The Alien (3 page)

Colin now took a step forward, but before he could speak Mrs. Ogden and Margaret appeared, the former carrying blankets, the latter an old tweed coat, a shirt, a pullover and grey flannels she had found in one of the drawers upstairs. She was speaking as she came in.

“Has he come round? Oh, good. Wrap the blankets round him, Martha, and Ogden, you take these clothes and get him to change into them in the kitchen.''

She stopped short when Stephen wheeled round to her.

“Don't you see who it is?'' he shouted. “Look at him. Look at him!''

Margaret's face whitened but she held her head up, seeing Colin's face, beyond the stranger's, harden into a new despair. “Is it – It can't be—Boris Sudenic?''

Stephen gave a great laugh and clapped his friend again on the shoulder.

“Right first shot. Aren't you going to say how d'you do to her, Boris?''

The Pole took an uncertain step in Margaret's direction, looking back at Stephen as he did so.

“I – should know – this lady?'' he asked, apologetically.

“You're damned right you should. Tell him, Margaret.''

“Margaret! Oh!''

It was a long-drawn whispered sigh, followed by an uncomfortable silence.

“I recognized
you
at once,'' Margaret said, in a hard social voice. “Have I changed so very much?''

“We've all changed,'' Stephen said, awkwardly.

Boris took Margaret's hand between both of his.

“Forgive me,'' he said. “My head – it is not – it does not work—I was going to die I think on the—'' He took his hands away and made a gesture of using a paddle. “A – wood – flat – with—''

He paddled again in the air and laughed suddenly.

“You came ashore on a life-raft?'' Stephen suggested.

“O.K. O.K. Raft. That is the word. I – sorry – I speak so badly – your English.''

“Have I changed so very much,'' Margaret repeated, “that you didn't recognize me? I knew you, even with your beard.''

Boris took her hand again.

“When I leave England – so long ago – I have – in my heart – a girl – a pretty – a
gentille
– young girl. Like Ann here.'' He turned quickly to give her a brilliant smile, then turned back to Margaret and continued earnestly, “I find – a beautiful and gracious lady – with her little brother – a man – in a house that is – to leave – to empty—It is a dream perhaps? I die in the sea or the snow – in a strange dream?''

Margaret drew away her hand, turning to Colin, who came forward slowly.

“We are all quite real,'' she said, in the slow, rather loud voice the English use for speaking to foreigners. “We saw you outside and brought you in. This is not our house, but I won't go into long explanations now. This is my husband, Colin Brentwood.''

“Mr. Sudenic already knows that,'' said Colin, icily.

There was a heavy silence. Stephen and Ann were too surprised to move. Margaret looked at Colin with tired contempt. Boris waited, too polite to answer, or perhaps unable to command sufficient of the English language to sustain an argument.

The uncomfortable silence was relieved by Mrs. Ogden, who took the clothes from Margaret's arm and thrust them at her husband, who still waited near the door in a state of frozen astonishment.

“Old friend or not,'' she said, briskly, “the poor man needs to get those wet things off him or he'll be in for pneumonia, and then where'll we all be for neglecting him? Mr. Stephen, put this blanket round him and take him into the kitchen. You and Ogden between you can get him to strip and put on the things we looked out for him. Not that they'll be much of a fit, but you'll have to do your best. The sooner we're all out of here now, the better, I'm thinking.

I'm sorry if I seem a bit blunt, Mrs. Colin, but there's things to be done now and Mr. Colin'll have to do them, I reckon.''

She stopped speaking, out of breath, but as firm as ever. The people in the room obeyed her without question. Boris, giving Ann another smile and glance, meekly submitted to being draped in a blanket and led away. Ann went upstairs to restore order where Margaret and Mrs. Ogden had disarranged the drawers in their search for clothing. Colin and Margaret were left to themselves.

As soon as the room was free of the others Colin went to the window and stood there with his back to his wife, staring at the empty sea. Margaret dropped into the nearest chair. Her face was suddenly cold, she felt sick, the room was spinning round her.

