Fire And Hemlock Part 8

Someone had given Granny a basket of windfall apples. Granny was very good at peeling them in one entire long strip. "There," she would say, pa.s.sing Polly a heavy green curl, "throw it over your left shoulder and it'll make the initials of the man you're going to marry."

Polly threw strip after strip of peeling, but they never did make anything except playthings for Mintchoc. Each one broke up and splattered about the kitchen floor into circles and lines that even Granny had to admit were meaningless. "You see? I'm not going to marry," Polly said, secure in the knowledge she would be a hero instead.

When Polly went home at the end of summer, she found everything had been moved out of her room into the tiny room at the back. Ivy, with a duster tied round her head, was briskly and cheerfully painting the room that had been Polly's.

"You're in there from now on," she told Polly, pointing to the tiny room with her paintbrush. "We're going to take in lodgers. They'll have to have this room because that one's too small."

Polly looked round the echoing empty square of her old room. The flowery paper was not quite hidden under white paint, and there were drips on the bare boards. "My folder!" she said. "With my soldiers in!"

"All through there," said Ivy. "I put everything on the floor. You can make yourself useful by sorting your junk out." She sat back on her heels and looked at the not quite white wall discontentedly. "It needs one other coat at least."

The folder was there when Polly raced through to look, with the soldiers safely in it. But a lot of her other things were not.

"No, I threw all the babyish things away," Ivy said when Polly raced back to ask. "You're a big girl now and you don't need them. Really, Polly, you do criticize! I'm trying so hard. I've just pulled myself together and taken a big step, and all I get is Where's mydollhouse?" Where's mydollhouse?"

"But Dad only gave gave me the dollhouse at Christmas!" Polly protested. me the dollhouse at Christmas!" Polly protested.

"And the skirting board needs two more coats," said Ivy. "Yes, I know. Don't bother me now, Polly."

Later that day, when Polly had mournfully tidied what were left of her things-Mum had left the books and papers because they were grownup, and the sewing machine because that was almost real, but not much else-Ivy decided Polly needed an explanation.

"It's like this," she said, clutching a teacup with both painty hands. "Happiness is something you have to go out and get, Polly. It won't come to you, not in this this world. I've suddenly seen that I've been so wrong all these months, looking back to my marriage and regretting it all. I was trying to put the clock back, Polly. Now I'm going forward again, and we're both going to have a new, happy life. We'll have a lodger for money, and you'll be at the new school-" world. I've suddenly seen that I've been so wrong all these months, looking back to my marriage and regretting it all. I was trying to put the clock back, Polly. Now I'm going forward again, and we're both going to have a new, happy life. We'll have a lodger for money, and you'll be at the new school-"

"When are we going to get my uniform?" Polly asked. "We start next week."

"Tomorrow," said Ivy. "Polly, I'm going to make that room so nice! I've got some lovely curtains and a matching bedspread. If I make it nice enough, I can charge a lot for it. It'll be good for us both, having someone else in the house to talk to."

In the end, it was Granny who took Polly to buy school clothes. Ivy was too busy painting. "Don't blame her, Polly," Granny said. "She's been very down, and she's trying to pull herself up. Ivy's got character-I'll give her that. Try and understand."

Polly did try to understand. She was positively saintly, she thought, not mentioning all the other things Ivy had thrown away. But she did regret her old room. The new little one was like a crowded box, and the water cistern chuckled loudly all night from a cupboard in the corner. Polly would have been very miserable in it, but for the excitement of starting at Manor Road School.

She loved it. The whole first term was like a long, long birthday party. There was a crowd of new friends, and a ma.s.s of new thingsto do, new ways of speaking, new ways of thinking. There was also Nina. Polly wondered how she could have forgotten how largely Nina figured in her life at Manor Road. Nina was the only other girl who came on from Junior School to Manor Road with Polly. The others had all gone to Miles End, which was said to be rough.

