Lemon in the Basket

by Charlotte Armstrong

  Waiting for the elevator, Tamsen blew out her breath and began to wonder what charm was. Whatever it was, that little human being had a double dose of it. No wonder his people adored him! No wonder he had become a magnet that drew to itself their natural love of country and had become, therefore, their most dearly beloved, both in fact and as symbol. Oh, how dangerous!

  In the elevator she found herself to be in a state of passionate prayer. When she got off at the ground floor, Tamsen had to hide her face as best she could while she scurried out into the parking lot. She sat in the car, unable to see. Duncan is right, she thought in a while, about the heart I’ve got. It could do with a little hardening, just for practical, everyday purposes.

  She remembered, then, about the night before, and was soon stiffened enough to judge that she could, now, safely drive a car.

  When she came into her house the telephone was ringing.

  “Are you having lunch with Lurlene tomorrow?” Phillida wanted to know.

  “Yes, I am.”

  “It’s a restaurant? At noon?” Phillida seemed to be finding this hard to believe.

  “I told her I’d have to make it early.”

  “I see. Well,” said Phillida, as if she were saying, So be it, “I’ll see you there, then.”

  “I guess I started all this …” Tamsen began.

  “Saturdays,” said Phillida jauntily, “don’t mean as much to me as to some. We shall gather. Did you have fun today?”

  “I can’t tell you!” burst Tamsen.

  “Yes, I know,” Phillida said. “A lamb. Maybe I’ll have an engagement at two tomorrow also. That might be a good idea.”

  “All right,” said Tamsen, and burst again, “I don’t like … sneaking around.”

  “You mean lying?” said Phillida. “Oh, you’ll get the knack of it.”

  Phillida hung up and called Lurlene back. “I’ve found my little book,” she lied cheerfully, “and I see that I can make it. Thanks so much, Lurlene, I’ll be there then.”

  “I’m so glad you can make it,” said Lurlene, and added helplessly, “Thanks so much.”

  She said to Rufus, rather defensively, “But I’m not going to ask Maggie. Anyhow, she’s supposed to have house guests.”

  “I would have asked Maggie, too,” Lurlene was saying, “but I happen to know she has house guests. And I wouldn’t want her to feel, you know, pressured?” She smiled archly.

  Tamsen’s heart had jumped, but Phillida said, “The food here is not half-bad.”

  Tamsen sensed the noncommunication. Phillida had meant this in praise of pleasure. The hostess was taking it for condescension.

  Lurlene said, “It’s nothing fancy. But I thought—just some quiet place where we could talk, you know?”

  The middling-good restaurant was sparsely populated at the early hour and, so far, quiet enough. They had a table in the middle of the room. Tamsen was wearing a gray seersucker suit, and Phillida was effortlessly elegant in what seemed to be blue linen, with sleeves. Lurlene had chosen a sleeveless dress of shocking pink, and the air conditioning was putting goose pimples on her bare upper arms.

  But if they were here to talk, someone must speak, and they had already discussed the fact that it was much cooler today. So Lurlene moistened her mouth and said, “Say, I was reading this article about the little Prince of Al … How do you pronounce that?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Phillida, quickly and softly. “Don’t let’s pronounce it.”

  “It didn’t say anything about his being sick,” said Lurlene, rather more loudly than she had been speaking. “I certainly do hope that Mitch is going to be able to—”

  “Shut up,” said Phillida.

  Lurlene said, in a startled way, “What’s the matter with you?”

  “Just don’t shout,” said Phillida, “other people’s business.”

  “Well, I’m sorry,” said Lurlene, in outrage.

  Tamsen realized that Phillida was very angry indeed. She was struggling with the anger, but it was rendering her speechless at the moment.

  So Tamsen said to Lurlene, softly, “Maggie didn’t want us to talk about it, that’s all.”

  “‘Just for the family,’ eh?” Lurlene quoted the code phrase in a huffy manner. “I know that. Pardon me, if I thought this was just the family.”

  “This is a public place,” snapped Phillida. “No names, if you don’t mind?”

  Phillida was furious. Lurlene had been deeply offended. Tamsen was frightened and miserable.

