Ngaio Marsh - Grave Mistake

When she stopped he was there, opening the door for her.

“You didn’t expect to see me,” he said.

“No.”

“I’m sorry to be a bore. I’d like a word or two if you’ll let me.”

“I can’t very well stop you,” said Verity lightly. She walked quickly to the nearest chair and was glad to sit on it. Her mouth was dry and there was a commotion going on under her ribs.

He took the other chair. She saw him through a kind of mental double focus: as he had been when, twenty-five years ago, she made a fool of herself, and as he was now, not so much changed or aged as exposed.

“I’m going to ask you to be terribly, terribly kind,” he said and waited.

“Are you?”

“Of course you’ll think it bloody cool. It is bloody cool but you’ve always been a generous creature, Verity, haven’t you?”

“I shouldn’t depend on it, if I were you.”

“Well — I can but try.” He took out his cigarette case. It was silver with a sliding action. “Remember?” he said. He slid it open and offered it to her. She had given it to him.

Verity said, “No, thank you, I don’t.”

“You used to. How strong-minded you are. I shouldn’t, of course, but I do.” He gave his rather empty social laugh and lit a cigarette. His hands were unsteady.

Verity thought. I know the line I ought to take if he says what I think he’s come here to say. But can I take it? Can I avoid saying things that will make him suppose I still mind? I know this situation. After it’s all over you think of how dignified and quiet and unmoved you should have been and remember how you gave yourself away at every turn. As I did when he degraded me.

He was preparing his armoury. She had often, even when she had been most attracted, thought how transparent and silly and predictable were his ploys.

“I’m afraid,” he was saying, “I’m going to talk about old times. Will you mind very much?”

“I can’t say I see much point in the exercise,” she said cheerfully. “But I don’t mind , really.”

“I hoped you wouldn’t.”

He waited, thinking perhaps that she would invite him to go on. When she said nothing he began again.

“It’s nothing, really. I didn’t mean to give it a great build-up. It’s just an invitation for you to preserve what they call ‘a masterly inactivity.’ ” He laughed again.

“Yes?”

“About — well, Verity, I expect you’ve guessed what about, haven’t you?”

“I haven’t tried.”

“Well, to be quite, quite honest and straightforward—” He boggled for a moment.

“Quite honest and straightforward?” Verity couldn’t help repeating but she managed to avoid a note of incredulity. She was reminded of another stock phrase-maker — Mr. Markos and his “quite cold-bloodedly.”

“It’s about that silly business a thousand years ago, at St. Luke’s,” Schramm was saying, “I daresay you’ve forgotten all about it.”

“I could hardly do that.”

“I know it looked bad. I know I ought to have — well — asked to see you and explain. Instead of — all right, then—”

“Bolting?” Verity suggested.

“Yes. All right. But you know there were extenuating circumstances. I was in a bloody bad jam for money and I would have paid it back.”

“But you never got it. The bank questioned the signature on the cheque, didn’t they? And my father didn’t make a charge.”

“Very big of him! He only gave me the sack and shattered my career.”

Verity stood up. “It would be ridiculous and embarrassing to discuss it. I think I know what you’re going to ask. You want me to say I won’t tell the police. Is that it?”

“To be perfectly honest—”

“Oh, don’t ,” Verity said, and closed her eyes.

“I’m sorry. Yes, that’s it. It’s just that they’re making nuisances of themselves and one doesn’t want to present them with ammunition.”

Verity was painfully careful and slow over her answer. She said: “If you are asking me not to go to Mr. Alleyn and tell him that when you were one of my father’s students I had an affair with you and that you used this as a stepping-stone to forging my father’s signature on a cheque — no, I don’t propose to do that.”

She felt nothing more than a reflected embarrassment when she saw the red flood into his face but she did turn away.

She heard him say: “Thank you for that, at least. I don’t deserve it and I didn’t deserve you. God, what a fool I was!”

She thought: I mustn’t say, “In more ways than one.” She made herself look at him and said: “I think I should tell you that I know you were engaged to Sybil. It’s obvious that the police believe there was foul play and I imagine that as a principal legatee under the Will—”

He shouted her down: “You can’t — Verity, you would never think I–I—? Verity?”

“Killed her?”

“My God!”

“No. I don’t think you did that. But I must tell you that if Mr. Alleyn finds out about St. Luke’s and the cheque episode and asks me if it was all true, I shan’t lie to him. I shan’t elaborate or make any statements. On the contrary I shall probably say I prefer not to answer. But I shan’t lie.”

“By God,” he repeated, staring at her. “So you haven’t forgiven me, have you?”

“Forgiven? It doesn’t arise.” Verity looked squarely at him. “That’s true, Basil. It’s the wrong sort of word. It upsets me to look back at what happened, of course it does. After all, one has one’s pride. But otherwise the question’s academic. Forgiven you? I suppose I must have but — no, it doesn’t arise.”

“And if you ‘prefer not to answer,’ ” he said, sneering, it seemed, at himself as much as at her, “what’s Alleyn going to think? Not much doubt about that one, is there? Look here: has he been at you already?”

“He came to see me.”

“What for? Why? Was it about — that other nonsense? On Capri?”

“On the long vacation? When you practised as a qualified doctor? No, he said nothing about that.,

“It was a joke. A ridiculous old hypochondriac, dripping with jewels and crying out for it. What did it matter?”

“It mattered when they found out at St. Luke’s.”

“Bloody pompous lot of stuffed shirts. I knew a damn’ sight more medics than most of their qualified teacher’s pets.”

“Have you ever qualified? No, don’t tell me,” said Verity quickly.

“Has Nick Markos talked about me? To you?”

“No.”

“Really?”

“Yes, Basil, really,” she said and tried to keep the patient sound out of her voice.

“I only wondered. Not that he’d have anything to say that mattered. It’s just that you seemed to be rather thick with him, I thought.”

There was only one thing now that Verity wanted and she wanted it urgently. It was for him to go away. She had no respect left for him and had had none for many years but it was awful to have him there, pussyfooting about in the ashes of their past and making such a shabby job of it. She felt ashamed and painfully sorry for him, too.

“Was that all you wanted to know?” she asked.

“I think so. No, there’s one other thing. You won’t believe this but it happens to be true. Ever since that dinner-party at Mardling — months ago when we met again — I’ve had — I mean I’ve not been able to get you out of my head. You haven’t changed all that much, Verry. Whatever you may say, it was very pleasant. Us. Well, wasn’t it? What? Come on, be honest. Wasn’t it quite fun?”

He actually put his hand over hers. She was aghast. Something of her incredulity and enormous distaste must have appeared in her face. He withdrew his hand as if it had been scalded.