Better to Eat You

by Charlotte Armstrong

  David’s hand was massaging the back of his neck. “Well, I dunno,” said he.

  “You don’t!” cried Consuelo with delight. “Tell me.”

  “One little thing …”

  “Go on. Go on.”

  “Listen carefully while I quote.”

  “I’m falling out of my chair listening, you great goop.”

  “When I put it to Fox that I wanted Sarah to work for me, this is what he said.” David began to mimic the old man’s voice. “‘I do appreciate your interest and your courage, too, Mr. Wakeley. You are not frightened? The accident doesn’t …’” David stopped and looked up at her. “Right there, Malvina breaks in and says quickly, ‘Of course Sarah’s little accidents don’t frighten Mr. Wakeley, Grandfather. Mr. Wakeley is a reasonable man.’ So then Fox says, ‘Perhaps you would be very good for our poor Sarah. Yes. Yes, I do think so.’”

  David’s mimicking voice ceased.

  “Accident …” said Consuelo thoughtfully.

  “The accident. Not plural.”

  “What?”

  “Now, Consuelo, I have heard many people say ‘He don’t’ incorrectly. But I’ve never heard one say “They doesn’t.’ Fox was talking about one accident. And what accident? Mine. I’m certain that Fox knows about my car.”

  Consuelo felt a goose go over her grave.

  “How does he know? I didn’t tell anyone, especially not Malvina. I think there must have been some slip. He thought I had told Malvina.”

  “And she tried to cover up that slip!” Consuelo’s soft old face looked as ferocious as possible.

  “And therefore Malvina also knows. And moreover, the old man let her cover and he went along with that. And if they do know about my car and don’t speak of it to me, then there sure is something devious and dishonest going on.”

  Consuelo said uneasily in a moment, “Do you think you’d better go and stay there? Possibly it’s a nest of snakes, Davey.”

  “That’s why I jumped at it,” David said. “One thing worries me. I’m on a false basis with Sarah. Couldn’t speak to her aside, you know. There wasn’t a chance. I’ll have to make one. She doesn’t realize why I’ll be there.”

  “Davey, you’ll get no work done.”

  “I don’t expect to. Don’t plan to try.”

  “They may try … to fix another piece of bad luck up for you.”

  “How I hope they do!” he said. “I can hardly wait.”

  Chapter 5

  The Monday was one of those glorious days when the whole world looked freshly painted in the crystal air. For once, the ocean was properly aquamarine. The crisp ruffles of surf, whiter than white. The sky as blue as a back-drop.

  The red car flashed up the road at ten exactly. David walked into a burst of welcome. Gust Monteeth, a bent and durable-looking man, respectfully carried his bags into the guest house, which stood apart, backed up against the bluff at the land side of the garden. Edgar was there, like a sub-host, showing him his half of the cottage. Then he was introduced to Mrs. Monteeth, elderly and shapeless, with soft flabby cheeks, a flying eye, and upright but absent-minded air. Moon was summoned from the kitchen, an ageless Chinaman who uttered a sequence of syllables that were gibberish to David’s ear. His manner conveyed welcome. Finally Fox himself came out into the garden and chirruped and twinkled at him.

  Malvina, mistress of all these ceremonies, looking rather regal in a white cotton sun-dress that might have been a ball gown, now led him to the studio.

  And there waiting, in a sedate blue cotton waist and skirt, looking very small and tense and determined, was Sarah Shepherd.

  David took over. He sent Gust to carry up his books and boxes.

  The garage building began from a lower level than the garden so that the studio could be entered without climbing either up or down. One passed first through a cluttered anteroom where Gust kept garden tools on one side and his saw and hammers, paint pots and plumbing aids on the other. The studio itself took up two thirds of the space of this second story and looked out upon the road, the cove, and of course the ever-present sea. There was here a big desk, a table for Sarah, many shelves, some cushioned window benches, a chair or two, and a couch against the partition. There began a great unpacking.

