by L. P. Davies
Axel took the receiver from between her fingers and replaced it on the cradle.
“Just vaguely,” he said, “I can recall that recording being made. Carla’s idea, I think. To save me from constant interruptions. I thought it sounded rather well.”
Louise took a deep breath. “I don’t understand. I know Grenfelle and Barkley House don’t exist. They’re just-words. And yet I’ve just listened to someone speaking from there. Even if—
“A recording—” She frowned, one hand to her mouth. “No—” A shake of the head dismissed an idea, a possible explanation. “It couldn’t have been rigged. The exchange actually put me through; I heard the connection being made, the phone ringing at the other end. They switched the call from the exchange to another place. It couldn’t have been a fake.
“Axel—” She tried to smile. “I’m lost. I feel like I’m being dragged into your nightmare, becoming part of it, like a—a sawdust puppet. Nothing’s sane and solid any more. I’ve never felt this way before. I—I think I’m frightened.”
“There’s 110 need to be,” he said. “When you think, you’ll realise that all that’s happened is that your theory has been squashed. Now you know for sure that I am who I say I am, and that my home does exist.”
“A solid foundation …” Louise laughed tremulously, “I remember saying something like that. Now it’s all back to front. The part I wanted to get rid of turns out to be real. Now I can’t even think straight. Let’s leave it for the time being. Maybe when we’ve had something to eat—” She looked at her watch. “And talking of eating, it’s high time I was doing something sane and sensible in the kitchen. You might help me bring the stuff in from the car. At least we won’t starve. I almost stripped the counter of a delicatessen—”
The phone rang. She stared at it as if it had suddenly become an instrument of the devil. Axel picked up the receiver, listened without speaking, handed it to her. “It’s for you. The Wymondham Cottage Hospital.”
“Hospital?” Her pupils dilated. He had to thrust the receiver into her hand.
“Yes? Yes, this is Louise Salter … Oh—” Dismay flooded her face, washing the apprehension away, taking most of her colour with it. “I’ll be there right away.”
She slammed the receiver down. “Uncle Vince,” she jerked out, already on her way to the door. “An accident,” she threw back over a scarlet shoulder.
“Louise!” he called after her. When she kept going, along the hall now, he raised his voice to a shout: “Louise! Check first!”
Her footsteps slowed, stopped. She came back into the room. He had the receiver off its cradle and waiting. “Do you know the number of the place where your uncle is staying?”
“I know it.” She took the instrument from him, dialled, listened. “This is Louise Salter. Is my uncle there—Dr. Salter?” She listened, the worry and dismay leaving her face. “I see.” She looked at Axel, repeating a question for his benefit. “Do I want to speak to him?”
He shook his head urgently.
“No,” she relayed, “don’t bother him. Thank you.”
This time she replaced the receiver slowly and carefully. “Uncle Vince was there, Axel, in the same room as the man I spoke to. No accident. Thanks for pulling me up. I didn’t stop to think. Another kidnap attempt foiled. That’s what it was?”
“I would say so.” He lifted an amused eyebrow. “You’re taking it very calmly.”
“A thing like that is reasonable, sensible. I can cope with anything like that. It’s sane and understandable. It’s the ground-from-under-the-feet stuff I can’t take.” She tugged at his arm. “Let’s go empty Daisy.”
“Who?” He had forgotten her name for the car.
The back seat was filled with parcels and packages.
“Those are your things.” Louise pointed. “Food, the rest. Oh, and there are some cans in the boot.”
He went to open it. Straightening, he caught sight of something from the side of his eye. A line of cans balanced on his crooked arm, he closed the boot and carried his load into the house. He waited for Louise in the kitchen.
“Is that the lot?”
“Not quite.” She piled things on the table.
“Next time you go out there, take an unobtrusive look over to the right. A row of three trees, then one by itself. Watch the gap in between.”
“What am I looking for?”
“A flash of light. I don’t think I imagined it.”
“Right.” That was all, just the one word, no bothersome questions, and she was away, to take much longer than was necessary in gathering up the last few oddments.
She added them to the already cluttered table. “I took my time. Yes, I saw it twice, Axel. Binoculars?”
He nodded. “That’s what I thought. Someone’s watching the house.”
“Just so long as they stay away they can watch to their heart’s content.” By her tone she couldn’t have cared less that they were under surveillance.
Axel smiled a little. “It falls into your category of things sane and understandable.”
“I can take as much of that sort of thing as they care to throw at me.” She busied herself sorting out packages. “I’ve lain on my tummy in the scrub, watching the clinic burn and knowing that if I was spotted I stood a fair chance of being raped. That’s not likely to happen here. I got you plain shirts—I thought you’d prefer them to striped.”
“I don’t think you’re as tough as you try to make out.” His smile became an almost schoolboy grin. “All the same, I prefer you this way to having you throwing fits of hysterics all over the place.”
He moved to the door. “I’ll take a look at the back. For all we know we might be surrounded by people with field-glasses.” He paused to deliver an afterthought. “And don’t be too sure, wearing that tight jersey affair, that you’re safe from being raped.”
Louise paused in her work to regard the now empty’ doorway.
