The Coming of The Strangers

by John Lymington

  THE COMING OF THE STRANGERS

  By

  John Lymington

  A CORGI BOOK

  Corgi Books are published by Transworld Publishers Ltd.,

  Park Royal Road, London, N.W.10

  PART ONE

  The End of the Beach

  CHAPTER I

  The seaside town stood on the shore of a shallow bay. From the air it was a little cluster of buildings, with sprays of ribbon building radiating away on the land with its soft hills and woods. The front of the town faced the sea with a broad promenade edging the sand beach, running east and west. At the western extremity the promenade ended against reddish cliffs rising up to the Downs. At the eastern end, the buildings lining its land side became gradually scattered, and at the far end there were only four white bungalows of considerable size, three facing the sea across the broad road, and the courtyard of the fourth actually forming the end of the promenade. Beyond it, there was sand with rocks scattered about, and a few caves in the sandy cliffs which rose a hundred feet to the Warren.

  It was at this place, which everyone called The End of The Beach, that the Strangers first came. This was the point of invasion, an invasion which happened before anyone living there saw anything take place.

  All that was noticed in the first hours were the Noises, and one particular piece of negative vision, to which the witnesses paid too little attention, to begin with.

  They had been swimming, and were lying in the warm sand, hidden by rocks from all but the sea, making love.

  “You do love me, Joe?” Her eyes, reflecting the moon, were troubled, searching his. “Truly?” _

  “You know I do, Jill,’’ he said in a warm whisper. “Of course you know I do. Every little bit.” He held her tightly to him. “Every tiny little bit of you.”

  “Please don’t ask me to, Joe,” she pleaded, finding courage suddenly.

  “But it’s so hard not to,” he said. “And we love each other, Jill. It’s natural, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, of course. Of course, Joe,” she said urgently. “But please be patient. Please.”

  He let her go and rolled over on to his back on the sand. She lay on his outstretched arm, suddenly still from his action.

  “If you weren’t so beautiful,” he said huskily. “If I didn’t love you so much—it’d be so easy to say yes. If I didn’t …”

  ‘‘Dear Joe,” she whispered. “I love you. I do!” She bent suddenly and kissed his ear. “Don’t be cross with me.”

  “No Jill.” He put his hand to her shoulder and put his other arm round her again. But the fire of emotion had gone out ol him “You’re shivering,” he said. “Are you cold? …

  .’No, no Joe. I’m not cold at all. Hold me. I’m frightened.” “Frightened?” he said. “Why?”

  “I’m frightened you won’t love me, Joe.” Her voice was very tiny. She stroked his chest gently and watched her hand.

  If I let him, she thought, everything would be spoilt and he might go afterwards, but if I believe that I can’t believe he loves me as he says. But if I don’t let him, will he tire of waiting? Will he go just the same? Do I believe he loves me at all?

  She felt cold and more frightened at the crossing trains of her thoughts.

  “But I do love you, Jill,” he said, and his voice was a little quicker, perhaps sharper, as if he were growing impatient. “It’s just that you make things so difficult. It is difficult for a man— difficult to go on like this . .

  His voice faded in her ears and she heard her father again, angrily speaking as he had these last weeks, several times,

  “I forbid you to see him! He’s a good for nothing, a—a seducer. He’s seduced several girls in the town, and you know that as well as I do. He may pretend he loves you, that’s how he tricked the others. He’s a waster, Jill. All he wants is you, and when he’s finished with you he’ll go and find some other girl. That’s the type he is. No good. Be sensible. You’re only a child yet … Only a child yet … only a child yet …”

  “Yes, yes, I know, Joe,” she said quickly, so that he should not notice she had not been listening. “It’o hard for me, too I love you, Joe.”

  An emotion flooded through her that made her sure that she was saying the truth, that the only real doubts in her were the echoes of her father’s angry, jealous voice and not her thoughts at all.

