Endless Night (9 page)

I wondered about Mr. Lippincott. I said, as we were peeling some outsize peaches:

“Mr. Lippincott seems to have taken our marriage very well really. I was surprised.”

“Mr. Lippincott,” said Greta, “is an old fox.”

“You always say so, Greta,” said Ellie, “but I think he's rather a dear. Very strict and proper and all that.”

“Well, go on thinking so if you like,” said Greta. “Myself, I wouldn't trust him an inch.”

“Not trust him!” said Ellie.

Greta shook her head. “I know. He's a pillar of respectability and trustworthiness. He's everything a trustee and a lawyer should be.”

Ellie laughed and said, “Do you mean he's embezzled my fortune? Don't be silly, Greta. There are thousands of auditors and banks and check-ups and all that sort of thing.”

“Oh, I expect he's all right really,” said Greta. “All the same, those are the people that do embezzle. The trustworthy ones. And then everyone says afterwards, ‘I'd never have believed it of Mr. A. or Mr. B. The last man in the world.' Yes, that's what they say. ‘The last man in the world.'”

Ellie said thoughtfully that her Uncle Frank, she thought, was much more likely to go in for dishonest practices. She did not seem unduly worried or surprised by the idea.

“Oh well he looks like a crook,” said Greta. “That handicaps him to start with. All that geniality and bonhomie. But he'll never be in a position to be a crook in a big way.”

“Is he your mother's brother?” I asked. I always got confused over Ellie's relations.

“He's my father's sister's husband,” said Ellie. “She left him and married someone else and died about six or seven years ago. Uncle Frank has more or less stuck on with the family.”

“There are three of them,” said Greta kindly and helpfully. “Three leeches hanging round, as you might say. Ellie's actual uncles were killed, one in Korea and one in a car accident, so what she's got is a much-damaged stepmother, an Uncle Frank, an amiable hanger-on in the family home, and her cousin Reuben whom she calls Uncle but he's only a cousin and Andrew Lippincott, and Stanford Lloyd.”

“Who is Stanford Lloyd?” I asked, bewildered.

“Oh another sort of trustee, isn't he, Ellie? At any rate he manages your investments and things like that. Which can't really be very difficult because when you've got as much money as Ellie has, it sort of makes more money all the time without anyone having to do much about it. Those are the main surrounding group,” Greta added, “and I have no doubt that you will be meeting them fairly soon. They'll be over here to have a look at you.”

I groaned, and looked at Ellie. Ellie said very gently and sweetly:

“Never mind, Mike, they'll go away again.”

T
hey did come over. None of them stayed very long. Not that time, not on a first visit. They came over to have a look at me. I found them difficult to understand because of course they were all Americans. They were types with which I was not well acquainted. Some of them were pleasant enough. Uncle Frank, for instance. I agreed with Greta about him. I wouldn't have trusted him a yard. I had come across the same type in England. He was a big man with a bit of a paunch and pouches under his eyes that gave him a dissipated look which was not far from the truth, I imagine. He had an eye for women, I thought, and even more of an eye for the main chance. He borrowed money from me once or twice, quite small amounts, just, as it were, something to tide him over for a day or two. I thought it was not so much that he needed the money but he wanted to test me out, to see if I lent money easily. It was rather worrying because I wasn't sure which was the best way to take it. Would it have been better to refuse point blank and let him know I was a skinflint or was it better to assume an appearance of careless
generosity, which I was very far from feeling? To hell with Uncle Frank, I thought.

Cora, Ellie's stepmother, was the one that interested me most. She was a woman of about forty, well turned out with tinted hair and a rather gushing manner. She was all sweetness to Ellie.

“You mustn't mind those letters I wrote you, Ellie,” she said. “You must admit that it came as a terrible shock, your marrying like that. So secretly. But of course I know it was Greta who put you up to it, doing it that way.”

“You mustn't blame Greta,” said Ellie. “I didn't mean to upset you all so much. I just thought that—well, the less fuss—”

“Well, of course, Ellie dear, you have something there. All the men of business were simply livid. Stanford Lloyd and Andrew Lippincott. I suppose they thought everyone would blame them for not looking after you better. And of course they'd no idea what Mike would be like. They didn't realize how charming he was going to be. I didn't myself.”