“And that,” she said softly to herself, “wasn’t the aloof, dignified Axel Champlee, Captain of Industry, talking. Not for one moment it wasn’t. That was the other one showing through. Whoever he might be.”
Axel went into the lounge. The french windows there, smaller than those at Barkley House, overlooked the garden at the rear of the house. A large, prick-neat garden that had clearly received careful attention during the owners’ absence, perhaps at the hands of some local jobbing gardener. Lawns were marvels of emerald velvet. Geometrical flower beds fronted an opulent shrubbery. Beyond a line of poplars were open, spreading fields. If the house was being watched from the back, then it would have to be from somewhere in the garden itself.
He tried the handle of the double windows. It moved, but they refused to open. They were held in place by a bolt at the bottom. He bent to slide it across. And the bolt, attached to a thick sliver of wood, came away in his hand.
Still crouching he examined it, touched it, put it to his nose. And then raised his voice to call: ‘‘Louise? Come here a moment.”
She came wearing the frilly apron over her black slacks, a can in one hand, opener in the other. “I’ll never get lunch ready if you keep dragging me away.” But she was in no way annoyed. “What is it, Axel?”
He showed her the piece of wood and the bolt, straightened to touch the handle, explaining the thing as he understood it.
“The handle can be raised from the outside with a length of bent wire, but the bolt is a different matter. It had to be forced.”
“A burglar,” she said. “That’s just what we need.”
“But not an ordinary burglar. Whoever it was, tried to stick this piece of wood back into place with glue. Only it didn’t quite come off. He broke in in the usual fashion, but then took time out to try to hide his method of entrance, presumably leaving by the front door. No everyday burglar would waste time in covering his tracks like that. It serves no useful purpose.”
“But he broke in just the same.” The girl was worried, but not on her own account.
“We’ve no way of telling if anything’s missing. And when the people who live here come back—”
“You’re still thinking in terms of an ordinary burglar.”
Then she understood. “You think it’s something to do with you, Axel?”
“The glue is still tacky.” He stooped to put it back into place. It held, proving his point. “Only recent. You’re the one who doesn’t like coincidences.”
“He broke in … ” She turned to look round the room, brows drawn together, can opener to her lips. “But not to take anything.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You suggested it!” She was mildly indignant. “An ordinary burglar takes things; an unusual one doesn’t. Or does he put instead of taking?” Her eyes widened. “Microphones. He bugged the place. Is that it, Axel?”
The idea hadn’t occurred to him. He thought about it now.
“It’s a possibility. But that’s not what I had in mind. I think the house has been rigged—if that’s the word—but not in that way. I think he did take things—”
And then she understood. “Calendars, .Axel! Anything that shows the real date. In any house there’s bound to be things like that. Calendars, letters … But he overlooked the handbook.”
“It was the telephone directory that had me puzzled,” Axel said. “Neat and tidy, the people who live here. Tidy to an extreme. A place for everything, and everything in its place. And the place for a director}’ in a well-regimented house is close to the phone. And to have no director}- at all would be unthinkable.”
“You’ve worked all that out for yourself,” Louise said with gratification. “You’re trying to break the fantasy on your own, without my help. We’re beginning to get somewhere at last.”
“This is plain commonsense reasoning.” He looked out over the picture-postcard garden. “I’ve never shut my mind to that, only to things that don’t belong to what I know to be the truth. I can take my reasoning a lot further…
“We came here late last night. One of the first things I did was check the phone. If the directory had been there, then I would have noticed it. So this”—he touched the door— “was done before we arrived. Whoever did it either knew or guessed we would be coming.
“They traced me to the Swan. They found out you were the only other guest. Perhaps they saw us talking together. They learned what they could about you—”
“From Uncle Vince,” Louise said intently. “Go on, Axel.”
“That’s about all. He must have told them, if they didn’t already know, that sooner or later you would be coming to a house called Green Ladies. Their aim is to get me back to Barkley House. While I was staying at the Swan their style was cramped. So they had to flush me out. Which they did by letting me know they knew where I was, by having you followed, then by sending someone to inquire about a room. The attempt to abduct you wasn’t part of it. Their scheme worked. And in the meantime they had been here to set this place up.”
Axel turned to look at her.
“I think it’s time you and I parted company, Louise,” he said gravely.
She was vastly indignant. “That’s a nice tiling to say!”
“I’ve dragged you into this. No—” He held up his hand, cutting short her expostulations. “Let me have my say. We know they’re watching the house. They sent Nolan to try to persuade me to go back to Barkley House. When I don’t meet him tonight, they’ll have to try some other means.”
“I think you’re wrong,” the girl said stubbornly. “I don’t think that’s their idea at all.”
“I’m right.” Axel sounded weary. “I know I’m right. That knowledge is deep inside me, part of what they did to me. I was never meant to leave Barkley House. What I have to do—what I know I must do—has to be done there. I’m as certain of that as I ever have been of anything. They have to get me back.” He paused. “And they have to get me back before Wednesday.”
“Wednesday?” She put the can on a chair arm so that she could grasp his elbow. “Why Wednesday, Axel?”
