Shock Treatment (3 page)

“It was an accident,” I said. “It could have happened to anyone.”

“Jack doesn’t think so. He thinks it was entirely my fault.

I have the most horrible guilt complex about it, and that is why I can never leave him.”

I asked her the question I had to know.

“Do you still love him?”

I saw her stiffen.

“Love him? That doesn’t come into it. I’ve lived with him now for four years. He has suffered a lot, and he isn’t very pleasant to live with. He drinks, and his temper can be hateful. He is twenty-three years older than I am. His ideas are not my ideas, but I married him and I have to accept him. It was through me that he is a cripple and his life has been spoilt.”

“It was an accident,” I said, gripping my clenched fists between my knees. “You can’t blame yourself for what happened.”

“So what do you think I should do?”

“You are free to leave him if you want to. That’s the way I see it.”

“But then you haven’t got my conscience.” She held out her hand and I gave her a cigarette. I left my chair to light the cigarette. In the light of the match flame we stared at each other. “You are a disturbing person.” Her voice was very low.

“You’re disturbing, too.”

“Yes, I know. I’m not only disturbing to most men, I’m disturbing to myself. My life is difficult, Mr Regan. I think perhaps you have already realized that. What we did this afternoon has been worrying me a lot. Will you accept my apologies?”

“You don’t have to apologize. I understand.”

“I believe you do. I wouldn’t have come out at this time of night, alone, if I wasn’t sure you would understand. I must get back.”

She got up.

“It’s nice out here and so quiet. I asked Maria, my maid, about you. She tells me you aren’t married and you live alone.”

“I’ve lived on my own out here for a long time.”

I was standing by her side now and we were both looking across the heads of the trees, outlined in the moonlight.

“Do you mind living on your own? I should have thought you would have married.”

“I haven’t yet found the right woman.”

She glanced at me.

The hard light of the moon fell directly on her face and I could see a small, bitter smile on her mouth.

“Are you difficult to please?”

“I suppose so. Marriage is very permanent — at least it is to me. I feel the way you do about it.”

“One must have love. I never really loved my husband. I married him for security. Before I met him I had nothing. I would be a lot happier now if I still had nothing except my freedom.”

“You can still have your freedom.”

“Not now. If I left him, I’d have my conscience to torment me. A conscience is a sterner prison than anything else in the world.”

“My conscience never bothers me, but I guess I can understand about yours.”

“I don’t know what I am going to think of myself tomorrow,” she said, tracing her forefinger idly along the verandah rail. “I came out here on the spur of the moment. I wanted you to understand . . . .”

I put my hand over hers.

“Gilda—”

She turned and looked at me. . . . She was trembling.

“Gilda, I’m crazy about you—”

“Oh, darling, I’m such a hypocrite,” she said breathlessly. “I’m so ashamed, but the moment I saw you . . .”

I had her in my arms and her mouth was against mine. We clung to each other and I could feel the yearning, the crying out of her body as she pressed against me.

I picked her up in my arms and carried her into the cabin.

The brown owl that always sits on the roof of the garage flew suddenly across the face of the moon.

It made a small, insignificant shadow
.

CHAPTER II

I

SHE came to my cabin for three successive nights, and we made love.

It was hurried, furtive love, and after the first shock of excitement had passed, it was unsatisfactory love — anyway, for me.

She was frightened someone would see her coming or leaving my cabin. She was terrified her husband would find out she was being unfaithful to him.

So our love-making was furtive, and it worried me to find how jumpy she was, and how she would sit up abruptly on the bed, her fingers gripping my arm, when there was any unusual sound such as the occasional passing car, the hoot of the owl or the tapping on the roof from a branch of a tree.

Each of these three nights, she stayed with me for less than an hour. Our moments together consisted only of this desperate, violent love-making. We scarcely had time to talk before she wanted to get back to her home, and I knew as little about her now as I had done when I first met her.

But in spite of that, I was in love with her. For me, this union meant much more than the physical act of love. It bothered me to know that her husband had such a powerful influence over her.

