The Stranger Came (41 page)

'Don't
try
not
to
take
things
too
seriously,
Miss
Lindgren.
You're
not
the
first
,
you
know.
You
have
your
whole
life
in
front
of
you.
That's
precious.
Don't
let
it
be
spoiled.’
Stopped
then,
staggered
by
his
own
daring,
to
blink
and
finish
weakly.
'We've
all
been
young
and
had
our
problems.’

He
had
stared
so
solemnly,
trying
to
hold
her
gaze
–
her
eyes
hungry
to
be
done
with
him
–
willing
her
to
understand
without
the
risk
of
putting
more
into
words.
What
he
said
meant
nothing
to
her
then,
and
she
was
glad
when
he
chose
to
go,
hurrying
away
along
the
grey
corridors
in
the
wrong
direction
for
meeting
Maitland.

BOOK
FOUR

Chapter 13

The
Great
Sovek

When
the
Great
Sovek
threw
back
his
head
and
laughed,
Lucy
was
standing
too
close
to
him
so
that
she
saw
his
tongue
and
the
inside
of
his
mouth
very
red
against
the
black
frame
of
his
beard.
The
impression
stayed
with
her
unpleasantly
so
that
when
later
from
the
audience
she
watched
him
come
on
to
the
stage,
against
a
background
of
black
drapes
and
red
curtains
looped
back
at
the
sides,
the
red
of
the
proscenium
arch
flecked
with
golden
paint,
it
was
as
if
he
stood
in
an
open
mouth.
Like
a
golden
tooth,
he
glittered
out
at
her
from
the
open
mouth
of
the
stage.

But
that
was
later.
Now,
caught
in
the
spiced
outflow
of
his
breath,
she
tried
to
step
aside,
but
he
held
her
still
by
the
hand.

'Nervous?
No,
I
like
to
have
company.
I
leave
nerves
to the
fat
comedian,
whom
you're
having
the
good
taste
to
give
a miss.’

Truth
was,
she
would
have
liked
to
hear
the
comedian,
and
there
would
be
singers,
perhaps
a
juggler
.
People
like
that.
It
was
Maitland
who,
having
no
patience
for
such
things,
had
initiated
this
visit
backstage.

'Tell
us
though
when
you
would
like
us
to
leave,'
Maitland
said.
'I
imagine
you
must
want
time
to
yourself
before
you
go
on.’

'I
have
no
nerves,'
the
Great
Sovek
reaffirmed,
letting
go
of
her
hand
and
laughing
widely
as
if
to
share
with
them
his
delight
in
himself.

The
greenroom
was
crowded
with
the
privileged
who had
come
behind
the
scenes
and
along
the
dusty
little
corridor
to
where
the
hypnotist
was
passing
the
time
until
the
second
half,
his
half,
of
the
show
should
begin.
Behind
her,
Lucy
heard
the
soft
rising
note
of
the
undulant
young
man
who
had
shown
them
the
way.
'Oh,
reading
it's
all
very
well,
but
it
isn't
the
play.
I
mean
it
was
extraordinary.
Everyone
who
was
there
speaks
of
it
in
such
a
special
manner.
We're
like
a
club –
we
say
to
one
another,
Yes,
I
saw
him
that
night
and
it
was
magical,
such
a
performance.’

She
wondered
if
he
could
be
speaking
of
the
hypnotist,
but
then
a
woman's
voice
said
something
about
Shakespeare
and
she
realised
that
if
he
was
stage struck
it
was
not
for
the
kind
of
performance
they
might
expect
from
the
Great
Sovek.
The
woman's
voice
was
soft
with
a
different
lilt
to
it
so
that
it
was
easy
to
lose
some
of
the
words.
When
she
spoke
again,
Lucy
glanced
behind
and
saw
that
it
was
one
of
the
two
women
who
had
come
from
the
hospital
as
part
of
the
patients'
escort,
a
pale
heavy-featured
girl
with
dark
hair
tightly
pulled
back
and
large
unsuitable
glasses.
Meeting
her
glance,
the
girl
smiled.

'Shouldn't
you
be
with
your
patients?'
Lucy
asked.

Instead
of
answering,
the
girl
made
a
face,
pulling
her
lips
together
and
raising
heavy
brows
above
the
glasses'
frame.
It
might
have
meant
anything.
Yes.
No.
Mind
your
own
business,
I'm
having
fun.
Anything.
But
when,
giving
up,
Lucy
turned
from
the
girl,
she
faced
into
a
silence.
People
were
looking
at
her.
Sophie
Lindgren
was
looking
at
her.

'If
I
were
liable
to
nerves,'
the
Great
Sovek
said, frowning
around
to
lay
claim
to
all
of
their
attention,
'there
wouldn't
be
any
performance.
I
have
to
be
confident – how
else
would
I
impose
my
will
on
others?'

'Is
that
what
you
do?'
Maitland
wondered.
'It
sounds
ugly.
Wouldn't
you
say
it
sounds
ugly?'

Appealed
to,
Monty
Norman
shrugged.
'It's
a
bit
of fun,
isn't
it?'

'Entertainment,
you
mean?'

'I
put
on
a
show,'
the
Great
Sovek
said.
Some
of
his
vowels
he
spoke
through
his
nose
so
that
Lucy
wondered
if
he
might
be
American
–
or
Canadian?
'People
have
a
good
time.
They
go
out
smiling.’

'Couldn't
the
fat
comedian
say
as
much?'
Maitland
asked.

When
he
took
someone
up
in
that
way,
it
was
because his
interest
was
caught.
He
paid
them
the
compliment
of
every
scrap
of
his
attention.
She
had
been
disturbed
to
hear
someone – Sam
Wilson?
Yes,
at
some
gathering
of
the
faculty
–
a
voice
behind
her
saying,
'Maitland
being
aggressive
again.’
The
tone
warm,
affectionate,
anticipatory,
but
to
her
it
still
seemed
like
a
criticism.
And
one
which
wasn't
true.
They
didn't
understand
the
eagerness
of
his
mind.
In
all
the
years,
he
hadn't
changed
in
that;
he
hadn't
changed.
And
she
should
have
told
him
Sophie
Lindgren's
story,
all
of
it,
the
invention
of
a
sick
girl.
The
sensible
thing
would
have
been
to
tell
him
(I've had the strangest experience ... And then she said ... Something will have to be done about her)
;
but
she
had
not
been
able
to
bring
herself
to
do
it.
The
whole
thing
was
too
shameful.
Yet
she
should
have
told
him.
The
girl
was
dangerous.