She smiled across at me, a very sweet smile and one of the falsest ones I'd ever seen! I thought to myself that if ever a woman hated a man, it was Cora who hated me. I thought her sweetness to Ellie was understandable enough. Andrew Lippincott had gone back to America and had, no doubt, given her a few words of caution. Ellie was selling some of her property in America, since she herself had definitely decided to live in England, but she was going to make a large allowance to Cora so that the latter could live where she chose. Nobody mentioned Cora's husband much. I gathered he'd already taken himself off to some other part of the world, and had not gone there alone. In all probability, I gathered, another divorce was pending. There wouldn't be much alimony out of this
one. Cora's last marriage had been to a man a good many years younger than herself with more attractions of a physical kind than cash.

Cora wanted that allowance. She was a woman of extravagant tastes. No doubt old Andrew Lippincott had hinted clearly enough that it could be discontinued any time if Ellie chose, or if Cora so far forgot herself as to criticize Ellie's new husband too virulently.

Cousin Reuben, or Uncle Reuben, did not make the journey. He wrote instead to Ellie a pleasant, noncommittal letter hoping she'd be very happy, but doubted if she would like living in England. “If you don't, Ellie, you come right back to the States. Don't think you won't get a welcome here because you will. Certainly you will from your Uncle Reuben.”

“He sounds rather nice,” I said to Ellie.

“Yes,” said Ellie meditatively. She wasn't, it seemed, quite so sure about it.

“Are you fond of any of them, Ellie?” I asked, “or oughtn't I to ask that?”

“Of course you can ask me anything.” But she didn't answer for a moment or two all the same. Then she said, with a sort of finality and decision, “No, I don't think I am. It seems odd, but I suppose it's because they don't really belong to me. Only by environment, not by relationship. They none of them are my flesh and blood relations. I loved my father, what I remembered of him. I think he was rather a weak man and I think my grandfather was disappointed in him because he hadn't got much head for business. He didn't want to go into the business life. He liked going to Florida and fishing, that sort of thing. And then later he married Cora and I never cared for Cora much—or Cora for me, for that matter. My own mother,
of course, I don't remember. I liked Uncle Henry and Uncle Joe. They were fun. In some ways more fun than my father was. He, I think, was in some ways a quiet and rather sad man. But the uncles enjoyed themselves. Uncle Joe was, I think, a bit wild, the kind that is wild just because they've got lots of money. Anyway, he was the one who got smashed up in the car, and the other one was killed fighting in the war. My grandfather was a sick man by that time and it was a terrible blow to him that all his three sons were dead. He didn't like Cora and he didn't care much for any of his more distant relatives. Uncle Reuben for instance. He said you could never tell what Reuben was up to. That's why he made arrangements to put his money in trust. A lot of it went to museums and hospitals. He left Cora well provided for, and his daughter's husband Uncle Frank.”

“But most of it to you?”

“Yes. And I think that worried him a little bit. He did his best to get it looked after for me.”

“By Uncle Andrew and by Mr. Stanford Lloyd. A lawyer and a banker.”

“Yes. I suppose he didn't think I could look after it very well by myself. The odd thing is that he let me come into it at the age of twenty-one. He didn't keep it in trust till I was twenty-five, as lots of people do. I expect that was because I was a girl.”

“That's odd,” I said, “it would seem to me that it ought to be the other way round?”

Ellie shook her head. “No,” she said, “I think my grandfather thought that young males were always wild and hit things up and that blondes with evil designs got hold of them. I think he thought it would be a good thing if they had plenty of time to sow their wild
oats. That's your English saying, isn't it? But he said once to me, ‘If a girl is going to have any sense at all, she'll have it at twenty-one. It won't make any difference making her wait four years longer. If she's going to be a fool she'll be a fool by then just as much.' He said, too,” Ellie looked at me and smiled, “that he didn't think I
was
a fool. He said, ‘You mayn't know very much about life, but you've got good sense, Ellie. Especially about people. I think you always will have.'”

“I don't suppose he would have liked me,” I said thoughtfully.

Ellie has a lot of honesty. She didn't try and reassure me by saying anything but what was undoubtedly the truth.

“No,” she said, “I think he'd have been rather horrified. To begin with, that is. He'd have had to get used to you.”

“Poor Ellie,” I said suddenly.

“Why do you say that?”

“I said it to you once before, do you remember?”

“Yes. You said poor little rich girl. You were quite right too.”

“I didn't mean it the same way this time,” I said. “I didn't mean that you were poor because you were rich. I think I meant—” I hesitated. “You've too many people,” I said, “
at
you. All round you. Too many people who want things from you but who don't really care about you. That's true, isn't it?”

