Джеймс Чейз - The Flesh of the Orchid

‘So beautiful,’ she muttered to herself. ‘We poor girls... trouble... always trouble.’

They remained in the garden for some time, and then they saw the Sullivans come out of the house. They had changed their black suits and black overcoats. They now looked like morticians on a holiday. Each wore a light grey suit, a pearl-grey fedora and brown shoes.

As Sherill moved towards them Frank climbed into the Packard and drove it round to the barn at the back of the house.

Max sat on the last step of the stoop. Leaning to a cupped match, his profile was hard and cruel.

‘Going now?’ Sherill said.

‘Yeah,’ Max returned. He dabbed his sweating face with a crisp, clean handkerchief. ‘He’s at the Blue Summit Logging Camp. It’ll be a long trip.’

Sherill didn’t ask who was at the Blue Summit Logging Camp. He knew better than to ask questions. He shuffled his feet in the hot sand. The dry rustling of the sand was the only sound between the two men.

Then Sherill said, ‘So she talked?’ There was an embarrassed, furtive look in his eyes.

‘They always talk,’ Max said in a tired, flat voice. ‘They never learn sense.’

The soft sound of a powerful motor engine starting up came from the barn, and a moment later a big dark-blue Buick swept round the corner, pulled up beside Max.

Frank leaned out of the window.

‘All set,’ he said.

Sherill eyed the changed suits, the changed car, and his eyebrows lifted.

‘You boys expecting trouble?’

‘We’re going back to a place where we’ve been already,’ Max said, climbing into the car. ‘We don’t put on the same act twice.’

Even without their black suits there was something coldly menacing about these two.

‘Shall you be long?’ Sherill asked.

‘Two days; maybe three, not more,’ Max said. ‘Sooner if he’s still there, which he probably won’t be.’

‘That’s why she talked,’ Frank said crossly. ‘I bet that’s why she talked. She had that amount of sense.’

‘We’ll go there, anyway,’ Max returned, pulled his hat over his eyes. ‘And Sherill...’

Sherill stiffened.

‘Yes?’

‘Watch her. And when I say watch her... I mean watch her. If she ain’t here when we get back, you best not be here, either.’

‘She’ll be here,’ Sherill said shortly.

‘See she is,’ Max said. ‘Get on,’ he said to Frank.

Frank leaned across Max, stared at Sherill with intent eyes.

‘Watch her, Tex,’ he said. ‘I like that dame... I wouldn’t like to lose the opportunity. I’ve got ideas about her.’

‘Get on,’ Max snarled. ‘You have too many ideas about too many women.’

‘That’s not possible,’ Frank said, giggled, drove recklessly down the sandy, rutted by-road.

Miss Lolly crept up the stairs, entered her small neat bedroom. She was trembling and had to sit on the bed until her legs felt strong enough to carry her to the dressing-table. She spent some minutes brushing her hair and beard. Then she put on stockings and shoes. She found a clothes-brush and carefully brushed the dust from her aging black costume.

When she came out of her room, Sherill was standing at the head of the stairs.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ he asked harshly.

‘I’m going to see her,’ Miss Lolly said firmly. ‘She wants a woman’s care.’

‘You don’t call yourself a woman, do you, you old scarecrow?’ Sherill snarled. ‘You’ll only frighten her.’

Miss Lolly flinched.

‘I’m going to see her,’ she repeated, and began to move towards the next flight of stairs.

‘Well, see her, then,’ Sherill returned, ‘but no nonsense. You heard what Max said.’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t interfere,’ Miss Lolly said hastily. ‘I only want to say a kind word... if the poor thing’s crazy in the head, like they say, a kind word will help her.’

Sherill took a key from his pocket, handed it to Miss Lolly.

‘Lock her in when you’re through,’ he said shortly. ‘I’ve got to get back to work,’ and he went down the stairs, his feet making a flat, slapping noise on the bare boards.

A moment or so later, with quickly beating heart, Miss Lolly unlocked the door of Carol’s room, entered.

It was a small bare room and hot from the sun that baked down on the sheet-iron roof. The window that looked out on to the so-called orchard had two rusty iron bars cemented into its frame. The floorboards were dusty and bare. The only furniture in the room was a truckle bed, an old rocking-chair, a wash-stand and a tin bowl full of water on which floated a fine film of dust.

Carol lay on the bed, her hands at her sides, her legs straight, like an effigy on an ancient tomb. Her eyes were like holes cut in a sheet and as expressionless.

Although she heard the lock turn and the handle creak she did not look in the direction of the door. She looked straight in front of her at a cobweb that festooned the opposite wall and that moved gently in the draught. But she cringed inside at the sound, and without being able to help herself, her mouth formed into a soundless scream.

‘It’s only me,’ Miss Lolly said, standing shyly in the doorway. ‘It’s Miss Lolly...’

Carol shivered, turned her head very slowly, saw the poor freak standing there, embarrassed, nervous, her sad eyes blinking back sympathetic tears, her bony fingers fluttering in her beard.

‘Please go away,’ Carol said, and began to cry helplessly, hiding her face in her hands.

Miss Lolly paused to look back down the stairway and to listen. The old house was silent. Somewhere in the garden she could hear Sherill sawing wood; more distant still came a sudden sharp bark of a dog.

‘I didn’t mean to frighten you, my dear,’ Miss Lolly said, added wistfully: ‘I’m human, really. I used to be in the circus with them... Max and Frank.’

‘I’m not frightened of you,’ Carol said. ‘It’s only... I must be left alone... just for a little while....’

‘Perhaps you’d like some coffee... or tea?’ Miss Lolly asked. ‘I’m so sorry for you... we girls... it’s the men, really, isn’t it? We are always sacrificing ourselves for the men. I’ve had my lovers... you mightn’t think so... they shouldn’t have brought you here... a nice girl like you...’

Carol suddenly sat up.

‘Who are you?’ she cried. ‘What do you want with me?’

Miss Lolly blinked, stepped back.

‘I’m Miss Lolly... you’re too young to have heard of me. I’m Lolly Meadows... the famous bearded lady. I’m an artist, really... you have to be an artist to bear the cross I have to bear. I don’t want anything of you... I only want to be kind. I know what kindness is; not that I’ve had much of it myself. When I heard you scream... saw how lovely you were... I thought I’d see if I could help you. There’s not much I can do, but we girls... if we can’t help each other in our troubles...’

Carol dropped back flat on the bed.

‘I told them where he was,’ she moaned. ‘I thought nothing could make me tell, but I hadn’t the courage... I told them and they’ve gone after him... and I love him so.’

Miss Lolly came nearer.

‘You mustn’t excite yourself,’ she said. ‘I heard them... they said they didn’t expect to find him. I’ll get you a cup of tea.’

‘Help me get away from here,’ Carol cried, sitting up. ‘Please help me to get away. Don’t let them keep me here. I must get back to Steve. They shot him. I left him in a wood, and they’re going there to finish him.’

Miss Lolly’s eyes showed her shocked fear.

‘Oh, I never interfere,’ she said quickly. ‘I want to make your stay comfortable. I want to do what I can for you, but I don’t meddle. I couldn’t help you to leave here... that would be meddling.’