  David took notebooks and papers from his boxes. He had along an early draft of his first three chapters and, for the rest, he had snatched some old stuff. Now he directed Sarah firmly because he soon saw that this helped her. Occupied with classifying in her own mind the papers as he arranged them, trying to understand his system, she forgot to be frightened. David, meanwhile, kept up a running conversation with Malvina, who had sat down on one of the window benches and remained as if she were too fascinated to move.

  She listened, but her interest was policy, her questions betrayed the poverty of her outlook. David could feel the little girl’s swift understanding running ahead of the heavy work it was to expound upon the history of California, as he saw it, to Malvina Lupino. The big girl was all pose, all polish, all this curious, fresh and yet reticent personality of hers. David began to suspect she was wearing a mask over nothing, that the secret of Malvina was a certain numbness and stupidity.

  But Sarah was as quick as his own hand.

  Putting books on shelves, Sarah must have caught a glimpse through the window of the red presence on the parking apron. “Such a beautiful new car!” She spoke impulsively. And again David noticed the sheen and the sparkle that fell away when she wasn’t solemn or frightened.

  “Pretty flashy for a college professor,” he said casually and turned to catch Malvina’s expression.

  She had none. She offered him her blinkless gaze. “I hope the salt air won’t be too bad for it,” Malvina purred. “We can’t offer you garage space unless we share off. Sarah’s little Chevy stands out, as it is. There’s Grandfather’s Cadillac, and Edgar’s Dodge, and my convertible. Even so, we haven’t enough cars. Moon, going to market today, had to borrow mine.”

  “It’s a fantastic world,” David said, shaking his head, “where nobody walks. Here’s what I was looking for, Miss Lupino.”

  “Malvina,” she corrected, lips parted.

  “Now that is a direct quotation from the Spanish …”

  Malvina looked at the page and blinked.

  “My handwriting,” groaned David, “I know. It’s terrible. Sarah?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “We may as well know the worst. Can you read my handwriting?”

  “Of course I can.” He saw the flash of emotion cross her face. She took the paper and read off fluently what he had written on it.

  “You can. Well, good. That will save work.” He twitched the paper out of her hand and went on talking to Malvina.

  But he remembered and realized he had omitted to consider a thing he had once divined. This girl … Now he remembered the two betraying words she had said to him in that cafeteria. “Not you,” she had said. This girl—he groaned to himself, feeling sorry—was fond of him. David was used to it in all those young students. He wished it were not so of Sarah. This was a factor he wished he did not have to deal with. He was sorry.

  When Edgar put his head in and announced that lunch was ready in the garden, Malvina professed to be surprised. “Where has the morning gone? We have been spellbound!”

  “Heard the lecture myself,” said Edgar dryly. “Down in my lab. It came very loud and clear right through the floor.”

  David passed his hand over his hair. “Look here, am I going to disturb you? I’ll have to be doing a lot of dictation and the typewriting will go on and on.”

  “I don’t mind. If you don’t,” Edgar said. He had a small mouth under a long upper lip. When he tried to clamp his mouth sourly it merely looked childish. “Lunch,” he repeated. The small eyes were fixed upon Malvina.

  As they left the studio, Edgar pointed out the gap in the wall between garage and kitchen wing where a flight of steps went down to his own little cubby-hole built against the lower
story of the garage proper. Edgar explained that he fooled around in there intermittently. He seemed vague about it. They passed Moon’s ridiculous little kitchen garden. They came to the round table set under the carob tree.

  David looked around. “Miss Lupino … Malvina … this will not do. Please, after today, could Sarah and I have a sandwich or something in the studio? I’ll never get any work done otherwise.”

  “No need to be social that I can see,” said Edgar gloomily.

  “After today,” Malvina’s soft promise went to David, or Edgar, or both … there was no telling.

  David felt some relief when Malvina excused herself after lunch. Fox had not appeared He was somewhere within and apart.

  Edgar, however, almost as if he had been instructed, did not leave them until they came to the steps that went down. Then, still with that air of obedience, he swung off to go to his lab again. David bit his lip and reflected. So, Edgar could hear through the floor, could he? David was trying to phrase something to say to her, quickly, as they went through the toolroom, when Sarah turned to him.