“I think Uncle Andrew really cares about me,” said Ellie, a little doubtfully. “He's always been nice to me, sympathetic. The others—no, you're quite right. They only want
things.
”

“They come and cadge off you, don't they? Borrow money off you, want favours. Want you to get them out of jams, that sort of thing. They're
at
you,
at
you,
at
you!”

“I suppose it's quite natural,” said Ellie calmly, “but I've done
with them all now. I'm coming to live here in England. I shan't see much of them.”

She was wrong there, of course, but she hadn't grasped that fact yet. Stanford Lloyd came over later by himself. He brought a great many documents and papers and things for Ellie to sign and wanted her agreement on investments. He talked to her about investments and shares and property that she owned, and the disposal of trust funds. It was all Double Dutch to me. I couldn't have helped her or advised her. I couldn't have stopped Stanford Lloyd from cheating her, either. I hoped he wasn't, but how could anyone ignorant like myself be sure?

There was something about Stanford Lloyd that was almost too good to be true. He was a banker, and he looked like a banker. He was rather a handsome man though not young. He was very polite to me and thought dirt of me though he tried not to show it.

“Well,” I said when he had finally taken his departure, “that's the last of the bunch.”

“You didn't think much of any of them, did you?”

“I think your stepmother, Cora, is a double-faced bitch if I ever knew one. Sorry, Ellie, perhaps I oughtn't to say that.”

“Why not, if that's what you think? I expect you're not far wrong.”

“You must have been lonely, Ellie,” I said.

“Yes, I was lonely. I knew girls of my own age. I went to a fashionable school but I was never really
free.
If I made friends with people, somehow or other they'd get me separated, push another girl at me instead. You know? Everything was governed by the social register. If I'd cared enough about anybody to make a fuss—but I never got far enough. There was never anybody I
really
cared
for. Not until Greta came, and then everything was different. For the first time someone was really fond of
me.
It was wonderful.” Her face softened.

“I wish,” I said, as I turned away towards the window.

“What do you wish?”

“Oh I don't know…I wish perhaps that you weren't—weren't quite so dependent on Greta. It's a bad thing to be as dependent as that on anyone.”

“You don't like her, Mike,” said Ellie.

“I do,” I protested hurriedly. “Indeed I do. But you must realize, Ellie, that she is—well, she's quite a stranger to me. I suppose, let's face it, I'm a bit jealous of her. Jealous because she and you—well, I didn't understand before—how linked together you were.”

“Don't be jealous. She's the only person who was good to me, who cared about me—till I met you.”

“But you have met me,” I said, “and you've married me.” Then I said again what I'd said before. “And we're going to live happily ever afterwards.”

I
'm trying as best I can, though that isn't saying much, to paint a picture of the people who came into our lives, that is to say: who came into
my
life because, of course, they were in Ellie's life already. Our mistake was that we thought they'd go out of Ellie's life. But they didn't. They'd no intention of doing so. However, we didn't know that then.

The English side of our life was the next thing that happened. Our house was finished, we had a telegram from Santonix. He'd asked us to keep away for about a week, then the telegram came. It said: “Come tomorrow.”

We drove down there, and we arrived at sunset. Santonix heard the car and came out to meet us, standing in front of the house. When I saw our house, finished, something inside me leaped up, leaped up as though to burst out of my skin! It was
my house
—and I'd got it at last! I held Ellie's arm very tight.

“Like it?” said Santonix.

“It's the tops,” I said. A silly thing to say but he knew what I meant.

“Yes,” he said, “it's the best thing I've done…It's cost you a mint of money and it's worth every penny of it. I've exceeded my estimates all round. Come on, Mike,” he said, “pick her up and carry her over the threshold. That's the thing to do when you enter into possession with your bride!”

I flushed and then I picked up Ellie—she was quite a light weight—and carried her as Santonix had suggested, over the threshold. As I did so, I stumbled just a little and I saw Santonix frown.

“There you are,” said Santonix, “be good to her, Mike. Take care of her. Don't let harm come to her. She can't take care of herself. She thinks she can.”

“Why should any harm happen to me?” said Ellie.

“Because it's a bad world and there are bad people in it,” said Santonix, “and there are some bad people around you, my girl. I know. I've seen one or two of them. Seen them down here. They come nosing around, sniffing around like the rats they are. Excuse my French but somebody's got to say it.”

“They won't bother us,” said Ellie, “they've all gone back to the States.”

“Maybe,” said Santonix, “but it's only a few hours by plane, you know.”

He put his hands on her shoulders. They were very thin now, very white-looking. He looked terribly ill.

“I'd look after you myself, child, if I could,” he said, “but I can't. It won't be long now. You'll have to fend for yourself.”

