Better to Eat You (7 page)

David made a gesture trying to warn her about Edgar, somewhere too near. But he was seeing, and wishing that he could not see, how the small face was betraying the heart again.

“I will try not to be foolish,” Sarah said proudly. “I'll enjoy the work very much, I know.”

David was touched by the little speech, by her rather tremulous smile. And then they were in the studio already. So he said, rather coolly, remembering Edgar, “I think if we stick to a businesslike job of work there is nothing to be jittery about.” It was cool enough to hurt a little, he could tell. “If you really can read my handwriting,” he continued swiftly, “do you mind typing off these quotations while I do some necessary pondering?” He showed her the form he wanted.

She went to her table. He knew his coolness was a steadying thing. So long as they worked, so long as she had enough to do, so long as he didn't let her know he'd guessed the secret … He sat in his chair and looked studious with his fingers in his hair. He must sooner or later say something to her about his suspicions. But he didn't want to frighten her. She was frightened enough. She'd had a rough time. She was somewhat too fond of him. He wondered how he could manage not to hurt her any more. Out of the corner of his eye he could see her typing away, slowly relaxing and falling into rhythm as a good typist must. He realized he couldn't fool her for long. She would know before the day was out that he was writing no book here.

He thought, Does Edgar want to know what we say to each other? If so why does he tell me he can overhear? There was a formless tension in this place and not all of it was coming from Sarah.

Fox was saying to Malvina, “What I ask you to do is surely very simple.”

Malvina stood before him in the study, with her hands clasped. “So
soon?
” she said.

“It must be soon,” he snapped. “Moon markets today which is the reason I settled on a Monday. Can't keep Edgar eavesdropping forever. He could only interrupt a dangerous trend of talk between them once or twice. Not more. No, no. I don't intend to risk them alone together more than this one hour.”

Malvina said, “Grandfather, I don't understand what you are going to do.”

“You don't need to understand.”

“You must think of the dangers …”

“You have only to do what I tell you. I have arranged a most safe role for you, Malvina.” His head was tilted in his old coy manner but the dark eyes were not twinkling.

“And you?” she asked.

“Oh I protect myself, of course.”

“But I don't see how.”

“You forget how clever I am.”

“What is that?'' She was watching his hands. “Is that poison, Grandfather?”

“No, it is not,” snapped Fox. “I haven't any. Edgar has some.” His dark eyes rolled thoughtfully. “I am aware of the dangers,” he said. “Now, poison is a dangerous thing.”

“But what will happen? Edgar is out there.”

“Edgar,” said Grandfather in a voice of contempt, “will look after himself. Anyhow,
he'll go,
if Wakeley goes. He wishes to go to the village and that was my instruction.”

“He won't like hearing what I say.” Her face was shrewd. She seemed certain.

“Never mind. I can control Edgar. So can you, when it is necessary. And never forget, if Edgar speaks now, he confesses he sent a car down a hill upon a woman. No, Edgar knows nothing of my plan in advance and will say nothing of it afterward, whatever he may surmise.”

“You are very sure of yourself, Grandfather,” she murmured.

“I stepped into Fox's boots, didn't I, when that seemed impossible? I got us out of England and not one soul saw which of us it was that left alive. Didn't I?”

“With my help, Grandfather.”

“Then help me now, Malvina,” the old man said impatiently.

David turned his head slowly. “I've come to tempt you!” Malvina was gay. She stood in the toolroom door wearing a black bathing suit, towels and robe hung over her arm. Her long smooth legs were beautifully shaped, her shoulders were plump and lovely. Her smile was brilliant. “This
day!
This
weather!
It's criminal not to be using it. David? You haven't even seen our little beach.”

He saw Sarah's neck rigid.

“You'll have bad luck if you don't yield,” teased Malvina. “Can't you see how wicked and against nature it would be? Let Sarah go on with whatever it is, and come out into the sun. Your first day? In a little while it will be too chilly. Half an hour? Even twenty minutes? Recess?”

David made a sound, half laugh and half sigh. He felt a surge of excitement. Could there be something of a plot in this? He hoped so. He was impatient. He couldn't work on his book, anyhow. “Malvina,” he said, “you have ruined my afternoon.”

