon, do you remember? I wanted to thank you for ringing me last night. But why did you tell me to go to Rose Bay?”

“Mrs. Fearon?” said the woman in a puzzled voice. “Did I ring you?”

“Yes! Yes, don’t you remember? About the Rose Bay Cosmetic Company.”

“You came in yesterday. Of course. But I didn’t ring you, Mrs. Fearon. I couldn’t find out anything about that company. Our chief buyer doesn’t know it. I’m sorry I can’t help you.”

The fog again, blinding, breathless.

“Then if you didn’t ring me, who did?”

“I’m sure I don’t know. Have you been asking in other places?”

Only in Kings Cross. And no one there would ring her. No one knew who she was. Unless…

“Thank you, anyway,” said Abby, trying to speak calmly. “Is there a telephone I could use?”

“There’s one at the door. Have you got four pennies?”

“Yes, I have.” With trembling fingers, Abby checked. Where was Luke? Not anywhere near the telephone, she hoped.

She was certain she slipped into the box unobserved. Then she had to search through the book for the number. Court, dressmaker. The cosy woman with the too bright eyes. She would recognize that voice again, even if a little deliberately husky, as a disguise.

Here it was. Miss M. Court, dressmaker Kings Cross. Abby memorised the number, and dialled.

After a few moments of ringing a laconic voice said, “Hullo.”

“Is that Miss Court?”

“Not speaking. This is her shop.”

Abby recognized the voice of the moronic girl.

“Then is Miss Court there? I want to speak to her.”

“She isn’t in yet. She might be in later.”

Abby clenched her fingers impatiently.

“Can I ring her at her house? Can you give me her number?”

“Well—if it’s urgent. I suppose you could. She doesn’t like getting calls at home.”

“Just give me her number,” said Abby crisply.

It was fortunate she had another four pennies, a miracle, almost. She was able to dial the number the girl had given her and wait, scarcely breathing, for the answer.

At last it came, a husky far-off voice.

“Yes? Who is it?”

“This is Mrs. Fearon speaking. I think you rang me last night. I wanted to know—”

“Mrs. Fearon. Never heard the name. Who put you on to me? I was just taking a nap—”

The voice was querulous, very old.

It was a mistake. Abby persevered hopelessly, “Then did someone else in your house ring me? Could you find out? It’s important.”

“It’s no use ringing me, dear. I don’t make dresses now. I have arthritis in my hands. I’m eighty-six. If you ring—” Abruptly the far-away quavering voice ceased, the receiver clicked. Someone had put it down firmly.

Someone had interrupted.

Now she had a telephone number and no address. She would have to ring the stupid girl again for the address. But she had no more pennies. And it was twenty minutes since she had left Luke. He would be coming up to find her. She didn’t dare risk any more time. Later, given an opportunity, she must ring that girl again for the address, and then go and call on old Miss Court, aged eighty-six, and suffering from arthritis so badly that she couldn’t possibly have made the droopy, black lace dress, or any other. Or, indeed, taken any interest in obtaining the services of the cosy woman from the toy shop upstairs…

Abby flew up the stairs to the first floor, then queued to get into the descending lift. No more than a little flushed, she emerged to find Luke standing almost exactly where she had left him. He looked bored and impatient, and instantly noticed that she didn’t carry a parcel.

“All that time for nothing,” she said breathlessly. “Nothing fitted me properly.”

He was only a little sceptical.

“I wouldn’t have thought you’d be so difficult to fit.”

Abby tucked her arm through his. “Quote ‘The basis of good dressing is the foundation garment’. Unquote. Can we lunch now? I’m hungry.”

The idea had come to her that the old woman with the die-away voice was Rose Bay. Age and infirmity had brought the business to an end, but in some unexplained way she still exerted a sinister influence and pursued some mysterious activity.