  “Nobody’s paying any attention to us,” she said as lightly as she could. “Don’t worry.”

  Phillida’s eyes met hers with a stab of rage, but then Phillida won her battle, blinked and smiled.

  “What in the world’s so secret about it, when it’s in the papers?” Lurlene muttered.

  “What is in the papers?” said Phillida, coolly.

  “Nothing,” said Tamsen quickly.

  “I won’t mention any names,” said Lurlene loftily, “but I can’t understand a white woman getting mixed up with those people in the first place. And I don’t think she’s so beautiful, either.” Lurlene had seen an old picture of Jaylia, in an old magazine.

  “People are different,” said Tamsen gently. “You can’t understand, really. People fall in love, for instance.”

  Phillida had become herself again, and she said, “Oh, they do. They do. Will you forgive me, Lurlene? I shouldn’t have jumped down your throat, really.”

  But Lurlene had no grace available for accepting apologies. “If I’m not supposed to say one word to you girls, then Maggie should’ve left me out of it,” she said sourly. “I’m very sorry, I’m sure, Phillida.”

  She had no grace to make an apology, either. Phillida held herself still.

  Tamsen said, “Duncan was telling me about the University.” She thought the air must be cleared, and some chatter that might circle harmlessly around the subject would do it. “Do you know that the … uh … founder had a couple of years of schooling in England in his day? And the … uh … son was educated all over Europe? But it seems that this is not considered good enough, or proper, for the grandson. So, nothing loath, the grandfather up and caused there to be a university. I think that’s touching.”

  “Expensive, too,” said Phillida, still busy with her own temper. “Although, in my opinion, the grandson is worth it.”

  “Of course,” said Tamsen, as her heart jumped again, “once you start educating people, anything can happen.”

  “I guess I wouldn’t understand what it feels like—to be beautiful or educated,” said Lurlene darkly.

  “Oh, Lurlene,” said Tamsen, searching backward to the remark that had caused this response, “I didn’t mean you couldn’t understand. I meant one couldn’t understand.”

  Phillida said, “Why don’t we get off the subject and stay off? The enemy has ears, as they used to say in some war or other.”

  “What enemy is this?” said Lurlene, and added, in what was close to being a snarl, “Me?”

  She was set to quarrel; she was going to quarrel. Her party was in shreds already; she didn’t care anymore.

  Phillida put down her teacup and said quietly, “Lurlene, you are not to say one more word about those people, or that situation, to anyone, anywhere. And if you don’t understand why not, you had better just take my word for it.”

  “Oh, I understand why not,” said Lurlene angrily. She was going to be sarcastic. Just because you say so, eh? she meant to add. But Tamsen jumped in.

  “Good,” she said warmly. “I thought Maggie must have made it clear. And nobody heard, here. Everything’s all right.”

  Tamsen simply was not sure yet how much Lurlene knew, and she was, in part, probing to find out.

  But Lurlene said to Phillida, “I didn’t know you went with Mitch.”

  “Went where?”

  “To the place of the name I’m not supposed to say out loud,” said Lurlene loudly, “and can’t pronounce anyw
ay.”

  “No, I didn’t go,” said Phillida. Her eyes sought Tamsen’s. Perhaps Phillida had made a mistake or two.

  “Mitch says the little kid is worth it, eh?” Lurlene looked shrewd.

  “Yes, he does,” said Phillida.

  “So I suppose Mitch thinks he’s going to live long enough to go to college—” Lurlene was very loud.

  Phillida coldly surrendered. “Lurlene,” she interrupted in a low but emphatic voice, “your ignorance is going to make trouble. So you’ll have to know. The boy is here, in the hospital secretly, and his mother is Maggie’s house guest. It is a secret and very important that it stay a secret. You mustn’t say one word that anyone could possibly overhear. Do you understand?”

  Lurlene was staring. Color came into her face. “But Tamsen knew all about it, eh?”

  Tamsen said, “Oh, Lurlene, it’s just that Duncan knows them. And Mitch does too, of course.”

  “And my husband don’t?” said Lurlene belligerently.

  “But there was no need. Surely you see,” Tamsen pleaded, “the fewer who know, the better.”

