by Ruth Rendell
She called it ‘her’ desk because she used it but in fact it was Alex’s. Almost everything in the house was Alex’s, the carpets, the curtains, the tables and chairs and beds and the kitchen things. It was just as it had been when she moved in with him. She had brought only a radio with her, a lamp or two, and some china and glass. The desk she had taken over because she was the one who sometimes worked from home. As far as she knew, he never went near it.
And he had not been near it that morning. The money was just as she had left it. Why had Lant wanted it in pounds, dollars and euros? It didn’t matter. She found some envelopes, ten of them, and put the money into them, five hundred pounds in each one. Alex might never go near the desk but still the money wasn’t safe there. She took the ten envelopes upstairs and put them in her underwear drawer. Then she checked on Lant’s clothes. They were where she had left them, at the back of her wardrobe. If she did the washing now, his with hers, Alex might see Lant’s yellow shirt and the orange T-shirt when she took them out of the machine. Better wait till tomorrow…
He was back with his paper just as she was coming downstairs. As they walked together into the living room the phone rang. Again she thought, it will be the police. Or Lant himself. Lant. He knows. He must have seen me this morning. She picked up the phone and said, ‘Hello?’
Alex was standing behind her. She said into the phone, ‘Who is that?’ There was silence, no heavy breathing, just silence. ‘Who is it?’ Her voice sounded strained, panicky. There was no answer and she put the phone down.
She turned to Alex. He had sat down, the paper on his knees.
‘Who was that?’ he said. ‘Was it someone you knew?’
‘I don’t know who it was,’ she said, her eyes meeting his. ‘He didn’t speak.’
‘He?’
‘He, she, I told you I don’t know. They didn’t say anything.’
That had been a mistake, a bad mistake for a good liar to make.
Alex said in his quiet gentle way, ‘When my friend George was married to his first wife, they got a lot of phone calls from one of these silent callers. If he answered, there was no one there. When she answered while George was with her she would say ‘Who is that?’ but got no answer either. Of course he didn’t know what she said when he wasn’t with her.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Polly said, though she did.
‘Oh, well,’ said Alex. ‘Soon after that she went off with a chap she’d been seeing.’
After they had had lunch they went to the cinema.
Polly watched the film but after it was over she couldn’t have said what it was about or even who was in it. She was thinking about the money and Lant’s clothes and the phone call. Above all, the phone call. She had never had a phone call like it before. It must have been Lant. He hadn’t said a word, but she knew it was Lant. He might not have seen her that morning, but he had guessed it was she who had taken his case. Somehow he had found out where she lived. Not from the phone book. Only Alex’s name was in the phone book. This address was on her bags while she was waiting in the check-in queues. He must have noted it down either going to New York or coming back. But no, that must have been him in the car park. That must have been him following her. So he would know her address. Why? Because he too would want revenge?
Her address but not her phone number… Directory Enquiries would have given him that. Dial one-one-eight, five hundred. Get the voters’ list online, then give Alex’s name and address. It was easy. What would Lant do next?
Why hadn’t he been to the police? What was he doing? Maybe it was something to do with the money. It might not be his. He might have stolen it. If that was the case, the last people he would go to were the police. That must be the answer.
She felt a huge relief. Lant wouldn’t tell the police because the money wasn’t his. But she must get it back to him. Polly thought of all the films she had seen in which gangsters had money stolen from them. Money they had stolen, but which they still thought of as theirs. The first thing they did was get revenge. Lant would do what her father called taking the law into his own hands…
She must get the money back to him. But she must do it soon. She dared not wait till Monday. That would give him all tomorrow to get his revenge.
She must do it now. Lant might come here and harm her or, worse, Alex. As they came out of the cinema Alex said, ‘I didn’t think much of that, did you? Not the way that woman acted. Real life isn’t like that.’
‘No,’ she said. ‘No, you’re right.’
She could remember very little of it but she knew real life wasn’t like that.
CHAPTER SIX
‘I HAVE TO GO out again,’ she said.
