Her lips were almost too swollen to let her speak.
‘Please … will you get me to the hospital.’
‘Jeannie!’
She collapsed in a dead weight in his arms, and he didn’t know whether she heard him speak her name before she lost consciousness. He carried her to the car and laid her on the back seat.
V
Through the evening Laura felt as if she and Phil were conducting a private conversation in which Ed had no part. It was not that Ed was not talking ‒ most of the talk came from him; there was a wordless communication between her and Phil, conveyed in the attitudes and opinions they had in common, the language of show business, the quick camaraderie from which Ed was excluded. With Phil as her audience Laura had sparked into life, and she enjoyed playing the two men against each other. She knew she had never been a witty woman, but this evening her comments almost had wit, a rather malicious wit that took Ed as its target. In this she was following Phil, who seemed to grow more charmingly evasive, more adroit as Ed’s insistent probing skirted around the matter of whether or not Conrad would agree to do the television series for Amtec. It was the spectacle of elusive talent being pursued by the ponderous weight of corporate might and money. It was a teasing, deliberately provocative game in which Ed was more and more at a disadvantage. Never, it seemed to Laura, had she and Ed been farther from one another; her sympathies belonged on Phil’s side of the game, and she did not care that Ed must see it. Towards midnight, as she rose and refilled the brandy glasses, Laura thought that for once she might see Ed’s composure crack. He swallowed his brandy quickly, and there was a small sense of danger which she enjoyed. She had a feeling that the evening was approaching some kind of a crisis.
So it was almost an anti-climax when they heard the sounds of the car being driven at high speed on the dirt road. The crisis came from without, and it almost disappointed Laura.
Ed had risen and gone to open the door. Laura listened to the car door bang, and a few seconds later Steve Dexter appeared in the light from the doorway. He strode into the room without preliminaries, nodding briefly to Laura and to Phil. But he spoke to Ed.
‘I’m glad you weren’t in bed. There’s trouble.’
‘Trouble?’
‘Jeannie Talbot’s been beaten up and raped on the back road down to the White farm. She says it was two men from the construction camp.’
‘Jesus!’ The word ripped out of Ed. For a second his face registered his disgust, his unwillingness to admit this fresh problem, his annoyance. And then immediately all this was overcome. ‘Where is she?’ His tone was thoughtful.
‘At the Kempton General. I don’t think she’s in too bad shape, but there has to be evidence from the doctors … all that stuff. She says she was pulled into the car as she was walking home from Carter’s. Then they drove to this back road …’
‘Who found her?’
‘Mal Hamilton … he’d been visiting at our house, and he’d left his car on the road all afternoon. He walked back to get it.’
‘How did you hear it?’
‘The state troopers came to pick up Nell and take her to the hospital.’
‘And the girl’s made an identification?’
‘She knew the two men.’
‘Well, then!’ Ed snapped his fingers. ‘Let’s keep clear of this! The construction camp isn’t Amtec’s responsibility. Those men are hired by the contractors. Then main thing is not to imply any responsibility … let the lawyers fight over it later, if there is a fight, but don’t make any move that looks like an admission.’
‘But!’
Ed gestured to dismiss Steve’s interruption. ‘Oh, come on, Steve! ‒ this is old stuff with Amtec. We’ve had everything in our time ‒ rapes and paternity suits and damage claims. We’ve learned to make the minimum gesture, and stay clear.’
Steve’s face tightened. ‘Ed, I didn’t come here to listen to the past history of Amtec’s lawsuits. I’m here to tell you exactly how Amtec has to stand in this business. You have a moral commitment here, if not a legal one ‒ or you might as well forget all the public relations work Amtec has done in this town. You won’t be able to buy public opinion back if you don’t stand by Jeannie Talbot now. Ted Talbot’s a poor man, and he hasn’t much love for Amtec … but he and his family are some of the most respected people around here. And that includes Jeannie!’
‘The men came from the construction camp,’ Ed repeated.
‘Amtec brought them here. That’s all Burnham Falls is going to think of. And it’s Amtec who has to stay here after the contractors have packed up and gone. I’m telling you how you’ve got to play this thing, Ed. There’s no other way if you mean to stay in Burnham Falls.’