  Phillida was letting Tamsen do the pleading. Her tall body was rigid. Tamsen, however, had reason to despair of ever getting into Lurlene’s head the reasons for silence. So she veered, to try another path.

  “Now that you know, you couldn’t possibly do anything to hurt a child. I know that.” Tamsen was nearly whispering. “If it gets out, he’ll be so pestered, Lurlene. It could keep him from getting well. Please?” Tamsen leaned back. “Oh, what am I saying? I know how much you love children.”

  Lurlene’s mouth moved, whether smirk or sneer there was no telling.

  “I’ve so often wondered,” Tamsen leaned toward her again, her soft voice dripping sympathy, “if your heart wasn’t just about to break sometimes.” Tamsen touched the bare forearm. It winced but did not reject. Lurlene’s face was losing the look of hard anger, softening with surprise. “I mean, because you haven’t had one of your own. I know it isn’t my business, but you would make the most marvelous mother.”

  Lurlene’s eyes were filling. “Nobody ever seems to notice how I feel,” she murmured.

  “Oh, I have noticed,” said Tamsen. “But it’s not easy to say anything. I’ve been pretty sure it hurts you—a lot. There may be some strange women who don’t love children, but that wouldn’t be you.”

  “It isn’t me,” whimpered Lurlene. “I been to doctors. I mean, I tried. I guess God just doesn’t want me to have any.”

  “But you are young,” cooed Tamsen. “I just know how you would protect a child. Any child. That’s how I know you’ll help us protect this little one.”

  Lurlene found her handkerchief. “Of course,” she sniffled. “Sometimes, you know, I just don’t understand …”

  “But you are much too young to give up hoping,” Tamsen cooed on.

  When Lurlene left them in the parking lot and they walked in another direction Phillida said dryly, “You’re getting the knack, aren’t you?”

  “I couldn’t think of any other way to make the point,” said Tamsen miserably. “It was awful. I must have sounded like daytime television.”

  “Never mind,” said Phillida, “as long as it works. I must say I couldn’t have done that.”

  They were standing, now, beside Phillida’s car.

  “Oh well, you don’t have a heart that bleeds every hour on the hour,” said Tamsen, “as Duncan says mine does.”

  Phillida said, “I won’t have Mitch bothered. That’s the truth of it. What a fool I was,” she added ruefully. “I must practice being as angry as that.”

  “You’re not used to it, are you?” said Tamsen innocently.

  Phillida eyed her a moment, then smiled and went away.

  Lurlene came into the house and found Rufus watching daytime television. She said nothing.

  Becoming aware of this, he stirred and said, “How did it go?”

  “Swell,” she said bitterly. “Just swell. Guess what? That little Prince Saiph—and holy cats, what names they got, that you aren’t supposed to mention! Well, they got him, right here in the hospital, and his mama, the big old beeyootiful princess, is staying at Maggie’s, and you and me aren’t supposed to know a thing about it.”

  “That so?” He was not perturbed or especially interested.

  “Because we’re ignorant!” she said furiously. “We’d tell the enemy, or something. We’re stupid!” she screamed at him.

  “I don’t know any top secrets to tell the enemy,” he said. “How about that?” She could have slapped the silly look off his face.

  “Well, I’m telling you, I’ve had it,” she cried. “Fifteen bucks, it cost me. For what? To get insulted.”

  “Who insulted you?” Rufus blinked as if, at last, he paid some real attention.

  Lurlene said, with hot eyes, “Dear little Tamsen.”

  Because butter was butter, and on the way home Lurlene had recognized the aftertaste.

  7

  In the Monday morning newspaper there was a paragraph at the bottom of page one.

  BOY PRINCE IN HOSPITAL FOR SERIOUS SURGERY

  It was a very short paragraph and said little more.

  Jaylia saw it and moved her shoulders. “Here we go,” she said. Maggie wailed dismay. The Judge went into his study and got on the phone, but the people he called had already seen the paper.

  Phillida saw it, and paced her apartment.

  Dr. Mitchel Tyler heard about it at the hospital, where Secret Service men had multiplied and become visible. The elevator was severely guarded now. No one, no one at all (except the Doctor), got off at the fifth floor without being first questioned about, and then escorted on, whatever legitimate visit he had to make.

