Ruth Rendell - A Demon in My View

Just as he had thought he would never again see her. But now he had no wish to solve the mystery. It paled into insignificance beside the joy of being with her.

“Helen,” he said, “why are you here now?”

“But you know that,” she said, surprised. “I’m here because you wrote to me.”

“That letter? That stupid letter?”

“Was it? I never saw it. I only know you said you loved me in the first line of it, so I—I ran away!”

She leaned across the table and kissed him. The waitress gave a slight cough and, as they drew apart, placed their plates in front of them.

“I went to work this morning, my first day back. As soon as I got in the phone rang and it was Roger. A letter had come for me with your name and address on the flap and he—he opened it.”

“My name and address on the flap? But I …” He explained how he had enclosed his letter to her in one to Mrs. Pontifex.

“Oh, I see. We never meant to go there for Christmas this year. She must have copied your name and address from the letter to her and forwarded it. I don’t know. I told you, I didn’t see it. I went out before the post came. Roger was—he was frightening with rage. I’ve heard him in some rages, I’ve seen him, when he’s threatened to kill me and himself, but I’ve never heard him like that. He just read that first line and then he sort of spat out, ‘From your lover.’ He said, ‘You’re to go downstairs and wait outside the building for me, Helen. If you’re not there I’ll come up, but you’d better be there unless you want a public scene. I shan’t flinch from telling anyone in that building what you are.’

“He said he’d be there in the car in five minutes, Tony. I knew it couldn’t take him more than five minutes and I was terrified of what he’d do. I grabbed my coat and my handbag and I rushed out and down the stairs. I remember calling out I’d had bad news and had to go.

“When I got into the street I was afraid to wait there even for a second. I crossed the road and ran down a side street, and then a taxi came and I said, ‘Temple Meads!’ because I knew I must go to London and you. You loved me, you’d said you did, so everything was all right at last.

“I didn’t bother to queue up for a ticket. I could hear an announcer saying, ‘The train standing at platform two is the nine fifty-one for London, calling at Bath, Swindon and Reading.’ It was nine-fifty then and I jumped on that train. I had to buy a ticket when the man came round and it took all the money I’d got but for five pence. I hadn’t got a chequebook or a bank card or anything. Oh, Tony, I’m entirely skint, I’ve got just what I stand up in.

“When I got to Paddington I found a bus going to Kenbourne Vale Garage but I hadn’t got enough money to get further than to Kensal Rise. So I walked the rest.”

“You walked? Here from Kensal Rise?”

She smiled at his dismay. “Out in the cold, cold snow and without any money. All I needed was a baby in my arms. I went into a news agent’s and looked up the route in a guide. I was going to go to Trinity Road but then I thought you might be here. So I came here and here I am.” Her eyes were bright, the pupils mirrors in which, at last, he could see his own face reflected. “Are you pleased?” she said.

“Helen, I was half dead with misery and loneliness and you ask me if I’m pleased?”

“I only wish,” she said, “that I’d seen your letter. I don’t suppose I ever shall now and I’d waited so long for it. Can you remember what you wrote?”

“No,” he lied. “No, only that it was nonsense. You had the only good bit in the first line.”

She sighed, but it was a sigh of happiness. “Tony, what are we going to do? Where shall we go?”

“Who cares? Somewhere, anywhere. We shall survive. Right now we’ll go to Trinity Road.”

As he spoke the name he remembered. It was nearly three o’clock and he had delayed long enough. He put an arm round her shoulders, helped her to her feet. “Come along, my love, we’re going to Trinity Road, but we’ll take in an errand I have to do on the way.”

Behind the curtains Arthur had sat all day, breaking his vigil every half-hour or so to examine his face in the bathroom mirror. Now, at three o’clock, he saw Stanley Caspian’s car draw up and park in front of one of the houses on the odd-numbered side. A man was coming to view Flat 1, and in a moment this man and Stanley would come into the house. Arthur watched the car but he could only see Stanley in it, sitting in the driving seat, his bulk and the bikini doll impeding further view. Perhaps he had brought the man with him or perhaps he was simply waiting for the new tenant to arrive for his appointment. Arthur went back to the bathroom. Already, so early, the winter light was beginning to fade. If Stanley did happen to call on him, if he had to show his face, perhaps those dreadful marks would pass unnoticed.…

As he came out of the bathroom his doorbell rang. The sound reverberated through Arthur’s body and he gave a tremendous start. He stood stock still in the hall. It was evident what had happened. Stanley had forgotten his key. Let him go home and fetch it then. The bell rang again, insistently, and Arthur could picture Stanley’s fat finger pressed hard and impatiently on the push. He forced himself to go back into the living room and look out of the window. Stanley’s car was empty. At any rate, it must be he. No police cars anywhere, no parked vehicles but Stanley’s and a couple of vans and a grey convertible. Another long ring fetched him back into the hall. He must answer it, for it would look odder if he didn’t. But he was supposed to be ill and must give the appearance of having been got out of bed. Quickly, though he was shaking, he slipped off his jacket and took his dressing gown from the hook behind the bedroom door. A handkerchief to his face, he let himself out of the flat and went downstairs.

Outlined behind the red and green glass panels was the shape of a heavy, thick-set man. It must be Stanley. Arthur stood behind the door and pulled it open towards him. The man marched in, looked to the right, then to the left where Arthur stood, took the edge of the door in both hands and slammed it shut as violently as Jonathan Dean had slammed it in the past.

He was youngish, dark, and he was in the grip of an emotion greater even than Arthur’s fear. Arthur didn’t know what this emotion was, but he knew a policeman wouldn’t look like this, stand trembling and wide-eyed and wild like this. Because the hall was shadowy, lit with a misty redness and greenness, he took the handkerchief away from his face and stepped back.

“Is your name Johnson?”

“Yes,” said Arthur.

“A. Johnson?”

Arthur nodded, mystified, for the man peered at him incredulously. “My God, an old man! It’s unbelievable.” But he did believe and when he said hoarsely, “Where is she?” Arthur also knew and believed.

Once it would have been threatening, dreadful. Now it was only a relief. “You want the other Johnson,” Arthur said coldly and stiffly. “Sit down and wait for him if you like. It’s no business of mine.”

“The other Johnson? Don’t give me that.” His eyes travelled over Arthur’s dressing gown. He clenched his fists and said again, “Where is she?”

Arthur turned his back and climbed the stairs. He must get to his flat, shut himself in and pray that Stanley would soon come to turn this intruder out before violence drew the police. And now, realising what could happen, he ran up the second flight to push open his own front door. A cry of dread broke from him. He had no key, hadn’t dropped the latch, and the door had closed fast behind him.