  “I hope, I pray, that all of you are right, and that I am wrong to be so jittery. After all that’s already happened, I can’t help thinking of it.”

  David made a gesture trying to warn her about Edgar, somewhere too near. But he was seeing, and wishing that he could not see, how the small face was betraying the heart again.

  “I will try not to be foolish,” Sarah said proudly. “I’ll enjoy the work very much, I know.”

  David was touched by the little speech, by her rather tremulous smile. And then they were in the studio already. So he said, rather coolly, remembering Edgar, “I think if we stick to a businesslike job of work there is nothing to be jittery about.” It was cool enough to hurt a little, he could tell. “If you really can read my handwriting,” he continued swiftly, “do you mind typing off these quotations while I do some necessary pondering?” He showed her the form he wanted.

  She went to her table. He knew his coolness was a steadying thing. So long as they worked, so long as she had enough to do, so long as he didn’t let her know he’d guessed the secret … He sat in his chair and looked studious with his fingers in his hair. He must sooner or later say something to her about his suspicions. But he didn’t want to frighten her. She was frightened enough. She’d had a rough time. She was somewhat too fond of him. He wondered how he could manage not to hurt her any more. Out of the corner of his eye he could see her typing away, slowly relaxing and falling into rhythm as a good typist must. He realized he couldn’t fool her for long. She would know before the day was out that he was writing no book here.

  He thought, Does Edgar want to know what we say to each other? If so why does he tell me he can overhear? There was a formless tension in this place and not all of it was coming from Sarah.

  Fox was saying to Malvina, “What I ask you to do is surely very simple.”

  Malvina stood before him in the study, with her hands clasped. “So soon?” she said.

  “It must be soon,” he snapped. “Moon markets today which is the reason I settled on a Monday. Can’t keep Edgar eavesdropping forever. He could only interrupt a dangerous trend of talk between them once or twice. Not more. No, no. I don’t intend to risk them alone together more than this one hour.”

  Malvina said, “Grandfather, I don’t understand what you are going to do.”

  “You don’t need to understand.”

  “You must think of the dangers …”

  “You have only to do what I tell you. I have arranged a most safe role for you, Malvina.” His head was tilted in his old coy manner but the dark eyes were not twinkling.

  “And you?” she asked.

  “Oh I protect myself, of course.”

  “But I don’t see how.”

  “You forget how clever I am.”

  “What is that?’’ She was watching his hands. “Is that poison, Grandfather?”

  “No, it is not,” snapped Fox. “I haven’t any. Edgar has some.” His dark eyes rolled thoughtfully. “I am aware of the dangers,” he said. “Now, poison is a dangerous thing.”

  “But what will happen? Edgar is out there.”

  “Edgar,” said Grandfather in a voice of contempt, “will look after himself. Anyhow, he’ll go, if Wakeley goes. He wishes to go to the village and that was my instruction.”

  “He won’t like hearing what I say.” Her face was shrewd. She seemed certain.

  “Never mind. I can control Edgar. So can you, when it is necessary. And never forget, if Edgar speaks now, he confesses he sent a car down a hill upon a woman. No, Edgar knows nothing of my plan in advance and will say nothing of it afterward, whatever he may surmise.”

  “You are very sure of yourself, Grandfather,” she murmured.

  “I stepped into Fox’s boots, didn’t I, when that seemed impossible? I got us out of England and not one soul saw which of us it was that left alive. Didn’t I?”

  “With my help, Grandfather.”

  “Then help me now, Malvina,” the old man said impatiently.

  David turned his head slowly. “I’ve come to tempt you!” Malvina was gay. She stood in the toolroom door wearing a black bathing suit, towels and robe hung over her arm. Her long smooth legs were beautifully shaped, her shoulders were plump and lovely. Her smile was brilliant. “This day! This weather! It’s criminal not to be using it. David? You haven’t even seen our little beach.”