“I think I'm going to faint,'' she managed to say in a small clear voice, trying to get her head down between her knees.

Colin was in time to prevent her slipping to the floor, though her recovery might have been quicker if she had indeed lain there. However, her collapse was brief and Colin was both helpful and quick in ministering to her. He found a few drops of brandy left in Stephen's flask. The much-neglected tea, still surprisingly hot, he also forced down Margaret's unwilling throat, in spite of her protest that she really would be sick if she drank it. She was not sick and presently was able to transfer herself with Colin's help to one of the arm-chairs, where she lay back thankfully and shut her eyes.

Colin watched her for a few minutes. His raging jealousy, suppressed, controlled, fought with futile argument, had, in the brief minutes of his learning Boris's identity, exploded into rage and hate. For fifteen years he had fought a memory, a dream, an illusion, that had stood between him and his love. He had despaired of ever laying this ghost, who continued to possess his wife's heart, to whom she always returned, who relentlessly, it seemed, defeated all his efforts and hopes to win her back into the real world of the living. For years now he had accepted defeat. It was impossible to fight a wraith, an idealized paragon, a romantic martyred hero. But the defeat, the humiliation, the plain natural jealousy had festered. To what extent, he was, just now, in the fury of release, incapable of understanding. He only knew that he had a real, a living, adversary at last and perhaps the power to destroy him.

“Who is this man?'' he said, at last, wishing to have it formally acknowledged.

Margaret turned her tired, astonished eyes on him.

“Who? Boris, of course. As you've heard. As you must have guessed.
The
Boris.'' She closed her eyes. “The only Boris I've ever met,'' she went on, enjoying the sound of the name she had so seldom spoken aloud for twenty long years.

“The man you were engaged to before the war?''

“Yes. Of course.''

“You told me he was dead.''

She opened her eyes again, wide with indignation. “I
thought
he was dead. I never heard definitely. Was that surprising? Knowing what happened in Poland?''

He had to acknowledge it was not. He was still shaking with rage, forcing himself to control his voice and his impulse to attack.

“You aren't suggesting that I
knew
he was alive, are you?''

“I'm not suggesting anything.''

“Oh, but I think you are. You always do. If I had known, I wouldn't have been – I wouldn't have—''

She stopped as the chill thought came to her that Boris, alive, had made no effort to find her. She had tried, through the Red Cross, to find him, but he had not tried to find her. Or perhaps he could not. That must be it. After all, he had come to them from a Russian ship. A prisoner. All these years. While she—

“The Russians must have caught him and kept him,'' she said. “That's why I could never find out what had become of him. He went back to fight, but you know that. I've told you often enough. He was recalled months before war was declared. They knew in Poland, of course. He must have been caught between the Germans and the Russians. That's what I've always thought. Haven't I?''

“It's certainly possible.''

Margaret was sunk too deeply in her own confusion to notice the bitter tone in Colin's voice. The dangerous myth on which she had sustained and balanced her surviving girlhood, a frail bridge over which she had refused to pass, which she had been unable to leave, was now giving way beneath her, fatally cracked, irreversibly falling. She was too shocked, too frightened to rush forward to firm ground, to safety. Instead she clutched the insubstantial fabric of her myth. Boris had come back to her at last.

“He hasn't changed much,'' she said, smiling faintly.

Colin looked at her with contempt, remembering, because he had never forgotten, a photograph of the man she had once shown him and which he was sure she still treasured.

“Would you have recognized him if Stephen hadn't?''

“Of course.''

“He didn't recognize you.''

It was true. She still felt the pain of that cruel blow. But Colin must not know this.

“Poor man! After getting ashore in that icy water—He must have nearly died. No wonder he passed out when he'd struggled up from the beach. Would you recognize friends you hadn't seen for over twenty years if you'd just done what he did?''

She was talking too fast and too excitedly, she knew, but she couldn't stop.