Nina set out to astound and shock and lead. After trying one or two other things, she came to school with a book she had found in her aunt's house. It was called Popular Beliefs Popular Beliefs. "I'm starting a Superst.i.tion Club," she said. "You join by having a superst.i.tion which isn't in this book."

Polly became a founder member of the club the same day. She had developed a habit of taking her opal pendant out from under her new school tie and twiddling it during lessons. She did it in French. The French master told her that jewelry was not allowed and she must either put it away or describe it to him in French.

"It's not jewelry! It's lucky!" Polly exclaimed indignantly. "It used to be Granny's mother's!"

Nina pa.s.sed her a note enrolling her in the Superst.i.tion Club on the spot.

The club became all the rage in the course of a week. Everyone joined. The rules were to believe all the superst.i.tions in Nina's book and to find as many more as you could. If you found ten new superst.i.tions, you received the Order of the Black Cat, personally drawn by Nina on a page of her rough note pad. People's blazers soon became decorated with rusty pins they had picked up, their hands black with rescuing pieces of coal, and their shoulders sprinkled with spilled salt every lunch hour. Funerals and ambulances caused hands to leap to collars, and a number of people nearly got knocked down in the street, either by not walking under ladders or by going out of their way in order to be able to say a black cat had crossed their path. Two people were found crying in the cloakrooms because they had broken a mirror. Everyone's pockets became loaded with lucky charms, lucky bus tickets, and lucky mascots. And as the club grew, a wave of superst.i.tion grew with it, mounted, and spread far beyond the club, right up to the senior end of the school, until it mixed with everything everyonedid. Polly spared a little attention for music too. She had joined the choir, and enrolled for free violin lessons, because she knew next to nothing about music. She wanted to learn. Listening to Mr. Lynn talking about music to Mary Fields had made her feel really stupid.

But she did not think much about Mr. Lynn otherwise, even though he wrote her two quite long letters around then. One letter was a rewriting of the giant story, making Mr. Piper's shop much more like the real one they had found in Stow-on-the-Water. Polly preferred the second letter, which was about Tan Coul, Hero, and Tan Hanivar hunting for treasure in some caves. Here Tan Hanivar accidentally turned into a dragon, and the other two nearly killed him before they realized. Yes, but just a bit silly, Polly thought, and put the letters away in her folder without answering them. She was really far more interested in the Superst.i.tion Club.

The club gained a mighty boost from the approach of Halloween. By then everyone in the school was a quivering ma.s.s of strange beliefs. Spirits were talked of, and auras, and astral bodies, and someone saw a ghost down near the Biology Lab. And on Halloween itself a magpie landed on the windowsill during School a.s.sembly. a.s.sembly stopped short while everyone scuffled to cross fingers, touch wood, and intone, "h.e.l.lo, Mr. Magpie, how's your wife?" The Headmaster said irritable, sensible things. The magpie flew away in a frightened whirl of black and white, and nothing much happened, either lucky or unlucky.

After that, Nina said she was tired of the club. She was possibly rather frightened by its success. But it is easier to start something than stop it. The superst.i.tion simply took a new turn and became a craze for fortune-telling. The day the craze started, Polly had her fortune told three times, once by paper top, once by palmistry, and once with a pack of cards. The next day she had it done by tea leaves and I Ching. Each one came out different. They varied between "Never marry for money" from the paper top to "To take a maiden to wife brings good fortune" from the Book of Changes. Then she tried the three bowls. One was full of water, one half full, and one empty. You asked a question, shut your eyes, and dipped your hand. The full and the empty bowls were Yes and No. The one half full was Maybe. It became a common sight to see girlssquatting like witches around plastic cups of water, breathlessly watching someone's groping hand. Polly did it frequently. But no matter how often she tried, she always got her hand in half-full, lukewarm Maybe. She gave up and put her name down for the Prefects' mirror instead.