If she talked about anything, it was about him. I didn’t want to listen to what she had to say about him. I wanted her to talk about herself, and I longed for her to talk about me, but she didn’t.

“I would never forgive myself if he found out,” she said as she dressed on the third night of our love-making. “I keep thinking he might be wanting me. In the past, he has had nights of pain, and he has woken me to give him something to make him sleep. He could be calling for me now.”

“For God’s sake, Gilda, get him out of your mind!” I was fast losing patience with her. “Why don’t you tell him the truth? Why don’t you tell him you’re in love with me and you must have your freedom?”

“But, Terry, I can never leave him. I’m responsible for the accident that spoilt his life. I could never, never leave him!”

I pulled her to me.

“Do you love me, Gilda?”

She looked up at me, and there was that thing again in her eyes.

“Can you doubt it, Terry? Yes, I love you. I think of you every minute of the day. I long to be with you. It’s a dreadful thing to say, but if only he were dead . . . then I could be with you as I want to be with you for always. I’ll never be free until he is dead.”

“But he isn’t likely to die, is he?” I said impatiently.

She pulled away from me and, moving to the window, she looked out onto the moonlit trees.

“No. When the doctor examined him before he came here, he said he was in splendid shape. He could easily last for another thirty years or more.”

“Well, then, why waste time wishing he were dead? We’re not going to wait for thirty years, are we? You’ve got to ask him for a divorce!”

“I can’t do it, Terry!” She looked up at me. “How many more times do I have to tell you I can’t possibly leave him.”

“Of course you can! He has money. He could get a nurse to look after him. How much money do you think he has got?”

She lifted her shoulders.

“I don’t know — a lot. A hundred and fifty thousand: perhaps more.”

Well, then, he can afford to have someone to look after him, and you can have your freedom.”

She turned away from me.

“If he died, Terry,” she said in a low, distinct voice, “that money would come to me. You and I would share it. What would you do with a hundred and fifty thousand dollars?”

“Why talk about it?”

“Terry, please! I’m asking you! What would you do with all that money?”

I suddenly began to think what I would do with such a sum if it were mine. The thought sent a creepy sensation up my spine.

“If I had that amount of capital,” I said, “I could double it in a year. I would open a shop in Los Angeles. I would have three or maybe four service vans covering the whole district. I would specialize in hand-made Hi-Fi sets. I could make a whale of a lot of money.”

“You would love to do that, wouldn’t you? And I would love to be at your side and see you do it.”

I stared at her.

“What’s the sense of talking like this, Gilda? He’s not going to die. You won’t get the money until you are too old to get any fun out of it! So what? Get a divorce! Never mind about the money! Get your freedom!”

She shook her head.

“I can’t get a divorce. I can’t help this guilt complex of mine. It was my fault he became a cripple. I can’t leave him now.”

I drew in a long breath of exasperation.

“So what do we do?”

She moved slowly out of the bedroom and into the lounge and I followed her. She paused on the verandah.

“What do we do, Terry?” she said, not looking at me. “We mustn’t see each other again, that’s what we do. It’s as simple as that. The woman I despise most is the cheat. I have been despising myself ever since we began to make love. We must stop it. It’s the only way. There is no other way. We must stop seeing each other.”

That gave me a hell of a jolt.

“Now, look . . .”

“I mean it, Terry.”

“Don’t let’s make hasty decisions. We’ll talk about it tomorrow night. This is something . . .”

“There won’t be a tomorrow night,” she said. “I won’t be coming tomorrow night. This has got to be stopped now.”

I caught hold of her, but she broke free.

“No, please, don’t make it harder for me, Terry. You don’t imagine I like this any better than you do, but I know now how wicked I have been and I must stop it. I must go. We mustn’t ever see each other again.”

There was such despair and truth in her voice that I stepped away from her, a sharp pain at my heart.

She ran down the verandah steps and across to the garage.