Alex said, ‘OK, I’ll come with you.’
‘Oh, no, I’m going to Louise’s. You won’t want to come. You don’t like her. I borrowed a pashmina from her before I went away and I ought to take it back.’
He said, his face a blank, ‘I promise not to phone her this time.’
Polly didn’t know what to say. She smiled, her face stiff, remembering. It had been Louise’s birthday, her twenty-fifth. Polly had sent her a birthday card but knew nothing about the party. It was Roz who had gone to the party and, thinking Polly couldn’t go, had told her about it next day. Polly remembered how hurt she had been and how angry. Not to be asked, and she was Louise’s best friend! Next time she was at Louise’s she went into her bedroom and took the handbag. On the way home – it was before she knew Alex – she stopped on the canal bridge in the dark. Holding the bag over the side, she let it slip down into the black shiny water. She could still hear the sound of the splash and feel a drop of water from the spray. Later she found out Louise had sent her a card, inviting her, but it had got lost in the post.
‘We’re due at your parents at seven.’ Alex kissed her. ‘Don’t be long.’
‘I won’t,’ she said. His kiss seemed to burn her as if she was guilty of some crime against him.
She was. She had lied to him again. She ran upstairs, took the money out of her underwear drawer and put it into the biggest bag she had. It was only when she was outside and in the car that she realised she had forgotten Lant’s clothes. They were still dirty. She would wash them tomorrow and send them back to him by post. How easy all this would be if she – and Lant – had come back from New York on a Wednesday, if today was Thursday and Alex was at work. As it was, nothing was easy. She mustn’t be long. She mustn’t give Alex reason to suspect her again.
Lant’s bright blue car was still on his driveway, just as it had been in the morning, but the orange carry-on bag was no longer inside it. It was later now than she had been yesterday, very cold but dry and the sky clear. Far above the street lamps and the bare tree branches she could see the curve of a bright white moon. Lights were on upstairs and down in Lant’s house. Behind the curtains those lights looked orange, the colour he loved. She sat in the dark car on the other side of the street and a little way up. A car was parked in front of hers and one behind hers. If he looked out of that orange window he wouldn’t be able to see her.
As the engine cooled the inside of the car grew cold. She began to shake with cold, wishing she had worn a warmer coat. It was just a quarter past six. She had hoped his car would be gone, his house in darkness, and she would quickly have been able to return the money. Suppose she were to drive round a bit, just to have the heater on. She would get warm but he might go out while she was away. It would be better to see him go out. She shivered with the cold, rubbed her hands, and her upper arms.
At twenty to seven the upstairs light in his house went out. The two downstairs lights stayed on, the one in the front room and the one she could see in his hallway, through the glass panel above the front door. She drew a deep breath, sick with waiting. Her hands were cold as ice. It seemed like hours before that front room light went out. In fact it was ten minutes. She thought, he must go now, please let him go now, or I shall be late and then what shall I say to Alex?
I
could phone him. I could phone my mother. And say what? That I’m stuck in a traffic jam? I can’t leave here now, not when he’ll come out at any minute. His hallway light stayed on. Maybe he left it on when he went out. People did that, she did that, to make burglars think someone was at home. The only thief here was herself…
The front door opened and he came out. She thought, now I know for sure it’s him. I wasn’t quite sure before but now I know. In the light from a street lamp and the glass panel above his front door, she saw he was wearing the same black suit with a camel coat over it. His shirt was red, his tie red and black. He didn’t look her way but got into his car, started the engine and turned on the headlights. It was three minutes to seven when he drove away.
She didn’t waste any time but got out of her car, walked quickly across the street and up to the front door. On the doorstep she thought, maybe someone is in and they’ll come to the door when I open the letter box. Trying to be very quiet, she pushed open the flap and put the first envelope in. No one came. There was silence. The other envelopes next, one, two, three. She thought she heard a sound from inside and her hand shook again, the way it had from the cold. Maybe there was no one there. He could have a dog or a cat that made that noise. She waited, listened. Nothing. She put the rest of the envelopes through, heard the last of them fall on to the mat.
