Ruth Rendell: The Thief

She looked round. The footfalls were a woman’s. He was nowhere. He must be at the gate, she thought, and he was. He must have got there while she was having her drink but she hadn’t seen him. She knew he must be there but still she jumped when she saw him. She sat down as far from him as she could get. Boarding began and when she joined the line he came up to her. Turning away, she pretended not to see him but he spoke to her. There was no escape.

‘Remember me?’ he said.

She nodded, her mouth dry.

‘I think you should say you’re sorry for what you said to me.’

She found a voice, a little shrill voice. ‘I will not! That dragon is lovely beside you. Now go away.’

He shouted at her. ‘You bitch! You stuck-up bitch!’

One of the airport staff came up to them. ‘Now, sir, please. This won’t do. Please keep your voice down.’

‘Tell her,’ Lant said. ‘She’s my partner. She flies club and makes me fly economy. How about that?’

Polly felt the tears come into her eyes. Her ‘I’m not, I didn’t,’ sounded feeble. ‘Let’s just get on the aircraft,’ she said, a sob in her voice.

And when they did, she was sent to the left and Lant to the right. He was quiet and meek now. He had got what he wanted and made the flight crew think she was his partner. She could see that in the looks they gave her. The stewardess thought she and Lant were a couple but she had made herself the boss and she had the money. What sort of woman would make her husband or lover or boyfriend travel economy while she went club? No wonder they all looked at her like that.

Still he had gone and had no reason to come down here. Early in the morning she would be in London and she would never see him again. Alex would be there to meet her. If only he were with her now! She longed to see him. If he were with her now, to hold her hand, to comfort her, to speak to Lant in the way only he could, calmly, quietly but very sternly. She did up her seatbelt, closed her eyes, pretended Lant wasn’t there.

The flight took off. The aircraft came through the cloud cover into a clear blue sky. Polly had a pre-dinner drink and a small bottle of wine with her dinner. It would help her to sleep. Just before they put out the cabin lights, the stewardess came up to her and handed her a piece of paper.

‘Your partner asked me to give you this.’

Polly fancied her tone was cold.

‘Thank you.’

Why was the woman standing there?

‘Can I get you anything before we dim the lights?’

‘No, thank you. I’m fine.’

The piece of paper was folded once. She was sure the stewardess had read it. Of course she had. Polly opened it. Don’t binge-drink, it said. You are an alcoholic and I am keeping my eye on you.

She would have liked to kill him. If he were beside her now she would hit him. She couldn’t help herself. Often she slept on flights but now she couldn’t. She kept thinking of the stewardess reading that note, telling the rest of the crew. Maybe Trevor Lant talked to them about her and asked them to keep an eye on her. Maybe he talked to the people next to him, pointed her out, said she was a worry to him. Hit him, go down there and hit him, if only she dared. She lay awake all night, turning from side to side, thinking of Auntie Pauline hitting her in the garden. And what she had done. Long ago, twenty years ago, but still fresh in her mind.

Another note came in the morning. This time she didn’t look at it. She knew it would be about her drinking. She meant to stop anyway, not because of Lant but because Alex didn’t like it. Now she told herself that the club class would get off first. When they landed she would be among the first ten or twelve to get off. He would be far behind.

Getting up and moving to the exit, she took care not to look to her left. She kept her eyes fixed ahead. She was the fifth person to step off the aircraft and she walked fast. Along the passages, following the signs, keeping in fifth place, joining the EU line, showing her passport and passing through. Then and only then she looked back. Lant was nowhere to be seen.

Down the ramp to the baggage hall. Take a trolley. The bags from the New York flight started coming through soon after she got there. For the first time ever her case was one of the first to roll down the belt. She took hold of it and put it on the trolley. As she began to wheel it away she saw the orange one bounce on to the belt. Lant’s orange suitcase with the black trim.

Hatred for him filled her and made her heart pound. She turned round and went back, watching the orange case go round. There was a pale blue one in front of it and a black one behind. Most of the baggage was black. His was the only orange one. She stood there, waiting – for what? For him to come? The bags were coming round again. A grey one first, then a dark red one with a strap round it, then the pale blue one. Without thinking what she was doing, Polly put out her arm, grabbed the orange case by its handle and pulled it off the belt. She put it next to hers on the trolley and wheeled it away. Her heart beat heavily. She was tense with fear and joy. She had done it, she had got back at him. This was her revenge. As soon as she could she would destroy his case.

It was only when she was through Customs that she thought how the orange case would be known everywhere. No one else had one like it. Alex would know it as soon as he saw it. She went into the ladies’ toilet, leaving the trolley outside. With her case and Lant’s inside a cubicle, the door locked, she opened the orange case. No time to see what was in it. She pulled everything out, most of it in plastic bags but dirty clothes as well. On the outward trip her own case had been half-full of presents for Lizzie and other friends. With the presents gone, there was plenty of room. She stuffed Lant’s things in and shut the lid.

The orange case must stay behind. She found a piece of paper in her handbag, and wrote on it Out of Order. She unlocked the door, said to the woman waiting, ‘Don’t go in there. It’s dirty. It’s a mess’, and fixed the notice on the door handle. Hours would pass before they found the orange case.

All his stuff would be rubbish, she thought. Everything he had with him would be rubbish – but not to him. The loss of it would spoil his day and next day and the next. It would cost him a lot of money. It would cause him endless trouble. Good. She would destroy it all. Of course she would. She always destroyed the stuff she took.

It was a long time since she had taken anything. Years. She remembered taking Tom’s Walkman. To get back at him. To have revenge because he told her she was a liar and he couldn’t stand her lying. But this must be the last. Never do it again, she told herself. You are going to be like Alex, honest, truthful, a fit wife for him…

Lant would be in the baggage hall by now. He would be watching all the other cases coming off, all but his. He would go to that lost baggage counter you went to and tell them. It would be a long time before he guessed she had taken it – if he ever did.

Why did I do it? she asked herself as she came out into the cold London air. Why do I do it? Then Alex was there, kissing her, taking her own case from her. She walked beside him to the car.

‘You’re very silent,’ he said. ‘Are you all right?’

‘I’m fine.’

Coming home was better than going away. Polly had felt like this only since she met Alex. Before that, home was just somewhere you slept and maybe ate your breakfast. This house was Alex’s. He had bought it before she knew him and furnished it with things he had chosen carefully in colours he liked. When he first brought her here she had walked round, admiring everything. The people she knew didn’t live in houses like this. It was a grown-up’s house, full of pretty things Alex had looked after, china and glass and books, pictures and green plants, cushions and rugs. Polly knew Alex would have put flowers in the vases to welcome her home. Tulips and daffodils were in the hall, the first thing she saw when he opened the front door.