  He saw Sarah’s neck rigid.

  “You’ll have bad luck if you don’t yield,” teased Malvina. “Can’t you see how wicked and against nature it would be? Let Sarah go on with whatever it is, and come out into the sun. Your first day? In a little while it will be too chilly. Half an hour? Even twenty minutes? Recess?”

  David made a sound, half laugh and half sigh. He felt a surge of excitement. Could there be something of a plot in this? He hoped so. He was impatient. He couldn’t work on his book, anyhow. “Malvina,” he said, “you have ruined my afternoon.”

  “Oh, surely not.” She was flirtatious.

  “My afternoon’s work,” he amended smoothly. His hand batted down the lock on his crown. “You really don’t need me, do you Sarah?” he asked whimsically as if she were his taskmistress.

  He saw that Sarah was in panic.

  “What on earth’s the matter, Sarah?” said Malvina in a voice of pure wonder that was in itself a falsehood. She must know what ailed Sarah.

  David was on his feet close beside her because she looked as if she might faint. “It never helps to be afraid,” he said quietly. He touched her on the shoulder and she winced as if he’d hurt her. “Don’t you think it will help,” he went on soothingly, “if we all try to believe that nothing bad is going to happen?”

  “Nothing’s going to happen,” said Malvina plaintively. “Oh, dear. Sarah, you spoil everything.”

  “Would you like to come, too?” David’s voice was kind. “And look after me?”

  He was sorry he’d said it. Her face flooded with the color of shame.

  “Sarah doesn’t swim at all,” said Malvina pityingly. “But I can look after you, I’m a very strong swimmer.”

  “I am a strong swimmer myself,” said David. “I doubt if I’ll drown. Sarah?” He didn’t want to leave her in that panic. It seemed cruel.

  But Sarah said stiffly, “I don’t want to spoil things.”

  “Good girl. Wait a minute.” David went to his desk and scribbled a note on a piece of paper. Seems to me we are being watched, he wrote. And it looks mighty funny. I came to find out what goes on here. Must talk to you alone. Don’t worry. One thing it isn’t. That’s ghosts.

  He slipped the paper under another on Sarah’s table. “Add this, please,” he said. “And don’t worry.” Now she looked more green than red and he added sharply, “And I’d like that stuff to go over this evening if it’s possible.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Sarah.

  Malvina said, “Oh David, hurry, do. The sun will be
going.” She took his hand. So they went away.

  Sarah sat before her typewriter, holding her head together with both hands. All the long train of her sorrows was dragging through her memory. She heard them saying, “Last to see him alive, Sarah … Sarah was the last to see him alive.” She saw Peter whom she had loved and married and never grown to know, lying on the ground beside her wedding shoes. She felt the black evil bird flapping its wings around her head, the doom that followed where she went. She knew no reason for it. She knew it was there. Her mind had long struggled and turned and tried to get away from this knowledge, and could not. It would be the sea, she thought. Or the path, that narrow treacherous path. Or the sea. The surf against those rocks. It would be the sea or the rocks or both. David had gone with Malvina and he might never return. And Sarah the last, almost the last, to see him alive?

  No, she told herself, no. Stop it. Panic must be controlled. But the studio was vast and lonely and cavernous and had no peace.

  He knew what troubled her so. Why, then, had he gone? Absurd, Sarah. Absurd. A man goes swimming with a pretty woman when he’s invited. He feels strong and capable. He isn’t afraid of black intangibles that have no reason for being. Do your work, Sarah. But she couldn’t work, she couldn’t take her hands away from her head.

  It had seemed good for a while, good and right and easy, to be subordinate and left out of the conversation, helpful and quick and busy. Then, when his handwriting had been as clear, to her as her own, because he was her kind of person, and they ought to have made a swift working team, able to grow closer and closer in understanding and mutual respect and liking and maybe even more … she had been visited with pain. Not so good, after all, to work beside him and never dare be anything but subordinate and quick. See him every day. Hear him talking to Malvina.