“Cut out the gipsy's warning, Santonix,” I said, “and take us round the house. Every inch of it.”

We went round the house. Some of the rooms were still empty
but most of the things we'd bought, pictures and the furniture and the curtains, were there.

“We haven't got a name for it,” said Ellie suddenly. “We can't call it The Towers, that was a ridiclous name. What was the other name for it that you told me once?” she said to me. “Gipsy's Acre, wasn't it?”

“We won't call it that,” I said sharply. “I don't like that name.”

“It'll always be called that hereabouts,” said Santonix.

“They're a lot of silly superstitious people,” I said.

And then we sat down on the terrace looking at the setting sun and the view, and we thought of names for the house. It was a kind of game. We started quite seriously and then we began to think of every silly name we possibly could. “Journey's End,” “Heart's Delight” and names like boarding-houses. “Seaview,” “Fairhome,” “The Pines.” Then suddenly it grew dark and cold, and we went indoors. We didn't draw the curtains, just closed the windows. We'd brought down provisions with us. On the following day an expensively acquired domestic staff was coming.

“They'll probably hate it and say it's lonely and they'll all go away,” said Ellie.

“And then you'll give them double the money to stay on,” said Santonix.

“
You
think,” said Ellie, “that everyone can be bought!” But she only said it laughingly.

We had brought
pâté en croûte
with us and French bread and large red prawns. We sat round the table laughing and eating and talking. Even Santonix looked strong and animated, and there was a kind of wild excitement in his eyes.

And then it happened suddenly. A stone crashed in through the
window and dropped on the table. Smashed a wineglass too, and a sliver of glass slit Ellie's cheek. For a moment we sat paralysed, then I sprang up, rushed to the window, unbolted it and went out on the terrace. There was no one to be seen. I came back into the room again.

I picked up a paper napkin and bent over Ellie, wiping away a trickle of blood I saw coursing down her cheek.

“It's hurt you…There, dear, it's nothing much. It's just a wee cut from a sliver of glass.”

My eyes met those of Santonix.

“Why did anyone do it?” said Ellie. She looked bewildered.

“Boys,” I said, “you know, young hooligans. They knew, perhaps, we were settling in. I dare say you were lucky that they only threw a stone. They might have had an air gun or something like that.”

“But
why
should they do it to us?
Why?
”

“I don't know,” I said. “Just beastliness.”

Ellie got up suddenly. She said:

“I'm frightened. I'm afraid.”

“We'll find out tomorrow,” I said. “We don't know enough about the people round here.”

“Is it because we're rich and they're poor?” said Ellie. She asked it not of me but of Santonix as though he would know the answer to the question better than I did.

“No,” said Santonix slowly, “I don't think it's that….”

Ellie said:

“It's because they hate us…Hate Mike and hate me.
Why?
Because we're happy?”

Again Santonix shook his head.

“No,” Ellie said, as though she were agreeing with him, “no, it's something else. Something we don't know about. Gipsy's Acre. Anyone who lives here is going to be hated. Going to be persecuted. Perhaps they will succeed in the end in driving us away….”

I poured out a glass of wine and gave it to her.

“Don't, Ellie,” I begged her. “Don't say such things. Drink this. It's a nasty thing to happen, but it was only silliness, crude horseplay.”

“I wonder,” said Ellie, “I wonder…” She looked hard at me. “Somebody is trying to drive us away, Mike. To drive us away from the house we've built, the house we love.”

“We won't let them drive us away,” I said. I added, “I'll take care of you. Nothing shall hurt you.”

She looked again at Santonix.

“You should know,” she said, “you've been here while the house was building. Didn't anyone ever say anything to you? Come and throw stones—interfere with the building of the house?”

“One can imagine things,” said Santonix.

“There
were
accidents, then?”

“There are always a few accidents in the building of a house. Nothing serious or tragic. A man falls off a ladder, someone drops a load on his foot, someone gets a splinter in his thumb and it goes septic.”

“Nothing more than that? Nothing that might have been
meant?
”

“No,” said Santonix, “
no.
I swear to you, no!”

Ellie turned to me.

“You remember that gipsy woman, Mike. How queer she was that day, how she warned me not to come here.”

“She's just a bit crazy, a bit off her head.”

“We've built on Gipsy's Acre,” said Ellie. “We've done what she told us not to do.” Then she stamped her foot. “I won't let them drive me away. I won't let
anyone
drive me away!”

“Nobody shall drive us away,” I said. “We're going to be happy here.”

We said it like a challenge to fate.