The Stranger Came (26 page)

It
was
no
use.
When
she
came
out,
Sophie
Lindgren
was there.

'I
was
out
on
the
street
looking
for
you,'
she
said.
'I
thought
you'd
gone.’

'I
should
be
going
home.’

'It's
still
early.’

'I'm
very
tired.’
Too
tired
to
resist.

Sophie
Lindgren
crossed
to
her
and
set
the
glasses
on
the
table.
She
sat
down
and
raised
her
glass.

'To
happiness!'
she
said.

Lucy
sipped
at
her
drink.
It
was
sweet
and
cloying
and
sickly
on
the
tongue,
like
medicine
in
the
nursery
when
no
matter
how
sugary
its
deception
you
knew
they
had
wrapped bitterness
inside.

'I
have
to
tell
you.
Tell
you
everything,'
Sophie
Lindgren
said.
'Believe
me
I
don't
want
to
hurt
you.’

'Open
your
mouth,
shut
your
eyes,'
Lucy
said.
'Like medicine.’

'Even
if
I
have
to
force
you,
you're
going
to
listen.
It's
wrong
that
you
shouldn't
know
the
truth.’

About
what?

'What
possible
truth
could
you
know
that
would
matter
to
me?'

At
the
sour
triumph
of
the
other's
smile,
Lucy's
breath
stopped
for
fear.

Yet
when
the
girl
started
to
speak,
it
was
about
nothing, she
had
spent
an
evening
with
Monty
Norman
–
weeks
ago
.

What
was
there
to
be
afraid
of
in
that?

BOOK
THREE

Chapter 8

Sophie
Lindgren's
Story

'It's
my
impression
the
Professor's
the
one
who
decides.
Was
he
the
one
who
gave
you
the
job,
Sophie?
Was
that
the
way
it
was?'

Though
it
was
'Sophie'
and
'Monty'
they
were
strangers still.
As
for
the
first
names,
he
had
insisted
on
them
from
the
day
a
fortnight
ago
when
he
had
started:
'Let's
not
have
any
of
that
Mr
Norman
stuff.’
She
smiled
to
herself.
May
Stewart's
use
of
his
first
name
was
scarce;
unspontaneous,
you
might
call
it.
No
doubt
she
felt
threatened
by
him,
even
if
it
was
still
far
from
clear
what
he
was
actually
there
to
do.

'Have
you
made
up
your
mind?'
Norman
set
down
a
pint
glass
and
the
whisky
tumbler
he
had
held
pinned
by
his
little
finger.
'I've
been
feeding
from
the
bowls
on
the
counter.’
In
front
of
her
he
laid
from
his
other
fist
a
Martini
and
a
packet
of
potato
sticks.
'Funny
place.
Like
drinking
in
a
loo.’

The
walls
were
tiled
from
floor
to
ceiling.
Although
the
predominant
impression
was
of
dark
green,
the
decoration
of
individual
tiles
was
ornate
Victorian:
flowers,
ships,
stars.

'I
love
it.’

'Do
a
lot
of
your
drinking
in
loos?'
he
asked.
'It's
like
being
in
a
theatre.’

'A
theatre
loo.’

'No,
seriously,
it
makes
me
think
of
a
stage
set.
I
can't think
what
kind
of
play
though.’

Instead
of
pursuing
the
notion,
he
reached
over
and
tore
open
the
sticks
packet.
'Have
one.’

'I'm
not
hungry.’

'Keep
you
from
getting
hungry.
End
of
the
working
day.’

She
drew
out
one
of
the
sticks.
Apart
from
their
own
the
tables
were
unoccupied.
At
the
shorter
of
the
bar's
counters,
round
the
corner
out
of
view
came
the
muttering
of
men's
voices.
The
barman
leaned
with
his
hands
on
the
counter;
head
bowed
as
if
praying
for
custom.

'Back
to
the
question,'
he
said.
'What
brought
you
to
work
there?
Bright
ambitious
girl
like
you.
It's
only
a
clerking
job,
isn't
it?'

'Actually,
I
replaced
two
part-timers.
So
there's
plenty to
do.’

'But
you've
"actually”
got
a
degree,
haven't
you?'

'For
what
it's
worth.’

'From
–
what
do
you
call
it?'

'Balinter
.’

'There
you
are
then.
Same
place
as
the
Professor's
at.
You
could
do
better
than
clerking.’

'It's
only
an
ordinary
degree.
People
who
graduated
same
time
as
me
don't
have
a
job
at
all
yet.’

'What
time
would
that
be?'
Then
before
she
could answer,
he
said
abruptly,
'You're
spoiling
it.’

She
did
not
understand
till
he
pointed
at
the
potato
stick
she
was
turning
in
her
fingers.
She
dropped
it
in
the
ashtray.
'I'm
not
hungry.’

'Nobody'll
get
it
now,'
he
said
with
a
frown.
'You
were saying
when
you
graduated?'

'Just
in
June.’
It
seemed
to
her
that
made
it
more
plausible
that
she
should
be
working
for
the
Trust.
'I
started
in
September.’

'So
you'd
done
a
bit
of
looking
first –
over
the
summer?'

She
hesitated.
'I
gave
myself
a
holiday
first.’

'So
you
weren't
too
worried.’
He
drew
out
a
bundle
of the
potato
sticks
and
held
them
out
to
her.
She
shook
her head
in
refusal.
'About
getting
a
job,
I
mean.’
He
tilted
his
head
and
the
sticks
slid
between
his
lips.

'I'd
promised
myself
a
holiday.’

'You
knew
something
would
turn
up.’

'I
suppose
so.’

'Did
the
Professor
say
there'd
be
a
job
for
you?'

'There
was
an
advertisement –
I
applied.’

Taking
more
of
the
sticks,
he
turned
the
bag
towards
her.
She
shook
her
head.

'Still,
with
being
at
the
same
university,
knowing
him,
it can't
have
done
your
chances
any
harm.’

'I
was
in
one
of
his
classes.
It
would
be
a
bit
grand
to
say
I
knew
him.’

'You
and
me
both.’
Monty
Norman
looked
at
her
in triumph.
'Sorry?'

'Both
of
us
got
our
jobs
through
the
Professor.
It
gives
us
something
in
common.
Makes
us
allies.’
He
smiled.
'You
should
share
these
with
me,
one
bite.
Make
us
blood
brothers
–
like
the
Red
Indians.’