As Luke had suggested, they did lunch in Rose Bay, a charming and innocent place which Abby now had no desire to explore. The clues were leading away from here, after all. When, after lunch, Luke suggested a drive round the coast, she acquiesced quite willingly. It meant, of course, that he was not going to let her out of his sight, and that she could do no more about Miss Court today. It seemed, indeed, as if the matter would have to wait until after their week-end in the country. But perhaps a breathing space might be a good idea.

First, said Luke, they would go up and take a look at the Gap. On a sunny day it wasn’t sinister. It was only during a storm, or at night, with the jagged rocks looking immense, that it was frightening.

“Especially if you haven’t a head for heights,” said Luke, and seemed to be waiting for Abby to tell him how her head was in such places.

“Wait till we get there and I’ll tell you how I feel,” she said lightly.

The wind was fierce on the cliff tops. When Luke stopped the car and opened the door, it swooped in, catching Abby’s breath.

He laughed. “Hang on to your hair.”

She scrambled out and followed him up the well-worn path to the edge of the cliff. There was nobody about. The rocks shone white in the sun, and beneath them, an immense way down, a sheer fall, crawled the sea, blue-veined and wrinkled.

“Impressive?” Abby heard Luke shouting to her.

She nodded, the wind blowing her hair in her eyes.

“Come over here,” called Luke. “You can see further.”

She stepped over rocks and boulders to reach his side. He gripped her arm. A sudden feeling of exhilaration filled her. It was like standing on a mountain top, high and clean and windy. For a moment nothing else intruded. There was the magnificent view, and the two of them alone, not being pulled apart by private suspicions and fears.

“It’s wonderful,” said Abby.

Luke smiled at her. He looked happy. She always remembered that in that instant he looked happy.

But there was a burr caught in the top of her shoe, pricking her, and she stooped to pick it off. The wind came in a sudden vicious gust, and somehow, it was impossible to say how, she lost her balance. The dizzy height had affected her head, after all. Luke had warned her that it might.

She was aware of a violent swinging together of cliff and sky and sea, and then Luke had dragged her upright, shouting, “Abby! For God’s sake, be careful!”

Upright again, she clung to him, gasping.

“I lost my balance. I shouldn’t have stooped.”

“Did you hurt yourself? Let’s get away from the edge. I shouldn’t have let you come so close.”

His voice was harsh with fright. It was she who had to reassure him.

“I’ve grazed my arm. That’s all. It’s this wind. Let’s get back to the car.”

“Yes, let’s. I said this place wasn’t sinister by daylight. But I believe it is. People die here.”

“But by their own will, not by accident,” Abby said practically. She was able to laugh now, recovering from her fright. “Anyway, I don’t suppose I’d have gone far. I wasn’t that near the edge.”

Luke opened the door of the car and helped her in. When he was in himself he suddenly took her in his arms, in a violent and painful embrace.

“Oh, Abby!” he said. “Oh, Abby!”

A car had pulled up behind them, and other people were climbing out into the windy treachery of the day. Luke took his arms away.

“Sorry. It is a bit public.”

He took a cigarette out and lit it. Abby noticed that his hands trembled slightly.

“I believe you got a worse fright than I did.”

He turned on her roughly. “What did you expect me to do? Laugh? To see you rolling down that monstrous slope.”

“Luke, it didn’t happen.”

“No, it didn’t.” He relaxed a little, drawing deeply on his cigarette. “It was my fault, wanting to impress you with the view. I do a lot of crazy things. You must have noticed.”

“Yes,” said Abby soberly. “I don’t know about crazy. But you do things I don’t understand.”

She was suddenly remembering Lola saying, “You have an expensive wife,” and the hurt still lingered. Though not so deeply, with this strangely penitent Luke beside her.

“I’ve been strung-up lately,” Luke said. “Too much work, troublesome clients. Things will straighten out soon. Very soon.” He seemed to be making her another promise. “We’ll both be better after this week-end away.”

Did a search for kangaroos provide some special panacea? Abby was content to believe it. She, too, recovered from her inner trembling and relaxed.