The Prefects were doing a roaring trade, charging ten pence a look, and the waiting list was long. You looked in the mirror in a nearly dark room-full of other people queuing for their turns, which perhaps accounted for it-and you saw the face of someone behind your reflection who was going to Influence Your Life. Unfortunately, by this time the teachers had had enough. The Staff Room contained stacks of confiscated cards, dice, dowsing twigs, bowls, and even two crystal b.a.l.l.s. Polly was queuing for her turn at the mirror when she distinctly saw the face of the Deputy Head appear in it behind the boy who was looking at that moment. It was clear he was real. He drew back the curtains, took down the mirror, and turned everyone out of the room except the Prefects. Someone who kept their ear to the door after it was shut said they were glad they were not those Prefects. And the Headmaster said, "This must stop."

It didn't straightaway, of course. But the frenzy seemed to be over. Nina turned her attention to the Stamp Club. Polly turned hers to the violin-or she tried to. But it was a complete disaster. She was hopeless. As soon as she had the violin in her hands, she became slow, foolish, and clumsy. Long after the other learners were playing proper tunes, Polly sc.r.a.ped and wailed and made noises like a sea lion in distress. Strings broke under her fumbling fingers. Hairs streamed from her bow and got mixed up with her own hair. She hated practicing too. She had to do it at school because Ivy forbade it at home.

"I'm not having the lodger disturbed with that noise," she said. No lodger had yet appeared, but Ivy was always considering him as if he was there.

Soon after the affair of the Prefects' mirror, the violin teacher suggested Polly give up the violin. "I don't think it's your instrument," she said. "How about trying the flute cla.s.s?"

But Ivy said, "Tootling away, disturbing the lodger! No way!"

So that was that. Polly could not bear to write to Mr. Lynn about her failure, so she joined the Indoor Athletics and did not write to him at all. She was therefore very ashamed, one morning in December, to find a postcard of Bristol Suspension Bridge lying on the doormat with the other post. She picked it up and turned it over, expecting it to be from Mr. Lynn. It was not. It was from Dad, addressed to Ivy and written in angry capital letters that Polly could not help reading.

WHAT'S ALL THIS, IVY?I'VE TOLD YOU I WANT TO COME BACK!!!.

REG.

"I'll have that, Polly," Ivy said, coming up behind Polly on her way out to work. She took it from Polly's fingers with a s.n.a.t.c.h.

"I saw," said Polly. "Dad wants to come back."

"He meant you to see," Ivy said in her stoniest way. "And he's not coming." She opened the front door to go out.

Polly surprised herself by screaming at Ivy. "You're horrible! You're hard! You're unforgiving! He wants wants to come back and you won't let him!" Ivy looked round at her, holding the door open, and looked for a moment as if she was going to smack Polly. Then she simply slammed the door in Polly's face. "I hate you!" Polly screamed to the footsteps going away behind the front door. That surprised her too. She stood for a while and wondered if it were true. It did not seem to be, to her relief. Just something you shout, she thought. I'm glad. to come back and you won't let him!" Ivy looked round at her, holding the door open, and looked for a moment as if she was going to smack Polly. Then she simply slammed the door in Polly's face. "I hate you!" Polly screamed to the footsteps going away behind the front door. That surprised her too. She stood for a while and wondered if it were true. It did not seem to be, to her relief. Just something you shout, she thought. I'm glad.

2.

She had not picked a rose, a rose, A rose but barely one, When up and started young Tam Lin TAM LIN.

The lodger came about a week later. He was a fattish, cheery man, full of energy, called David Bragge, who worked on the Middleton Star Middleton Star. He had been divorced too, Ivy said, and he knew how it felt. Polly was shy of him. David made jokes all the time, and Polly never understood them. She was shy of his pink, hairy arms-which she saw a lot of, because David sat watching television with his shirt-sleeves rolled up whenever he was in-and she was shy of his loud, cracking laugh. Ivy made her shyer still by making a great fuss of the lodger and cooking him huge meals.