Irritably Ed went and got a cigarette from the box on the table. He seemed to have forgotten Laura, and even Phil Conrad. They all stood about, waiting for him to light the cigarette, waiting for him to speak ‒ Steve with his tense, worried face, Laura looking weary, and Conrad with the air of someone who tried to efface himself from a family quarrel. Finally Ed turned back to Steve.
‘O.K. … Do what you think best. Call in another doctor, if that’s necessary. You can tell the Press you’re authorised to make statements for Amtec. Only, for God’s sake, don’t get us in too deep.’
‘That wasn’t what I meant. I think you should come, Ed. You’ll have to find the right things to say to her parents. We should go to the hospital first, and then back to the construction camp. The troopers are there now.’
Ed hesitated a moment longer, and then he went silently and got his jacket from the back of the chair. Holding it in his hand, he looked back at Steve.
‘Are you sure you’re not getting your concern for Amtec mixed up in your concern for the Talbots. She is the same one who was helping at your house last night, isn’t she?’
Laura suddenly came alert. ‘That girl! That’s Selma’s daughter, the one who works in the drug store.’
Steve nodded, but he looked at Ed. ‘I can’t tell you, right now, where concern for one begins and the other ends. A town like Burnham Falls is too small to let them be entirely separate.’ He stopped talking abruptly, as if he were wearied and annoyed by the questioning. He watched Ed putting on his jacket, and filling his cigarette case. Then he said impatiently, ‘Let’s go, Ed. The sooner we’re at the hospital, the better.’
Laura took a step forward. ‘Shall I come?’
Ed waved his hand in dismissal. ‘No ‒ you won’t be needed.’ He turned to Conrad. ‘I’m sorry this happened, Phil. It kind of messes up your week-end. But Laura will take care of you. I expect I’ll be pretty tied up to-morrow…’
Steve had the door open. He nodded curtly towards the others. ‘Good night.’
Ed followed him quickly down the steps to the car.
When they were gone, Laura and Phil were alone together in a kind of communication that had strengthened vastly in the few hours that had lapsed since they had sat watching the light fade from the lake. The sense of crisis that had been building all evening had not been resolved, though; it had not disappeared in the kind of shock wave that had hit with the news of what had happened to Jeannie.
Laura sank down on the sofa before the empty fireplace.
‘Give me a cigarette, will you, Phil?’
He sat beside her as he lighted it, then flicked the match on to the hearth.
Laura gave a small shudder. ‘That poor girl! … She’s so pretty ‒ and young. Not even twenty yet, I guess. I bought some things from her once …’
She drew on her cigarette. ‘I wonder … everyone in this town goes to the Dexters when there’s trouble. Steve ‒ he’s on the side of the town, against Amtec.’ Her eyes opened wider, and the cigarette was poised, forgotten, between her fingers. ‘He was telling Ed what to do!’
Then she added, ‘If the girl’s right about those men being from the construction camp, there’ll be hell to pay. And Ed will be in the middle of it. The poor kid … just imagine not ev
en having the chance to give …’
With a sharp, decisive movement she flung the cigarette against the hearth with just the same gesture Phil had used. She turned to him, pressing her lips against his hard.
‘Love me, Phil!’ she said.
Eight
Sally Redmond was making breakfast that Sunday morning when Tom came and told her the news. He had driven down to the stationers to get a copy of the New York Times. Through the kitchen window Sally could see him as he walked across the lawn, and she knew that something had disturbed him. She had woken that morning with a pleasurable sense of anticipation and she wanted nothing to spoil the day. After breakfast Tom was driving her to ten o’clock Mass in Burnham Falls, and at noon they were going to the lunch party Alan Taylor was giving the staff of his department at the country club. That afternoon was the play-off of the final round of the golf tournament for which Amtec had donated the purse. It was one of those social occasions where the invitation was almost a command; Sally knew it was important that nothing should spoil it.
She paused in her task of beating eggs as Tom came in. He had left the newspaper in the hall. ‘What’s the matter?’ she said at once.