“Oh, surely not.” She was flirtatious.

“My afternoon's work,” he amended smoothly. His hand batted down the lock on his crown. “You really don't need me, do you Sarah?” he asked whimsically as if she were his taskmistress.

He saw that Sarah was in panic.

“What on earth's the matter, Sarah?” said Malvina in a voice of pure wonder that was in itself a falsehood. She must know what ailed Sarah.

David was on his feet close beside her because she looked as if she might faint. “It never helps to be afraid,” he said quietly. He touched her on the shoulder and she winced as if he'd hurt her. “Don't you think it will help,” he went on soothingly, “if we all try to believe that nothing bad is going to happen?”

“Nothing's going to happen,” said Malvina plaintively. “Oh, dear. Sarah, you spoil everything.”

“Would you like to come, too?” David's voice was kind. “And look after me?”

He was sorry he'd said it. Her face flooded with the color of shame.

“Sarah doesn't swim at all,” said Malvina pityingly. “But I can look after you, I'm a very strong swimmer.”

“I am a strong swimmer myself,” said David. “I doubt if I'll drown. Sarah?” He didn't want to leave her in that panic. It seemed cruel.

But Sarah said stiffly, “I don't want to spoil things.”

“Good girl. Wait a minute.” David went to his desk and scribbled a note on a piece of paper.
Seems to me we are being watched,
he wrote.
And it looks mighty funny. I came to find out what goes on here. Must talk to you alone. Don't worry. One thing it isn't. That's ghosts.

He slipped the paper under another on Sarah's table. “Add this, please,” he said. “And don't worry.” Now she looked more green than red and he added sharply, “And I'd like that stuff to go over this evening if it's possible.”

“Yes, sir,” said Sarah.

Malvina said, “Oh David, hurry, do. The sun will be going.” She took his hand. So they went away.

Sarah sat before her typewriter, holding her head together with both hands. All the long train of her sorrows was dragging through her memory. She heard them saying, “Last to see him alive, Sarah … Sarah was the last to see him alive.” She saw Peter whom she had loved and married and never grown to know, lying on the ground beside her wedding shoes. She felt the black evil bird flapping its wings around her head, the doom that followed where she went. She knew no reason for it. She knew it was there. Her mind had long struggled and turned and tried to get away from this knowledge, and could not. It would be the sea, she thought. Or the path, that narrow treacherous path. Or the sea. The surf against those rocks. It would be the sea or the rocks or both. David had gone with Malvina and he might never return. And Sarah the last, almost the last, to see him alive?

No, she told herself, no. Stop it. Panic must be controlled. But the studio was vast and lonely and cavernous and had no peace.

He knew what troubled her so. Why, then, had he gone? Absurd, Sarah. Absurd. A man goes swimming with a pretty woman when he's invited. He feels strong and capable. He isn't afraid of black intangibles that have no reason for being. Do your work, Sarah. But she couldn't work, she couldn't take her hands away from her head.

It had seemed good for a while, good and right and easy, to be subordinate and left out of the conversation, helpful and quick and busy. Then, when his handwriting had been as clear, to her as her own, because he was her kind of person, and they ought to have made a swift working team, able to grow closer and closer in understanding and mutual respect and liking and maybe even more … she had been visited with pain.
Not
so good, after all, to work beside him and never dare be anything but subordinate and quick. See him every day. Hear him talking to Malvina.

Now she thought, Malvina can have him. I will give him up altogether. Only let him be safe.

She heard Edgar slam the door of his little room below and run up the steps. In a moment she heard the iron gate clang. A car started up beneath her. She turned her head enough to see the road and it was Edgar, of course, rushing away so violently. Edgar had been able to hear Malvina's coquettish invitation and he was upset. Edgar worshipped Malvina although she encouraged him so little.

Sarah rolled her head from side to side. No use to pretend she could stand aside and give up David to Malvina. No use to pretend she herself didn't want to grow closer and closer in companionship and affection. Or dream she could. It was impossible. Could not work with David here. Or anywhere. If he came back safe again she would have to tell him so, and tell Grandfather, somehow.