"We shall be happy now, you'll see," Ivy said. Ivy did seem happy. David persuaded her to go down to the pub with him most evenings, and she seemed to like that. Polly was glad. She had a peaceful, empty house to do her homework in, which made it a good thing all round.

At school the fortune-telling craze was dying away at last.

Everyone was rehearsing hard for the Carol Concert. Polly stayed late for choir practice two evenings a week. One evening she came latish out of the school gates with Nina, to find herself being waited for. A familiar figure was stamping its feet outside, looking rather withered with the cold but very glad to see her. Dad. Polly set out to run toward him, paused, and then walked up to him with both hands held out. She felt rather ridiculous, but that was the way it took her.

"Aren't you glad to see me?" Dad asked, taking her held-out hands.

"You know I am," Polly said. She was very conscious of Nina. Nina stood and stared a moment and then walked off with some other girls. When Nina had gone, Polly could smile. Dad smiled too, his well-known merry smile. He looked just the same, except that his eyes were more crinkled. "Have you come to meet me?" she asked.

He nodded. "Let's go home. You've got a key, haven't you?"

"Oh thank goodness!" Polly said. "It's been so strange!"

They walked home hand in hand. Dad was obviously glad to see her. He kept looking at her and smiling. "You have grown, Polly."

"Of course. What did you expect?" Polly said happily. "Why areyou coming home? Has Joanna Renton gone off you?"

"Well you could say that," he said, sounding rather uncomfortable. "I didn't know you knew about her."

"Only a bit," Polly a.s.sured him, as if that made it all right. She was so happy that she had gone quiet all over. She felt like someone listening to great chords of music that were not to be interrupted by speaking. They walked most of the way home without saying a word, even though Polly's mind was crowded with things she wanted to tell Dad. She could tell him all that later. As they turned into their street, she said, out of the quiet, "Now you're back we don't need David Bragge, do we? Will you tell him to go?"

Dad half stopped walking. "David? Is he he there?" there?"

They went on more slowly, and Polly felt more thoughtful than quiet. It was the first sign she had had that David Bragge was rather more than just a lodger. Still, she thought, it was bound to be all right now. She unlocked the door and they went indoors. Dad, now she saw him in the hall light, looked rather thin and threadbare. She could see one or two gray hairs glinting on his head, mixed into the thick curls Mum used to call Dad's halo.

Mum was just coming downstairs. She stopped like a statue when she saw them. "Oh no!" she said. "Isn't that just like you, Reg! Sneaking in on Polly's coattails! What do you want this time?"

"What do you expect," Dad said, quite mildly for him, "when you won't answer any of my letters? Ivy, I told you I want to come back. Can't we talk about it at least?"

"No," Ivy said, and began to come downstairs like a statue walking.

Polly felt Dad move to back away and manage to stand still. "What's wrong with you, Ivy?" he said. "You've just shut down on me. You can't do that. You have to talk."

"All right," Ivy said stonily. "Talk if you must. Go in the living room and wait."

"Why?" Dad, and Polly too, glanced at the living room. The television was on in there, and they could see one of David's pink arms as he sat watching it.

"Because I'm going to phone your mother to come and take Polly away first," Ivy said implacably. "I'm not having her here for you to get round. Go on in."

Dad went into the living room, looking determined and a little nervous. He looked almost out of place there, Polly thought in some surprise. As Ivy went to the phone and dialed Granny's number, she heard David say, with one of his laughs, "An attack of the prodigals, eh, old son?"

"Something like that," Dad answered as he sat down. "None of your d.a.m.n business, is it?"

"Oh, you knew?" Mum said to the phone. "You would! Yes, of course he's here. And yes, I do want you to fetch her now. She thinks he's the bee's knees, and I'm not having it!" She put the phone down and turned to Polly. There was an unusual look on Ivy's face, as if she pitied Polly. "You shouldn't let people play on your feelings, my love," she said. "In this world you get taken to the cleaners for having a soft heart. All he wanted was to get in this house, you know."

"Yes," Polly said dismally.