I remained there, watching her drive away, trying to tell myself that she couldn’t mean what she said, that it was only her conscience bothering her, and that tomorrow night I would see her again.

But she didn’t come.

The following night I sat on the verandah waiting for her, and as the hands of my watch moved around to half past twelve, I knew she wouldn’t be coming.

That made me feel pretty bad.

The following day was Friday: the day she always went into Glyn Camp to do the week’s shopping.

I was down there, waiting for her.

But she didn’t come.

After a while I began to prowl up and down the main street looking for her, but I didn’t see her.

Finally, at twelve o’clock, I had to accept the bitter fact that she wasn’t coming, and I headed back to the parking lot feeling depressed enough to cut my throat.

As I reached the truck, I saw Sheriff Jefferson coming towards me with a young fellow in a smart city suit who was a stranger to me.

It was too late to duck out of sight, so I waved to Jefferson, making out I was glad to see him.

“I want you to meet Matt Lawson,” he said. “Mr Lawson, this is Terry Regan who I was telling you about.”

Lawson thrust out his hand. He looked just out of college and as bright and as sharp as they come.

I shook hands with him.

“Mr Regan,” he said, “I understand from Sheriff Jefferson you look after all the TV sets in the district.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say all of them, but I certainly look after most of them.”

Jefferson said, “I’ll leave you two gentlemen to discuss your business. I promised Doc I’d give him a game of checkers.”

He shook hands with Lawson, told me he expected me to look him up soon, and then walked over to his office.

Lawson said, “I’ll cut it short, Mr Regan, as you’re in a hurry. I’m from the National Fidelity, and I’m selling TV insurance. I was wondering if you would give me a list of your clients. It would save me a lot of leg work. I don’t expect you to give me the list for nothing. I suggest I pay you a quarter of my commission on any sale I make.”

Although I wasn’t in the mood to talk business right then, I wasn’t so stupid not to see the advantage of such a proposition.

“What kind of insurance are you selling?” I asked.

“The usual: coverage for the tube, all maintenance charges and spares. All I want is the names and addresses of people owning sets in the district.”

“Well, okay. I have my address book in the truck. I’ll lend it to you. You make a copy of it and give the book to the Sheriff. I’ll pick it up when next I’m in town.”

He said he would do that.

As I searched for the address book, I said, “I didn’t know the National Fidelity did TV insurance. I thought they only handled life policies.”

“We cover the whole insurance field. Of course our biggest business is in life.”

I gave him the address book and then shook hands with him and drove back to my cabin.

I had collected the various spares for Delaney’s super-set, and I started work on the set during the afternoon.

I worked on it for two reasons: because I had never been given the chance to build a real super-set before, and it did my pride good to tackle such a job, but also, and much, much more important, because I knew instinctively that Gilda had meant what she had said, and this super-set would give me a legitimate excuse to go up to Blue Jay cabin and spend some time there installing the set, and while I was there I would be able to see her.

So I worked on the set, my ears cocked for the telephone bell to ring which didn’t ring, waiting for her to change her mind and knowing she wouldn’t change her mind, and feeling as bad as a man can feel who is fatally in love with a woman, wanting her every moment of the day and knowing he isn’t going to have her.

And as I worked on the set, I became more and more aware that the one obstacle standing between Gilda and myself was an elderly man who sat day after day in a wheel chair, a helpless cripple, who was no use to himself nor to anyone else.

II

The following day I drove down to Los Angeles to select wood for the cabinet I was going to build for Delaney’s super-set. I discussed with the cabinet maker how I wanted the wood cut and he promised to have it ready in an hour.

With an hour to kill, I wandered the streets, shop window gazing. I came upon a jeweller’s shop, and, in the window, I saw a blue and silver powder compact. It attracted my attention because the blue in it exactly matched the colour of Gilda’s eyes.

I went in and bought it.

I told the salesman to put Gilda’s name on the inside lid and he did it while I waited.

When I got back to my cabin, I went to the telephone, picked up the receiver and called Blue Jay cabin.