“I don’t know. It’s in my mind.” He put his hand to his head. “There are times when it seems I’m just on the verge of remembering …”
“All this—” She tightened her grip on his arm. “It’s no reason why we should split up.”
“I think I know why they tried to abduct you,” he told her. “To use as bait. To take you to Barkley House and then make sure I knew where you were.”
She smiled wickedly. “Would you have come running to my rescue?” And then was scathing. “Amateurs. Rank, bungling amateurs. The people behind all this would have used experts who wouldn’t have failed. No, that’s not it.”
“Be that as it may.” He shrugged. “But one thing is certain: if they can’t get me back by one means, they’ll try another.”
“I know what you’re suggesting, but I have no intention of packing my bags, Axel. You surely can’t expect me to back out now without knowing what it’s all about? In a way, I’m enjoying all this. I know how to take care of myself. So I screamed when that man grabbed me. That was only to bring you running. And talking of that kidnap attack, I take it as a personal thing. I’m in this now as much as you are.” She paused for breath. “I can think up plenty more reasons if you have time to listen.”
“One being that you’re obstinate and pigheaded.” Axel smiled at her. “Admirable traits in business if not in women. All right. The last time you wanted to bring your uncle into this I refused to allow you. I’ve changed my mind.”
“I’m glad. I’ll give him a ring.” Collecting the can, she moved towards the door.
“Axel Champlee,” she said, turning in the doorway, “is, amongst other things, proud and selfish. He would never consider anyone else before himself. The man who has just been talking to me is not like that at all. The real you is slowly beginning to break through.”
“I am Axel Champlee,” he replied in a flat voice. “I always have been. A man recognised immediately and named without hesitation by a random policeman. Or had you forgotten?”
‘Til call Uncle Vince,” she said.
Her feet tapped briskly across the polished hall. In the stillness of the house he heard the receiver being lifted. He waited, wondering if he had done the right thing, for the sound of a number being dialled. Instead—
“Axel!” she called, and something in her voice, not fear, urgency perhaps, set him hurrying. She held the receiver mutely out to him. He listened. No dialling tone, no faint background crackle, even—nothing at all.
His eyes traced the cable to a small box on the wall, followed a wire to where it vanished, noted the place and then went hurrying into the hall and through the front door, along the front of the building—oblivious to the concealed watcher with the glasses—then down the side, to where the wire emerged. To where the wire had been cut and the severed ends bent away from the wall.
Louise had kept at his heels.
“Done within the last half-hour,” he said greyly. “It could have been our friend in the trees. I don’t think it was. There are probably several of them watching the house.”
They went back inside. He closed the front door and shot the bolt. Which reminded him—“I’ll have to do something about the lounge window.” He took hold of the girl’s arm. “Louise, from now on don’t go out of the house alone. Whatever happens, don’t attempt to go outside by yourself.”
“I won’t,” she replied obediently, no trace of apprehension in her voice. “Where did I leave my can of peas?”
He let her do the talking over lunch. She talked about an island that, in her own words, was eight parts rock, one part sand and one part sun and suffering. She listed some of the diseases she and her uncle had had to cope with, names that slid through Axel’s thoughts leaving nothing in their wake.
In the afternoon she bemoaned the absence of radio and television and newspapers. “If I’d thought, I could have bought papers in Norwich this morning. I was too busy avoiding large men in black coats.
” A sudden notion took her into one of the bedrooms that overlooked the front of the house.
“Just an idea,” she informed Axel’s raised brows upon her return. “It struck me there might be a phone in the village. But the poles end just outside this house.”
And when he nodded without speaking: “You’ve been very quiet since lunch, Axel.”
“I’ve been trying to work out what their next move is likely to be.”
“With what results?”
“Not much. I don’t think they’ll try anything more until they know that Nolan has failed.”
“You were supposed to meet him at ten?”
“At ten.” He looked at the clock. Quarter to. They would allow perhaps an hour’s grace, just to make sure. Then they would make their next move. Nothing crude or obvious. These people were subtle. They worked on nerves and minds, not flesh and blood. Their devilments left no visible scars. He was standing up to what they had done to him. He was taking it, but only just. There were times when he knew insanity was only a hair’s breadth away. Courage, physical courage, was useless. Louise had that. Louise—Axel glanced covertly at the girl. They had tried twice to get her away from him. Their motives were obvious. Once they had her—
Ten minutes to ten. There was still plenty of time. All he had to do was walk out of the house and along the lane. He would be taken to Barkley House and Louise would be of no further use to them.
But he couldn’t go back. Not in the state he was in. Not while his mind was not his own. Not while he was as inanimate an object as the gun his hand would take from the drawer. They had made a dummy of flesh and bone. They had activated it with their thoughts. A do-it-yourself killer construction kit. And when the dummy had done what it had been ordered to do, then they would withdraw their thoughts and the dummy would collapse on the floor of the stage. End of play.
Louise brought a book from the library. Jane Austen. Some of the pages were uncut. She yawned over her reading.
Before going to bed, a little after midnight, Axel wedged the back of a chair under the handle of the window with the useless bolt.
He was tired, more tired than he had realised. He was drifting almost as soon as his head touched the pillow, fast asleep minutes later.