After what seemed an age, during which everyone simply waited, Granny arrived and took Polly away. Polly spent the rest of the month at Granny's and did not go home again till after Christmas. She also stopped being friends with Nina. Nina came up to her at school the next day and said, "You'll get into trouble. You're not supposed to go off with strange men."

"I didn't," Polly said. She could not think what Nina meant.

"Yes, you did," said Nina. "Twice. Once with the man at the funeral and then again last night."

"That was my Dad last night!" Polly said.

Nina was astonished. "It never was! He looks quite different!"

"He-does-not!" Polly shouted. She turned and walked away from Nina. But that was only annoyance, like the way she had shouted at Ivy. The real thing that made her stop speaking to Nina was the way people kept coming up-to her all day, saying, "Is it true what Nina says-you come from a broken home?" Polly shouted. She turned and walked away from Nina. But that was only annoyance, like the way she had shouted at Ivy. The real thing that made her stop speaking to Nina was the way people kept coming up-to her all day, saying, "Is it true what Nina says-you come from a broken home?"

"Broken right in half," Polly replied to each one. "There's a hole in the middle where the garden is. You get rained on trying to go upstairs."

She walked home to Granny's trying not to cry. She lay in bed that night, staring at her Fire and Hemlock Fire and Hemlock picture, and decided she would definitely climb the wall into Hunsdon House as soon as term was over. She was not quite sure what this had to do with anything, except that it did. She hoped Mr. Leroy would catch her doing it. She would have liked to go for him the way she had gone for Mira Anderton. She wanted to fight someone. But Granny remarked that the house was still shut up. "They can afford to go away to the sun," she said. "Pots of money-rolling in it." picture, and decided she would definitely climb the wall into Hunsdon House as soon as term was over. She was not quite sure what this had to do with anything, except that it did. She hoped Mr. Leroy would catch her doing it. She would have liked to go for him the way she had gone for Mira Anderton. She wanted to fight someone. But Granny remarked that the house was still shut up. "They can afford to go away to the sun," she said. "Pots of money-rolling in it."

The sun was shining the first day of the holidays, when Polly went down the road to the big gates of the house. It was a frosty sun, melting bleakly from streaks of hard gray cloud. The big leaves of the laurel bushes overhanging the drive of Hunsdon House were fringed round the edges with frost. Polly blew on her gloves to encourage herself, spat for luck, and ran at the wall where she had measured it in the summer. It was as easy as climbing wallbars. She was up in a second, unsticking her gloves from the frost at the top of the wall, and swinging over and down. Crunch. Into dead leaves under the trees. She crept crunching forward to the front of the house.

There it was, shuttered, sad and majestic. Even so, Polly at first did not dare come out from among the trees, in case there was someone inside it.

The Perry Leroys were clearly rich enough to have the garden looked after while they were not using the house. Someone had pruned the roses and cut back the lavender hedges beyond. It made the garden seem empty and much smaller. Unless, Polly thought as she tiptoed through, it was simply that she had grown. She looked back at the blind yellow pile of the house. That still seemed big, although the garden had shrunk. A mere few steps brought her to the empty concrete oblong that should have been a pond. Remembering that something had seemed to happen to that pond before, Polly stood for a while, watching it. But it remained a frosty oblong of concrete. She went past it, through further shrubs, untilher way was blocked by the wire netting round a tennis court. Now she had a choice: to go back or to cross a slope of frozen lawn toward the house.

Polly hesitated. Crossing the lawn really would bring her out into the open. She stood in the bushes and watched the house carefully. And it was empty. Lived-in houses give you a sense of life, and Hunsdon House was dead, dead as the bare twigs of the pruned roses. The part facing her was a french window with three steps leading up to it. At the bottom of the steps were the two pillars, each holding a vase. And the window beyond was shuttered and dead like all the others.

"Come on," Polly said out loud. "Behave like a trainee-hero for once!"