Grandfather's own voice surprised her. “Ah, my poor Sarah. They have left you to do all the work and your poor head aches, too.”

“Grandfather …”

The little man was there, looking at her with his head to one side, chirruping kindness. “Now, don't fuss about me, dearie. I've only come for a trowel. Gust and I are making a little change along the sea walk.” He came nearer. “Poor Sarah. You find this work too difficult?”

Sarah said, “I … I don't think I can do it, Grandfather. I'm sorry.”

“Poor Sarah. So much trouble,” he said, stroking her hair. “Ah, and your head aches, does it?”

“A little.” She tried to smile for the dear old man.

“Then I've the thing for that,” said he, rummaging in his pockets. “Here we are.” He drew out his gold pill box. “My poor Sarah, there is no need for pain. Now, you will take a nice little pill. Perhaps two, eh? And then you will lie quite still so that they can work, you understand? And soon you will feel quite well again.” She felt it pleased him to try to help her.

So, to please him, Sarah moved to the couch against the partition while he went to fetch water from a carafe.

“Lie back, dearie.”

“I'm sorry, Grandfather. I'm sorry, after all your kind thoughtful plans …”

“Now, then, pop them down.”

“You are so good to me, Grandfather. When I ought to be taking care of you.”

“Come, Sarah, I'll tell you a secret. I am not so helpless as people think, eh?”

Sarah felt he was happy to be fussing over her. She thought to herself suddenly, Yes, I
will
collapse. I will break down. It went against her grain to make such a resolution, but she made it. Because then David would go away and get another girl to help him. And he would be out of reach of the incomprehensible doom that haunted her.

“You should have a coverlet,” the old man fussed. “I'll send Mrs. Monteeth. Now rest, sleep. And the headache will go away, I promise you.” He stroked her hair.

“So good …” murmured Sarah and tears came into her eyes.

She thought bitterly it would be better to escape in sleep than be waiting superstitiously for the cry, the news, the rising up of shock out of this golden day. It was difficult to focus on her panic or her resolutions either, lying there. She did began to fall away from consciousness, very swiftly indeed. For while she yet heard him moving about in the toolroom, looking for that trowel, Grandfather's pills were already putting her to sleep. Sarah let herself fall.

Fox, in the toolroom, was not looking for a trowel. He arranged the cotton waste as he wished, down between the cans of paint and varnish. He took care to slop a little varnish out of one opened can. Then he took Sarah's own cigarette lighter, held carefully so as to leave no fingerprints but her own on its metal surfaces. He lit it and, with some difficulty, for it was a breeze-proof type, he got the flame to go out. Open, then, but unlit and harmless, he dropped it among the debris.

He sighed and tipped and peered and saw Sarah's eyes closed and heard the quality of her breathing. Then he set the very small candle down among the inflammables, just so. Then he lit the candle with a match.

He went, swiftly for an old man, up the short walk to the kitchen. Moon was not there but Mrs. Monteeth was, as he knew. “Dear ma'am,” said Fox, “Sarah has fallen asleep in the studio. Take her a coverlet, please do. Quickly, quickly, because Gust and I need you at once out on the sea side.”

He watched her scurry into her room off the kitchen, snatch up an afghan from her bed. Mrs. Monteeth did, always, just as she was told. She vanished into the toolroom and he stooped and rubbed his varnish-tainted hands into the soil deeply several times. Then he scooped up with those hands a small plant, roots and all. Mrs. Monteeth came out of the toolroom. Grandfather sighed deeply. He was a master of timing, this little man—given a cast of people who would obey him.

“Sound asleep,” said Mrs. Monteeth, smiling her rather vacant smile. “Snorin'.”

Grandfather nodded. “Poor little Sarah,” he said. They walked together through his house and came out again upon the sea side of it. Gust was there, digging a narrow strip of soil along the house wall. Mrs. Monteeth took up and held obediently a string stretched tight to make a guide for Gust's spade.

“Now, this,” the old man said, offering the plant. “I thought the color …”