D
EIRDRE HUNG ON THE
car door as Luke stowed in the guns and luggage. When he went back into the house for something she said matter-of-factly. “I suppose this is when I’ll be killed. While you’re away.”

“What nonsense you talk,” said Abby. It was early morning and chilly. She wore the thick skirt and sweater, she had bought yesterday, and was still cold.

“This isn’t nonsense,” said Deirdre. “He’s probably only waiting until I’m alone.”

“Who, for goodness’ sake?”

“The man who walks at night. I told you about him.” Deirdre’s gaze was reproachful. She had expected more serious attention from Abby than from the rest of her family.

“Do you read a lot?” Abby asked. “Or watch television.”

“Oh, yes. Sometimes.”

“It gives you ideas, doesn’t it? Anyway, why should you, a child, be killed?”

“Because I know too much.”

Abby kept her face solemn.

“Such as what?”

“Well—things.”

“You mean about this person walking at night. If you really think someone does that, why don’t you look and see who it is?”

Deirdre’s eyes slid away. It was then, with a shocked feeling, that Abby believed her. For the child was-scared stiff. All her aggressive casualness was to hide her shame at her fear.

“Some time I will,” she muttered.

“Deirdre, get off that door,” said Luke, coming out. “You’re no lightweight.”

“Luke, Deirdre’s bothered about those footsteps she thinks she hears at night,” Abby said. “Is it all right to go and leave her with her grandmother?”

Luke patted Deirdre’s shoulder.

“Not a thing to worry about. I promise you. Anyway, I’ve asked Jock to keep an eye on both places.”

“Jock!”

“I know you don’t trust him, but give a chap like that responsibility and he takes it very seriously. He’ll make a fine watchdog.”

Luke smiled at Deirdre and she, catching the confidence in his voice, grinned back. He did speak with confidence, too-as if he knew what he was talking about.

But there was no opportunity to say more, for Lola had come out carrying her bag.

“I’m coming in your car, Luke. Do you mind, Abby? It’s more comfortable than Milton’s. His chair takes up all the room.”

“Of course,” said Abby calmly.

Old Mrs. Moffatt appeared, waving frantically from the terrace.

“Good-bye Abby and Luke, take care of yourselves. Deirdre, come and get your breakfast. Bring us back a kangaroo skin, you two. Milton and Mary are just starting. It’s going to be a nice day. Deirdre and I will go on a ferry ride or something. Deirdre, love, you’re out there in that thin dress. It’s still nippy in the mornings, isn’t it? Take care, Abby. Come back safely. So many accidents nowadays…”

The monologue ceased. As usual, the old lady’s conversation was like a tangle skein of wool, following many directions.

“Honestly!” said Lola. “She never runs out of words. Run along, honey.” She gave Deirdre a push. “Get your breakfast. And mind what Gran says.”

“You two girls have a nice time,” said Luke.

“A nice time! Just by ourselves!” But Deirdre grinned back spunkily, and Abby found herself blinking away tears. Honestly, she wasn’t getting fond of the intolerable child, was she? With her impudence and her inquisitiveness and her lies?

“They will be all right, won’t they?”

“Mother and Deirdre!” said Lola in astonishment. “Good heavens, yes. We often leave them for a weekend. After all, there hasn’t been a man in that house for long enough, except Milton, and poor darling, you can hardly count him.”

“Then who does Deirdre think she hears walking at night?”

Lola sighed.

“Don’t come up with Deirdre’s fantasies, please. Not at this hour of the morning. She doesn’t hear a sound. She sleeps like a log, as all children do.”

“Then what’s she scared of?” Abby asked bluntly.

“Deirdre scared! My dear, she’s as tough as they come. If she’s made you think she’s scared she’s a better actress than even I thought.”

“She’s all right, Abby,” said Luke. “Don’t fuss.”

“I don’t think Abby knows much about exhibitionist children,” said Lola. “They’ll say anything for attention, you know. Milton’s right. Deirdre will have to go to boarding school and learn not to be the center of attention.”