  “Kiss me, Joe,” she whispered. “Tell me you’re not cross with me.”

  He pressed her down on him,

  “I won’t be cross, Jill,” he said huskily. “Of course not He held her tightly and began to kiss her with passion and skill, until he felt the little stiffnesses of fear leave her body and she responded with increasing eagerness to his caresses. Gently they rolled over in the soft sand so that he came on top of her, and whispering against the faint rippling sound of the calm sea.

  It was then, when it seemed that he would have his way, that the regular splashing sounds came from the edge of the sea, as if someone was throwing stones in the water.

  Joe jerked his head up, raised himself on an elbow and looked round.

  “What’s the matter ?” she whispered.

  “Somebody watching,” he said angrily, and got up, his big body like silver in the moonlight. “If I –”

  She snatched up clothes from the heap by the rock and squatted there while he looked for the Peeping Tom. But there was none. He looked round again. The faint splashes came again, and he turned in their direction as far as he could detect it.

  “Nobody” he began, then stopped.

  At the sea’s edge he saw a patch in the sand filling up with silver water, then another appeared, filled and was washed out; then another, farther on still. He did not speak but just pointed to it. She jumped to her feet, clutched the clothes to her and stared.

  “What is it?” she said and gave a sudden shudder.

  “Don’t know,” he answered staring. “Things under the sand, perhaps.”

  She caught his arm.

  “Joe!” she said, urgently. “I want to go home!”

  He looked back from the marks, and it seemed that they had scared him too.

  “Okay,” he said. “Let’s get dressed.”

  “Not here,” she said. “Let’s go higher up the beach. Near the house. I—I’m frightened. I don’t like things under the sand”

  Nor did he. They made their way between the rocks, and the man on the verandah of the last bungalow, Beach End, saw their almost naked figures clutching clothes to them. He saw them come up until they vanished under the edge of his garden wall.

  Something about their haste, the odd flight, the way they carried their clothes in untidy, trailing bundles, caught his attention. He put his cigar on the edge of a flower butt, then walked quickly and quietly along the garden wall at the corner of the balcony. From the wall top, which he could lean on, there was a drop of ten feet to the sand below. He stood by the wall, and carefully moved his head until he could look down on the hurrying figures as they dressed.

  “I was frightened, Joe,” she said, breathlessly. “There was something funny about it.”

  “It was things under the sand, I tell you,” he said, braver now he was away from the place. I grant it was funny peculiar, but that’s all it could have been.”

  “Sort of worms, or crabs?” she said, leaning one hand against the wall as she slipped on a shoe. “But how—how did it make the noise? That noise, Joe. It couldn’t make that noise from underneath, could it?” ,

  “It must have been something we didn’t notice,” he said shortly. “Something made me look up. Perhaps somebody was there and took a powder when 1 looked up. Just left his footprints.” .

  The girl dropped her foot a
nd looked away from the wall. She stood a moment, thinking of what he had said, then bent and took up a jacket and put it on.

  “Oh,” she said. “Yes, it could have been, couldn’t it? I didn’t think of that.” She stopped as, far off, the town hall clock began to chime slowly. “Oh lord!” she cried when she had counted the strokes. “It’s late, Joe. I must get back!”

  “All right,” he said, faintly angry. “Well, we’re going, aren’t we?”

  “Please don’t be cross, Joe,” she said pleadingly. “I’m sorry

  I’m a bit nervous tonight. I’ve felt sort of jumpy ”

  “Oh, it’s all right,” he said. “Come on, if you’re in a hurry.” She hesitated, clutching his arm.

  “Joe, don’t ”

  He looked at her.

  “Hell, no I’m sorry,” he said, and kissed her. “Now, that’s better. Let’s go.”

  They walked off alongside the wall up the slope of the beach until they reached the end of the promenade.

  2

  John Sebastian remained standing by the top of the wall, looking out along the beach, a silver strand under the moon, his eyes searching the black dots of the rocks, the shifting mirror pools of the receding tide, as if frightened that he might see something out of place there.