  Duncan saw the paragraph and exploded where he sat.

  Tamsen said, “Oh, no … I hope … Oh, no, I hope … Oh, no … I hope …” She was a broken record, but he didn’t stop her or try to comfort her. He dashed to the phone. He dashed out of the house. He was not going to the University this Monday morning.

  Lurlene saw it, and was pleased to contemplate her right to say, “Some secret! Yah! I told you so.” Upon reflection, she did not mention this to Rufus.

  Rufus didn’t see it. He was reading the sports page. He had gone to the ball game yesterday, and he liked to be told what he had enjoyed.

  When Tamsen arrived at the hospital at two o’clock that afternoon she had to prove her identity and her privilege. It took her twenty minutes to proceed from the elevator to the suite.

  There was another Secret Service man outside that door and she had to prove her identity and her right to enter all over again.

  When she was inside, Hayyan and Kasim fastened fierce looks upon her face, went with her into the boy’s room, did not leave it, but stationed themselves to watch her every eye blink. Inga was sitting at the bedside and she did not rise. Her face was dour.

  But the little boy greeted her as usual. Tamsen didn’t know whether to mention all these changes in the atmosphere or ignore them. While she was still trying to decide Saiph decided.

  “Tamsen.” He liked to use her name and did it rather shyly, always with a sideways glance as if to say, “Do you want to take back your permission now?”

  “Yes, old-timer?” This was a form of address that had made him laugh one day.

  “Do the people here want to kill me?”

  “Oh no, no, no!” Tamsen rocked with dismay. “We want you to be well. We want that very much.” (But, of course, in view of all the fuss that was being made, this would not do.) So she said, “The trouble is, Saiph, there are always some crazy people. And it is just that we not only don’t want, but we just won’t let, anything bad happen to you. We’re not taking any chances.”

  “I understand that, you know,” he said reassuringly. “There are crazy people in Alalaf, too. Drug-eaters, for instance.”

  “Yes,” she said miserably.

  “But if you aren’t taking any chances, why a
re you so unhappy?”

  “I just wish,” she said, “that it was still a secret.”

  “Do you like secrets?”

  “No, I don’t like them,” she answered honestly, “but they can sometimes be a good thing.”

  Saiph said something to his bodyguards in their own language. They both grinned wide and murmured appreciation.

  “What does your name mean?” asked the Prince in a moment.

  “My name? Oh.” Tamsen settled back in the visitor’s chair. “Once upon a time there was a girl’s name, Thomasina. That would be ‘Little-Girl-Thomas,’ do you see? But it was easier to say ‘Tamsen.’ And that’s what people began to say. And then they began to spell it the way they said it. My mother thought it was a pretty name. So she gave it to me.”

  “I think it is a pretty name,” he said politely. “Do you know what my nickname means?”

  “No.”

  “Al Saiph. That means ‘The Sword.’” There was mischief in his eye.

  “Oh?” Tamsen was wondering how she could bear it if anything bad happened to him.

  “No crazy people are going to come walking in here,” said Saiph somewhat wistfully. “Or at least I don’t think so. Do you?”

  “They’d better not,” she said.

  “That’s right. They’d better not. So I wish you wouldn’t worry”—he hesitated—“Little-Girl-Thomas?”

  “I think you’re right.” She braced up violently, lest she bawl.

  “O.K.,” she snapped.

  “O.K.,” he said with a snap. It was a bargain.

  “What shall we do today? What would you like to do?”

  Saiph, politely ignoring her inner turbulence, considered her question gravely. “I will teach you a game, if you like,” he said. “It is easy to learn, but it is very hard to play.” He was challenging her. Tamsen was fairly sure that he thought she ought to have her mind engaged, so that her female twitterings would be put aside.

  Sure enough, she found herself being taught the rules and objectives of a game she had noticed the two guards playing mysteriously, with little heaps of pebbles. It was mathematically based and Tamsen, to whom mathematics was a dim thicket she had never really pierced, was forced to try very hard to understand. Her teacher, although he kept advising her on the best strategy, respectfully did not make mistakes himself, to let her win.