It was five past seven.
Almost at once she moved into that build-up of traffic she meant to tell Alex about. But she was late already. Every traffic light turned red as she came up to it. The line of cars went very slowly. A light that was red for the first car had turned red again by the time she got there. In horror she watched the hand of the clock move from twenty past to twenty-five past. Lurching and jumping over the speed bumps, she reached home at twenty-five to eight. The front door was open. Alex was waiting for her on the step.
He said nothing, only shook his head a little. She ran upstairs, changed into a long skirt and sweater, combed her hair, and was in the car with him three minutes later.
‘I phoned your mother,’ he said, his voice cold. ‘I said we’d be late. I didn’t know how late.’
‘I can explain,’ she said. ‘The traffic was terrible. I was as quick as I could be.’
He didn’t reply. She thought, I wonder if he phoned Louise. I can’t ask. I can never ask. The worst is over, anyway. I’ve given Lant back his money. Tomorrow I’ll wash his clothes and iron them and on Monday morning I’ll send them back. I’ll never go near Bristol Road again. I’ll never steal anything again or lie again or drink again, not when all this is over.
As he drove Alex said, ‘Someone phoned. A man. It was about half an hour after you went out. He said he was the Komodo dragon and then he put the phone down.’
She thought she would scream and put her hand over her mouth to stop herself. Alex had his eyes on the road. ‘I don’t much care for jokes like that,’ he said. ‘The Komodo dragon is great, a wonderful big lizard, not something to make you laugh or shudder.’
Polly’s voice came out like a squeak. ‘I don’t know who it was,’ she lied.
‘Maybe it was a wrong number. We seem to get a lot of those lately, don’t we?’
He didn’t speak another word all the way to her parents’ house. He frowned when her father handed her a big glass of wine almost as soon as they were inside. She thought of Lant calling her an alcoholic. Did it mean you were an alcoholic if you needed a drink as much as she did? I did drink a lot on that flight, she thought. Alex hardly drinks at all. If we’re always going to be together – and we are, please, we always are – I must drink less. I’ll keep to what I said and drink my last glass at my wedding.
But she gulped down the wine. That was the second time Lant had phoned but, if Alex was right, the call had been made before she gave the money back. He would leave her alone now he had his money. He’d forget her, put all this behind him.
Her mother had made a big meal for them. Leek and potato soup first, then roast lamb, then a lemon tart. Before she took the money back Polly wouldn’t have been able to eat. She could now, in spite of that second phone call. Lant had only called because he wanted his money. She was hungry and her father was refilling her wineglass to the brim.
Alex was talking now about the film they’d seen, telling her parents they ought to see it. Polly could remember nothing about it. She might as well not have been there. Then her father said something which made her blush and stare.
‘You seem to have had a busy day, Polly. I saw you in Willesden this morning. I hooted and waved but you were lost in a dream.’
Deny it? A man doesn’t mistake someone else for his own daughter.
‘I didn’t see you, Dad,’ she said, not daring to look at Alex.
She remembered the black car which had hooted at her. She had thought it was her bad driving. Finishing the wine in her glass she thought, I would like to drink myself drunk, to sleep, not to have to drive home with Alex.
But she had to. As they moved out on to the road, he said, ‘We have to talk, Polly.’
‘Do we?’
‘When we get home.’
I’ve never loved him so much as I do now, she thought, already in a panic. I love him. I can’t lose him. He was going to ask me to marry him. Will he ask me now?
At home he said to her, in a voice she had never heard before, a voice that was cold and distant, ‘I suppose you’ll want another drink?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘I’ve had too much.’
‘At least you know it and that’s something. Sit down then.’ He sat facing her and took both her hands in his. ‘A lot of strange things have been going on. Let’s talk about it.’
Feeling her hands held in his made her feel better at once. ‘Talk about what?’