She walked up the lawn toward the steps with the two vases as if she had a perfect right to be there. Under her feet the frozen gra.s.s made slow, wheezing munches, like somebody chewing ice cubes. Funny, Polly thought as her feet munched. She had remembered the steps with vases as leading up to a plain door, but they clearly led up to a shuttered window. The vases, when Polly reached them, still stood as she and Mr. Lynn had left them, now said one, glittering with frost, here said the other. By stretching her arms to their very widest, Polly could rest a glove on each one. She gave each an experimental push. Then a harder pull, the other way. It was no good. She could not budge them. Either they were frozen at the bottoms or Mr. Lynn was a good deal stronger than Polly. Frustrated by this, Polly went between the vases, past the hidden here on the left and the hidden now on the right, and up the steps to the shuttered window. She put her glove on the window's frosted handle and turned it with an angry push. It opened.

Polly recoiled. "I wonder they don't have vandals!" she said. "But I suppose they've locked the shutters inside." To see if this was true, she opened the window wider and shoved at the tall wooden shutter beyond it.

It moved under her hand, folding inward a foot or so. Polly stood very still. The house felt dead, she was sure. There was nothing from the garden except a spa.r.s.e twitter of birds-though when Polly looked round, she was dismayed to see her long line offootprints, green in the white gra.s.s, leading straight to the steps like a pointer.

"So they'll know I was here anyway," she said, and slipped sideways inside, round the shutter. She left the window standing ajar. She did not want to be locked in the house.

She was in the room where the Will had been read. She knew it by the sharp, furry smell from the carpet. When her eyes got used to the dim crack of light from the window, she could see all the comfortable chairs she remembered, but not in lines now. They were arranged to make it a room for gracious living. The door to the hall was open. Polly tiptoed across to it. She felt rather silly tiptoeing, but she could not walk properly, although she could tell the house truly was empty, by the smell and the feel. It was quite warm. That was what gave the carpet the sharp, unused smell. Clearly the riches which paid for the garden to be done could easily afford to keep the heating going all winter too.

The hall was a brighter dimness. Light lived in the shiny floor and in the white paint of the jointed flights of stairs going round the s.p.a.ce and back again. And there were the Ali Baba vases, with their own faint fizz of light from the patterns on them. Polly avoided them rather-she knew they were empty, of course, but they were still big enough to hold a person-and tiptoed to the archway of the dining room. But it was too dark in there and, besides, what Polly wanted was to explore the rooms up the jointed stairs. She sped there, and up the stairs, in a light scudding of feet.

The room at the first landing was a dark hole. It felt bare. Polly could tell that the stacks of pictures had been taken away. She scudded on, up and round a joint, to the next landing, and gently opened the door there. A study of some kind, she thought. Books, leather chairs, a neat desk swam there in the twilight. But there was a bed too. And, as Polly's eyes adjusted, she picked out posters on the walls. The Who, Rolling Stones, David Bowie, and a spiky picture of an unreal landscape labeled Michael Moorc.o.c.k. A boy's room. Polly realized it must be Seb's. She took her head out and closed the door, knowing she was spying.

Guiltily she went up and round to the next joint. The door there was slightly open. Polly slipped through to a short corridor with ablue-gleaming bathroom opening off one side, into a s.p.a.ce of scents and silks. There was a real four-poster bed in here, on a white fluffy carpet. The faint shine of the bed's curtains, the frills at the top and the quilt across it suggested dark-pinkish satin. Polly took her glove off to touch it, and it was was satin. She put the glove on again, because this room was cold. Or maybe it was the thievish way Polly was feeling. She knew this was Laurel's room. It was a big dimness, with rosebuds on the walls, a soft rosy carpet under the bed's white fluffy one, silken chairs. One whole wall was folding cupboards with clothes inside. A second wall had a lot of valuable-looking little pictures hung on it in a pattern. Near the window, instead of the lavish dressing table Polly had expected, there was a curious wooden chest, bent and carved, with silver hairbrushes and pearly-looking combs on it. Above the chest a luminous oval of mirror looked at Polly from the wall. satin. She put the glove on again, because this room was cold. Or maybe it was the thievish way Polly was feeling. She knew this was Laurel's room. It was a big dimness, with rosebuds on the walls, a soft rosy carpet under the bed's white fluffy one, silken chairs. One whole wall was folding cupboards with clothes inside. A second wall had a lot of valuable-looking little pictures hung on it in a pattern. Near the window, instead of the lavish dressing table Polly had expected, there was a curious wooden chest, bent and carved, with silver hairbrushes and pearly-looking combs on it. Above the chest a luminous oval of mirror looked at Polly from the wall.