Leaning against the sink, he told her what he had heard in the stationers about Jeannie Talbot. A slow anguish rose in her as she listened, a sick feeling of fear and pity. She sat down heavily on a chair, clutching her belly protectively, as if to guard the child.
‘Oh, the poor kid,’ she said softly. ‘The poor kid.’ She felt immeasurably older than Jeannie, but now somehow sheltered and inexperienced by comparison. ‘She’s so pretty, Tom ‒ about the loveliest girl I’ve ever seen. And kind of … sweet, you know. I get all my things from her.’
‘I guess she doesn’t look so good now,’ he said. ‘She got beaten up, they say.’
A little moan escaped Sally. ‘Oh!’ She ran her tongue across dry lips. ‘Have they got the men?’
Tom shook his head. ‘I don’t know. Man in the store told me that the two guys have skipped. One of them’s married, but he left his wife behind when he cleared off. They’re supposed to have been drinking …’
She suddenly started to shake. ‘Oh, it’s terrible …’ She rocked herself to and fro, holding her stomach.
Tom held her, his hand stroking her hair. ‘Don’t, honey … don’t upset yourself, hush, now … It wouldn’t have happened if she’d had a little more sense. She shouldn’t have been on that road by herself at night.’
Sally looked up quickly. ‘I’ll bet she’s been taking that walk all her life, and no one ever told her it wasn’t safe. This is the country, Tom. These things aren’t supposed to happen. Jeannie’s house is only ten minutes from the middle of town … there’s only that one empty stretch along the road.’ Her voice rose indignantly.
‘Sal! Don’t upset yourself ‒ please don’t!’
‘And what’s Amtec doing about it?’ she demanded, ignoring him. ‘They’re not going to have the tournament … are they?’
‘Why wouldn’t they?’
‘Well … people ought to be out looking for those two men.’
He shook his head. ‘Sal, be sensible. You can’t turn the whole town into law enforcement officers just like that. They’ve probably gone across state lines now, and the police know how to handle this much better than a whole bunch of civilians fouling things up. There’s not very much anyone can do …’ He stopped, awed and puzzled as he saw the tears start down her face. ‘Sal, baby, what is it? What’s the matter.’
‘Tom ‒ would you take me home for the day? Just for a few hours? Would you do that for me, Tom?’
He stroked her head again. ‘Why, Sal? Why do you want to go home?’
She shook her head, in a bewildered, uncertain fashion. ‘I … don’t know. I just don’t know. I suppose I want to get away from … all this. It’s important, Tom.’ She took his arm urgently. ‘It’s very important.’
He hesitated, shifting his weight a little as he squatted, pondering what she had said. ‘Well … there’s the lunch with the Taylors …’
‘Tell them I’m sick!’ she said promptly. ‘They know I’m pregnant. Or ‒ tell them one of my family’s sick. I’ve never pulled out of anything before ‒ and Mrs. Taylor’s always talking about one’s duty to the family.’ She tightened the pressure on his arm a little to emphasise the point. ‘Please, Tom. It is important to me.’
‘O.K., Sal. If you want it.’ He kissed her gently on the forehead. ‘Hurry up, now. I’ll call the Taylors, and we’ll get on our way.’
She looked up at him. ‘Thank you.’
They hardly talked at all during the drive down to New York. Tom had the radio on, and they listened in silence to a Mozart piano concerto, and Aaron Copeland’s ‘Rodeo’. It was a bright, hot day, with the sky above them, hard like blue enamel. The traffic streaming out of New York was very heavy, the triple lanes of crowded cars heading for lakes and golf courses and picnic grounds. Their side of the road was almost empty, and they drove swiftly and easily. It gave Sally a curious feeling to be going against the crowd, and part of it was her guilt over cancelling the lunch at the country club. On the other hand, the urge towards the familiar pattern of the Sundays in Brooklyn was strong enough to almost stifle the guilt, or at least to keep it under. She knew Tom did not really understand her reaction to the story of Jeannie Talbot’s rape, or why she was certain her horror and fear would be so much softened by contact with her family. He merely accepted her statement that it was so, and now they were driving on this empty side of the road away from the fresh green shade of their valley, towards an airless city apartment.