  There was nothing, and he turned and went back to the butt. He relit the cigar, then started as a young woman came round the comer of the house on to the balcony where he was. “Laura,” he said.

  “What’s the matter, darling?” the beautiful girl asked, looking round. “You look as if I’ve found you out. Have you got anyone here?”

  He relaxed and laughed.

  “No. You are quite alone,” he said. “Delightfully so.”

  “His eyes drifted a moment round towards that part of the beach where the lovers had been, then back to her.

  She was very beautiful, her colouring exotic, the lights in her black hair seemed to him to give it a strange richness he always found irresistible. She was tall, with a full figure, and when she walked it was with long strides, like a man, but with extreme grace. It had been her walk that had first attracted him a year ago.

  “I am used to your wealthy eccentricity, Laura,” he said. “Hut isn’t that a dressing gown? and pyjamas?”

  “Well, it isn’t the first time you’ve seen me dressed like that,” she said. “I was in a hurry and nobody’s ever this end at night —after that scare about the cliff fall.”

  “Yes, but even so, precious”

  “I came, John, because I wanted you in a hurry,” she said firmly. “I’m frightened. Dead, shot-through scared, if you must know.”

  Her hands were clasped in front of her and he touched them gently.

  “But Laura, what of? What on earth’s happened?”

  She looked angry and stared at the sea; angry that she was finding it so hard to say what she had come to say.

  “You always said I had a mind like a beggar on horseback,” she said, with a deep breath of exasperation. “Well, maybe it’s riding again tonight. But, John, I’m certain, sure there’s somebody in my house.”

  He cocked his head.

  “But Joan’s on holiday ” he began.

  “Yes,” she said, nodding and he noticed the pearls at her ears shine deeply with sudden-caught light. “I know I’m supposed to be there alone, John, but I’ve got a feeling I’m not!” “But you have only to look,” he said, surprised. “And knowing you, Laura, I don’t see you too scared to look!”

  “I’ve looked everywhere,” she said, speaking slowly and incisively so that he could see her teeth. “I’ve looked in every room, got every light in the house on, and still I’m sure there’s someone there!”

  Sebastian tossed his cigar over the parapet on to the beach.

  “I shouldn’t have done that,” he said. “Littering my own outlook.”

  She looked at him askance, faintly puzzled.

  “You did hear what I said, John?”

  “Too true, I did, dear Laura,” he said softly, and gripped her hand. “I’ll come with you, of course. We’ll find this thing.” “Darling,” she said, gratefully. As they began to walk, she said, “You won’t laugh at me, John? Don’t, please. I’m not daffy, but I really seriously think that somehow—I’ve got a poltergeist.”

  He stopped in sudden shock, then looked at her and his eyes brightened, as if amazed at her perspicacity.

  “A poltergeist!” he cried.

  “Don’t laugh!” she warned.

  “I’m not laughing,” he said seriously, and turned her to continue walking. “When did this strike you.?”

  “Well, I looked all over the house and found nothing, yet the noises were still going on, so”—she made a helpless gesture with beautiful hands—“so I couldn’t think of anything else. _ They came on to the broad, empty promenade road, with its white lines for parking angled to the beach. A quarter of a mile ahead the promenade lights ranged along the straight road like luminous pearls against the soft night. Laura Benson s bungalow stood on the land side of the road, every light in the house blazing from uncurtained windows, making it look like the hollow, grinning face of a Halloween turnip, giving yellow leaf- edging to the black trees in the garden. He watched with a faint anxiety as they walked towards it,

  “The noises,” he said. “What kind of noises?”

  “Why, somebody moving about,” she said and cuddled the lapels of her rich gown tighter across her breasts. “Sort of slow —dragging about—Oh, I don’t know. I can’t describe it in detail. It’s just noises. Horrid, horrid noises that ought not to be there. People moving things—I tell you, John, I was going to ring the police, and then I thought, Well, there’s nothing there. I shall look a fool. I had to tell it to somebody who would understand, John, and be kind about it. I don’t want anyone to imagine I’m beginning to see things.” She gave a deep, self- conscious little laugh.

