The Stranger Came (25 page)

'Mrs
Stewart?'
The
secretary
at
the
Gregory
and
Rintoul
Trust;
it
took
Lucy
a
moment
to
place
the
name.

'It's
her
car,
you
see,'
the
girl
said.
'Her
lovely
little
Fiat
with
the,
what
is
it
she
calls
it?
Two-colour
toning.
It'll
be
its
very
first
parking
ticket;
I
should
think
so,
wouldn't
you?
With
her
being
so
careful,
you
wouldn't
believe
how
careful
she
is.’

Perhaps
she
is
drunk
after
all,
Lucy
thought.
They
had
the
lounge
to
themselves.
Not
even
a
man
behind
the
bar;
perhaps
you
rang
a
bell
or
something
to
fetch
him
out
from
wherever
the
music
was
clattering
beyond
the
arch.
'You
had
Mrs
Stewart's
car?'
It
seemed
so
odd
sitting
alone
with
Sophie
Lindgren.
She
really
didn't
want
to
be
here.

'I've
been
dashing
all
over
the
place
these
last
few
days
making
final
arrangements
about
taking
the
patients
to
the
theatre.
I
even
went
to
Balinter,
to
the
University.
I
saw
Professor
Ure.’

'Oh,
yes?'
Lucy
said
vaguely.
The
table
was
scarred
with
small
burns
where
cigarettes
had
been
laid
and
the
ashtrays
were
full –
surely
not
from
the
previous
night?
Then
since
the
girl
seemed
to
be
waiting
for
her
to
say
something
else
went
on,
'And
are
you
free
today?'

'Oh,
God,
yes,'
the
girl
said.
'I'm
not
cheating
my
employer.
I'm
not
pretending
to
be
ill.
I'm
free,
if
that's
what
you
want
to
call
it.
I
suppose
you
feel
you
have
the
right
to
ask
that
–
I
mean
with
being
the
Rintoul
in
Gregory
and
Rintoul.’

Twisting
her
mouth
sourly
like
that
quite
spoiled
the
girl's
prettiness
and,
startled,
Lucy
almost
told
her
so
but
held
back
not
wanting
to
be
unkind.
Instead,
edging
the
stale
ashtray
away,
she
murmured
half
to
herself,
'How
surprised
my
husband
would
be
to
see
me
here.’

'He's
been
here,'
the
girl
said.
'Sitting
in
that
chair
you're
in
now.
But
that
was
weeks
ago,
of
course.’
And
tossed
her
head
as
if
putting
back
a
fall
of
long
hair
from
her
face,
the
same
gesture
as
that
first
meeting
at
Waverley
Station,
waiting
for
her
brother
only
there
was
no
brother,
it
was
Maitland
who
came
off
the
train.
'Did
I
tell
you
I've
been
arranging
things?'
she
asked,
leaning
across
the
table.
'The
theatre
visit,
things
like
that.
I
had
to
go
and
see
Mr
Chambers
the
lawyer.
He's
very
protective
of
you.’

'I'm
afraid
I
don't
understand,'
Lucy
said.

'Oh,
he
made
a
point
of
it.
He's
known
you
all
your
life.
Something
about
christening
robes.’

'How
strange'
that he should unburden himself to her. An old man with a pretty girl.
She
had
thought
better
of
him.
'He
was
always
a
remote
figure
to
me.
And
yet
perhaps
…
someone
you've
known
when
you
were
young
is
always
–
you
imagine
somehow,
even
so
much
later,
that
they're
going
to
protect
you
or
certainly
like
you
…
Isn't
that
so?'

'I
wouldn't
know,'
Sophie
Lindgren
said.
'Maybe
I
knew different
kinds
of
people
when
I
was
a
child.’

'
You
might
be
better
prepared
then.’

'Prepared?'

'For
the
things
that
happen
…
So
perhaps
I'm
not
so fortunate
as
you
think.’

'Should
I
be
sorry
for
you?'

The
girl's
impertinence
made
Lucy
blink.
'Certainly not,'
she
said.
'In
most
people's
terms
I
am
fortunate.
I
have
everything
I
want.’

'Don't
other
people
have
a
right
to
be
happy
too?' Sophie
Lindgren
asked.

Self-evidently;
and
yet
the
girl
was
staring
at
her,
fiercely,
disconcertingly,
waiting
apparently
for
her
to
answer – as
if
it
could
possibly
matter.

'I'm
afraid,'
Lucy
said,
'I'm
really
not
feeling
particularly
well.’

'It's
just
through
the
door
–
where
we
came
in,'
the
girl
told
her.

The
basin
in
the
lavatory
had
no
plug,
but
was
choked with
a
couple
of
inches
of
grey
scummy
liquid.
She
dribbled
water
on
to
her
fingertips
and
rubbed
them
across
her
forehead
and
temples.
The
floor
of
the
cubicle
was
wet,
the
air
smelled,
but
she
sat
in
the
cramped
little
box
for
a
long
time,
until
it
became
impossible.