As they crossed Brooklyn Bridge and the Manhattan towers dropped behind them, Sally looked at her watch.
‘We’re just in time for High Mass at St. Paul’s. Dad always goes to High Mass … I could meet him there.’
As he pulled in at the kerb in front of the grey, tall church, he said to her, ‘Do you want me to come in with you, Sal? You look a bit peaky …’ She seemed pale and weary from the heat.
She shook her head. ‘I’m all right. Dad will be there ‒ he always goes to the same seat. Besides, you’ll take half an hour to find a parking place.’ She kissed him on the cheek, and got out of the car, a little awkwardly and heavily. Then she turned back to him and said, ‘Don’t say anything about Jeannie Talbot to the family.’ He nodded in agreement, and thought as she walked across the pavement towards the steps, that her pregnancy was just beginning to show. Anxiously he watched her mount the steps, and told himself that he had been thoughtless not to have got out of the car and helped her. He thought of her as being vulnerable here in the city, as if she were menaced by the crowded buildings, and the hot pavement, and the noise, by the indifference of the people who stood waiting or gossiping outside the church. He watched her vanish into the dimness beyond the arched doorway. Then he remembered that she had left Burnham Falls to hurry back to the security of these surroundings.
After a ten-minute search he found a place to park. The Brennans’ apartment was only three blocks from St. Paul’s, and so the car could stay there all day. He walked slowly back towards the church. Most of the people who had stood outside were gone. Across the road from the church was a small, rather dark snack bar; he went in there and ordered coffee. The place wasn’t air-conditioned, and the door stood wide open, catching the dust as well as the faint movement of air from the street. There were no other customers, and the counterman had taken apart the slicing machine to clean it, and was listening to a sports forecaster on the tiny radio beside him. Above the monotonous radio voice, Tom could hear drifts of the organ music from the church; sometimes the sound of the traffic in between drowned it out. He had a second cup of coffee, smoked two cigarettes, and then found himself on the street again, crossing towards the church. The choir was singing now, the sound of the organ soft behind it.
Sally and he had been married in the sacristy of St. Paul’s, and that was the only time he had ever been in a Cath
olic church. The doors stood wide open, and the Mass went on, seemingly oblivious of the traffic passing a few feet away. He walked up the steps hesitantly. The church was packed; all the seats were filled, and there was a crowd of people standing at the back. He mingled with them, sniffing the strange smell of incense, listening uncomprehendingly to the Latin of the hymns. It was a large church; the altar seemed a distant place, and the moving, robed figures on it incredibly remote. And yet all about him the people seemed to understand perfectly what was going on; they knelt and stood in unison without anyone telling them to, and they followed the service with the sureness of long custom.
He did not know how long he stood there, except that he came to like the feeling of being in this place. He was anonymous, but not quite alone. And somewhere in the crowd was Sally, and her father Mike, doing exactly what the people about him were doing. As the smooth, uninterrupted flow of the Mass continued, he vaguely began to comprehend why Sally, faced with her fear and horror in Burnham Falls, had turned back to an established rhythm and pattern of things and places she had known and dwelt with all her life. There was a sense of timeless continuity in this church, an acceptance of suffering and joy within the same frame of living. He found himself then thinking of Jeannie Talbot, and wishing she had the comfort of this moment.
When the service was over he went out quickly and stood waiting at the kerb, where he could scan the crowd coming down the steps. When he saw them, he came forward to greet Mike with his hand outstretched. The welcome on Mike’s face was genuine; his worn face was brilliant with pride and pleasure as he held a hand protectively under Sally’s elbow.
‘It’s great to see you, Tom! Why, it’s like old times to have Sally beside me at Mass, and won’t Eileen be surprised… Ah, you’re a good lad, Tom, to bring her down. We miss her, you know …’
Tom made the usual conversation with Mike as they walked the three blocks to the Brennan apartment. But he said nothing at all about having stood at the back of the church.
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