Polly stood in front of it and looked back at herself in the mirror, surrounded in a dim silver filigree of birds, leaves, and animals. The cracks of light from the shutters made the mirror look dark and deep. Polly's hair blazed white in it, and her face looked shy and wondering, not at all like the face of the trespa.s.ser she was. Over her left shoulder, very clearly, she could see one of the photographs in the pattern of little pictures on the far wall. That made her snort with laughter and the face in the mirror grin, remembering the Prefects' mirror and the face of the Deputy Head.

She turned round to look for the real picture and was rather astonished to see that the wall was too far away for her to pick the little oval photograph out. The pictures seemed just a pattern of blobs from where she stood. She had to go right up to them and search, with her face close to the wall, before she found the right one, near the middle of the pattern. She could still not see it properly. She had to unhook it and carry it into the cracks of light from the window before she could. It was a slightly old-fashioned picture of a mischievously grinning fair-haired boy. Whoever he was, he looked older than Seb, and he was too fair anyway. He was n.o.body Polly knew. Yet there was a sense of familiarity about the photo, as if the mirror trick had worked and Polly was going to know this boy sometime.

Polly stood holding the little oval picture in both gloved hands, struggling between her superst.i.tion and her conscience. She was quite sure she was holding something that was going to be important to her, and she was horribly tempted to keep it. On the other hand, it would be stealing if she did. And her conscience went on further and told her that she had already stolen one picture-no, six!-from this house. That jiggery-pokery with the pictures during the funeral, which she had conveniently told herself was a trick Laurel richly deserved, had caused Mr. Lynn to go off with six pictures that should have been Laurel's. Since just one of them had proved valuable enough to pay for a horse, then a car, made it too serious to be a trick. And to steal another one now would be like victimizing Laurel-wronger still.

No. Regretfully Polly crossed the room to hang the photo up again.

Halfway across the room, she heard voices down in the hall. After one moment when she seemed to be dead, Polly came twenty times more alive than normal. Her heart banged a little rapid stutter, like a row of dominoes falling over, and while it did she found she was speeding to the door in long, stealthy steps to look down between the white bars of the banisters. As she went, she heard one of the voices was Mr. Lynn's. It came echoing up quite clearly.

"If you like," she heard Mr. Lynn say. "Though I really don't see what business it is of yours."

The relief Polly felt at knowing his voice vanished when she heard the deep, chesty voice that answered. That was Mr. Leroy's. "Come off it, Tom," this voice said. "Laurel's interests are mine these days. You must have known Laurel would find out in the end. And you must have known she wouldn't like it when she did."

Polly clutched the photo guiltily to her chest and edged forward so that she could see them. They seemed to be standing in the middle of the hall below, side by side rather than face to face, as if they were about to walk into the dining room. The sun must have got round to the french window Polly had left open. A long shaft of light cut through the hall from the living room and fell across both men, so that Polly could see them from the knees up, as if they were floating. It gave both of them a pale, wintry look, particularlyMr. Lynn. He did not seem to be enjoying this meeting at all.

"I suggest you put it right by letting us finance you," said Mr. Leroy.

Spots of light from Mr. Lynn's gla.s.ses dazzled round the hall as he answered, "Thank you, Morton. But I've told you before that I prefer to pay my own way. I'm quite aware of the risk-"