‘Well, I believed your story about falling asleep on the bus. But I don’t believe it now. You said you were shopping this morning, but your dad saw you in Willesden. And this evening. You didn’t go to Louise’s. Louise told me on Friday she was away for the weekend. She was just leaving when I phoned. And then there was that fool who said he was the Komodo dragon. What’s going on, Polly?’
‘Nothing’s going on. Really and truly. It’s nothing.’
He kept hold of her hands. ‘Are you seeing someone else?’
‘Oh, no, of course not. Of course I’m not.’
‘Sure? I’d rather know now.’
‘There’s nothing to know. I promise you. I love you, Alex. There couldn’t be anyone else, not ever.’
‘It’s just that when you went to New York to Lizzie’s wedding I thought, I could go too but she won’t want me. If she’d wanted me, why didn’t she ask? Is she meeting some man in New York? Is he coming back with her? And then when I met you at Heathrow you were so pleased to see me, you looked so happy, I thought I must be wrong.’
‘You were wrong,’ she said. ‘You’d been so generous, buying me a ticket in club class. I was so grateful that I didn’t want to go and leave you.’ She clutched at his hands, lifted them to her lips and kissed them. ‘I’ve never known you jealous before.’
‘Oh, I was. I always was. I didn’t let you see, that’s all.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
LIGHT-HEARTED NOW, SHE got up early, had the washing in the machine by eight, her washing and Alex’s and Lant’s clothes. It’s going to be a good day, she thought. The sun was shining and it was less cold. There were pink flowers on the tree in the garden next door and tulips coming out in tubs. She took a cup of tea up to Alex. He would stay in bed to drink it while she took the things out of the washing machine. Just in case he noticed Lant’s clothes.
They shared the housework. He might say he would do the ironing. So she quickly ironed Lant’s yellow shirt and a green one. By the time Alex came down, Lant’s clothes were packed in a plastic bag and wrapped in brown paper, ready for the post.
It was like spring outside. She walked about, touching the new buds on the trees, smelling the air. Now everything was cleared up, she
thought, Alex would ask her to marry him. He would probably ask her today. When she had taken up his tea he had said something about taking her out to lunch. It was to be at a pub on the river. Or he might wait until this evening to ask her. After dark was more romantic. They could have a June wedding. Where would they go on honeymoon? Not New York, definitely not New York, though it was said to be nice in June.
She went inside and found Alex in the kitchen.
‘You’ve been busy,’ he said. ‘Do you want me to iron that lot?’
‘If you like.’
It felt so good having nothing else to be afraid of, to know that she could tell the truth now. I will never tell any more lies, she said to herself. I will never tell him I’ve been somewhere I haven’t been or done something I haven’t done. I will change. I will be a different person. I will be the person he thought I was before last Friday.
He had started on the ironing, had already ironed a shirt of his own. Now he pulled out from the basket an orange T-shirt. It was Lant’s. She had missed it when she was ironing his clothes. She had done all the rest and packed them but she had missed this T-shirt. Alex lifted it up, looked at it.
‘Is this yours, Polly?’
‘Yes, of course,’ she lied.
‘A strange colour for you. Did you buy it in New York?’
‘Yes, I did.’
‘It looks a bit big for you. Is that the fashion?’
She nodded, sick of verbal lying.
‘D’you know what that colour reminds me of?’ Alex laid the T-shirt down on the ironing board. ‘It reminds me of that man we saw at Heathrow. Do you remember? At the check-in? He was wearing a black suit and he had an orange case. Do you remember?’
She knew her face had gone red. ‘Maybe,’ she said. ‘I think I do.’
‘You said it’d be easy to find. You couldn’t miss it.’
‘Did I?’
She wished he hadn’t said that. It cast a cloud over the day. While they were talking the sun had gone in. The sky was grey now. It looked like rain. Alex was ironing the T-shirt, taking special care with it because it was hers. He was better at ironing than she was. When he had finished he fetched a hanger from the hallway cupboard and hung the T-shirt on it.