“I think it's a miracle he made it at all. But he was always enormously strong. He swims like a fish. He can do anything in boats. I remember going sailing with him once—''

She forced herself to stop. Colin's face, which she had only just noticed, frightened her.

“He ought to be changed by now,'' she said, more calmly. “I want to know why he came here. It's so extraordinary. An almost unbelievable coincidence.''

“Exactly,'' said Colin dryly, turning towards the door as he heard footsteps. “The coincidence
is
unbelievable, isn't it?''

The footsteps were not those of the fugitive, but belonged to Stephen and Ann. The pair of them were in high spirits, with flushed faces and bright eyes. They showed every sign of pleasure at the afternoon's developments.

“Only half an hour ago,'' Stephen said, directly he and Ann were inside the room, “I was in a filthy mood, binding about the weather, and the general upheaval here and—''

He stopped, careful now not to upset Colin again.

“And now,'' Ann said, skilfully side-stepping, “he's on top of the world because his schoolboy hero's turned up again. And I must say, he does seem to be very good value.''

“Hi!'' Stephen warned. “No responses from you in that direction, my girl. Boris may be only a little above himself after his trip ashore, but there's a certain wolfish look about him now that I don't recollect from time past.''

“You were too young to notice it. I bet it was there,'' Ann retorted.

“Margaret'll tell us. Was it, Margaret? Did you have to fight for your position?''

She turned a pale, set face to them.

“Sorry,'' she said, coldly. “I'm afraid I wasn't listening to you two.''

Ann and Stephen exchanged glances but wisely said no more.

“What on earth is the fellow doing?'' Colin asked, impatiently, looking at his watch. “Surely it didn't take him all this time to strip and get into dry things?''

“Ogden and I gave him a pretty good towelling to start with,'' Stephen answered. “He was shivering horribly by the time we'd peeled everything off him. Incidentally, Ogden's got a wonderful heat up in the kitchen. I don't know why we've all been congealing in here with this piddling little oil stove.''

“I told Ogden to use up the fuel that was left,'' Colin answered, severely. “No point in leaving it lying around till the house is sold. There wouldn't be any left by then, I don't mind betting. Not with this weather.''

Margaret roused herself.

“He must be dressed by now. For some time, I should think. Because you've been talking to him, too, haven't you, Ann?''

“He was telling us how he got ashore,'' the girl answered. “Thrilling. I expect he'll tell you when he's quite ready.''

“D'you mean he was actually dressing with Ann there?''

Stephen took an impatient step towards his sister. “For God's sake,'' he complained, “can't you snap out of this very corny, not to say Victorian drama? The poor devil's had a ghastly time for twenty years.
Twenty years!
He's lucky to be still alive. He'll tell you.''

“And jolly lucky to get away today,'' Ann took up the tale. “He's been wondering if he could manage it. This is the first time he's served on a trawler outside the Baltic, though he's been a sailor now for about seven years. So when they put into the bay here—''

“Imagine it!'' Stephen broke in. “Fishing just outside the three-mile limit, with England there, only three miles away. They had bad visibility several days but when the gale blew out and the snow stopped it was absolutely clear everywhere.''

“That was when he decided to have a bash at it,'' Ann picked up her cue neatly. “He was on deck watch by himself. The others were all below except for an officer in the deck-house. When the light came on at the Head it shone on them as it moved. This made the darkness much blacker just after it passed. You know, the way it does in a car when another car's headlights—''

“We both know that one,'' Colin said, dryly. “He took advantage of this to untie a raft, collect a paddle of some sort, lower the thing into the water, get on to it without help of any kind and move away silently without attracting anybody's notice until he was outside the range of their revolvers.''

“Did he tell you all this before, then?'' Ann asked, innocently. “Because that was just about how he did it.''

“But not in one continuous operation, as Colin suggests,'' added Stephen. “Because it's obvious, as Colin means us to realize, that it couldn't be done like that. It took him three hours, working a bit at a time, to get ready. Or so he says.''