The Stranger Came (17 page)

Just
into
a
street
of
shabby
brownstone
tenements,
he
reversed
into
a
space
in
a
line
of
parked
cars.

'Come
up
with
me
to
fetch
him,'
he
said.
'There's
no
point
in
getting
chilled
sitting
here.’

As
they
walked
along
looking
for
the
number,
he
mused,
'This
would
have
been
a
fashionable
area
once,
before
the
First
World
War
perhaps.
Now
it's
all
sub-lets,
students
and
multi-occupations.
Give
it
a
year
or
two
and
the
students
will
be
few
and
far
between,
the
way
things
are
going.
There
are
development
plans
in
the
offing
too,
I
believe.
We
should
buy
one,
Lucy.
Rent
it
out.
The
place
will
be
sandblasted
back
into
fashion
and
we'll
clear
thirty
thousand.’

Her
husband
did
not
impress
her
when
he
talked
of ways
of
making
money,
not
out
of
any
moral
objection
but
because
as
a
girl
she
had
met
enough
men
who
had
made
a
great
deal
to
know
that
Maitland
lacked
the
gift.
She
did
not
think
less
of
him
for
it.
The
men
who
possessed
it
had
not
been
over-endowed
with
any
others
as
far
as
she
could
see.
The
common
factor
had
been
how
much
making
money
had
mattered
to
them.
None
of
them
would
have
wasted
time
on
an
irrelevancy
like
the
Nobel
Prize.

Because
the
building
hadn't
been
refurbished,
the
close had
no
entry phone,
and
that
meant
it
smelt
of
cats
and
perhaps
something
worse.
As
a
student
she
had
visited
friends
in
places
like
this.
Then
it
had
seemed
like
an
adventure;
now
she
wished
she
had
stayed
in
the
car.

On
the
door
there
was
a
card
pinned
at
each
corner
and
listing
five
names
in
uneven
type.
The
first
thing
she
saw
was
Monty
Norman's
name
printed
at
the
foot
of
the
list
clumsily
with
a
red
pen,
then
that
the
last
of
the
names
typed
above
it
was
S.
Lindgren
.
As
she
registered
the
name,
Norman
was
opening
the
door
and
there
was
no
time
to
say
anything
and
they
were
going
in
and
she
saw
how
large
the
flat
was.
There
were
three
doors
on
each
side
of
the
corridor
before
it
turned
out
of
sight.
Just
inside
the
entrance
there
was
a
table
with
a
phone
and
a
full
ashtray
lay
on
the
book.
Her
thoughts
moved
hastily,
like
insects
rowing
above
the
dark
stretched
surface
of
a
pond.
Seeing
the
cigarette
stubs,
she
placed
their
dry
taint
and
felt
how
wretched
it
would
be
to
live
in
a
place
where
the
air
was
spoiled
by
strangers.

The
second
room
on
the
right,
into
which
Norman
led them,
had
a
bed
still
unmade,
a
wardrobe
and
a
chair
by
the
window.
Someone
had
hung
a
calendar
turned
to
a
print
of
an
Italian
townscape.
She
noticed
it
was
for
the
wrong
month.
The
vivid
off-shade
colours
made
the
room
drabber
by
contrast.

'I
decided
it
would
be
a
good
idea
if
you
came
with
us,'
Maitland
said.

Monty
Norman
threw
the
coverlet
in
an
untidy
sprawl
across
the
bed.
'Would
that
be
all
right?'
To
Lucy
it
was
plain
he
was
flustered
and
angry,
but
Maitland
seemed
to
catch
no
hint
of
that.

'Not
into
the
meeting
itself,
naturally.
You'll
wait
in
Mrs
Stewart's
room
while
it's
going
on.
You
can
bring
a
book,'
he
glanced
around,
'or
a
paper,
something
to
pass
the
time.’

'Would
I
do
any
good
being
there?'

'We'll
get
it
settled
today.
By
tomorrow
you'll
be
working
for
the
Trust.
They
may
agree
without
seeing you.
As
a
group
they're
quite
biddable.
The
one
who
might
raise
a
difficulty
is
Henney
Low,
one
of
Her
Majesty's
Inspectors
of
Schools.
He'll
put
up
an
argument
to
show
how
sharp
he
is,
but
he'll
give
in
at
last
because
he
doesn't
really
care.
On
committees,
it's
the
dullard
with
principles
I
don't
want
as
an
opponent.’

'I
wasn't
expecting –
I'd
need
to
get
changed.’
Although
Norman
smiled,
Lucy
knew
how
little
he
was
enjoying
any
of
this.

'Fine.
My
wife
will
wait
outside.
But
you'll
have
to
make
it
quick.’