  They came to the gate.

  “I’d better go first,” he said quietly. ‘‘Hang on to me, precious.”

  He pushed open the gate and went in. The lawn and the little rose trees were lit with crossing stripes from the many lights in the windows.

  “You certainly had a field day with the switches,” he said, for something to say. His voice sounded dry, and she knew that he was apprehensive.

  She felt a little surprised to know that, for it showed that he had believed her story to the hilt; that he had taken it all for truth, without question.

  He came to the flagged area before the French windows of the drawing-room, and stopped there. He looked round the garden again, peering in amongst the tree shadows and the odd, geometrical light shapes.

  “It was inside, darling,” she whispered.

  “I’m just making sure,” he said, and stepped in through the windows. She came in beside him and they stood there, listening. Somewhere a tap was dripping slowly, and there was a kind of electric humming.

  “You’ve got a bad earth here somewhere,” he said, and went into the middle of the room. He seemed easier, relieved, and she noticed that he glanced often at the carpet and the rug before the windows.

  “You don’t think somebody walked in?” she said.

  “I don’t know how poltergeists get in,” he said, with a laugh. “Do they fade in through walls?” He went to the door of the room and out into the hall. He went with her into every room and cupboard in that luxurious beach house, and they found nothing at all, nor any trace that anything had been there, until they came back into the drawing-room.

  “The bureau,” Laura said, pointing. “I think it was that I heard moving at one time, sort of pushed across the parquet, and made it squeak”

  She went to it, drew some keys from her gown pocket and opened the drawers and the writing compartment..

  “Anything missing?” he asked.

  She turned to him, her eyes bright with questions.

  “John, you know there isn’t, don’t you?”

  “I do?” He started. “What
on earth do you mean?”

  “Just the way you said then—I don’t know” She put a hand to her mouth and turned away. “No, perhaps I’m mistaken. I don’t feel quite myself. I don’t like being alone. Perhaps, after all, I started to imagine it.”

  “You don’t imagine things, Laura,” he said gently. She had her back to him and he put his hands on her shoulders. She

  leant back against him gratefully and closed her eyes. “I’ll stay with you, and we’ll wait all night and see if any little men come up and start throwing coal buckets. Even that wouldn’t attract my attention overmuch from you. I love you with a very special kind of love, Laura.”

  “I know, John,” she said, in a soft voice. “I’ve known for a long, long time. I could tell when it became something that was just ours. Something so very, very special.” She went forward from him and then turned back, searching with wondering, puzzled eyes. “Why are you so afraid of it, John?”

  He looked from her eyes, to her lips, to her shoulders, then turned away momentarily. She laid a hand on his arm.

  “John, I know you love me,” she said. “And you know I love you. What is it that gets in between all the time? Is it my money? Docs that frighten you? John, it didn’t matter when our affair was a light and amusing thing. We didn’t know then what would happen to us, but now that it’s become something that really matters, you’ve—you’ve backed away. And yet I know you don’t want to. I know that, John. I can feel it. There’s no doubt in me what you feel.” She looked very beautiful as she pleaded, “Tell me, John. What is it? Please!”

  “You look so lovely, Laura. You touch me to the very centre of my being. I don’t know what it is. You have seen people offered the very chance of their lives, yet just stand there and do nothing—perhaps even do the opposite. You can’t explain it, but it happens.”

  “You needn’t be afraid, John,” she said. “I know you, I know all about you. I know all the faults, the little weaknesses, and the wickedness, too—yes, John, I believe there’s that there, too, but these things only matter because they’re all you. If you changed any one thing, it wouldn’t be you, and it’s you as you are that I love. Why be afraid, John? Why stand away from me like this?”