Marriage Bed

by Dixon, H. Vernor

  That quarrel of theirs, upon which they touched so lightly and which they never discussed, was not only responsible for wrecking a marriage but was probably causing a mental breakdown in Jeffrey. It could not have been just an argument, a difference of opinion, or a personality conflict. Whatever it was, whatever its cause, it had set emotional tides into motion that were far-reaching and destructive.

  I made up my mind to find out about it if it was the last thing I ever did. It came close to being just that.

  If Ann had not wondered why I was staying so long in the shower I would have soon looked like a boiled lobster. But when she peeked in to see what was wrong, I came back to earth with a thud, angry at her and at myself for being so exposed before her curious gaze. I told her to get the devil out of there and almost threw a bar of soap at her. Then I had to laugh at the ridiculousness of the situaton and immediately felt better.

  Carol, I told myself, you’re going to be boxing a lot of shadows and you may not like what you learn, but the man is worth it.

  I was fully dressed and about to go downstairs when the telephone rang. It was long-distance again and I thought Jeffrey was calling back. I sat on the edge of the bed and picked up the receiver and glanced at Ann. She went out to clean up the bathroom and closed the door.

  It was Sam Brandt calling from Beverly Hills. I was disappointed and felt badly let down, but it was wonderful hearing his voice and I was a playwright again and Lynecrest faded into the background.

  I told Sam, “Really, I should be angry with you. I have been expecting you all day.”

  “Up there? But I wasn’t going to Monterey.”

  “I thought you were, because of the wording in your telegram. But how are you?”

  “Oh, I’m fine. Had a nice flight out.” He chuckled, then informed me, “It looks all right here. We had a conference at the studio as soon as I got in and I’ve been given an unusually free hand in production. These people are all a little mad, but they’re friendly, and here and there, rare to be sure, I do discern an occasional spark of genius. I may like it.”

  “Oh, Sam,” I cried, “I’m sure you will. It’s simply wonderful having you so close.”

  “You weren’t so enthusiastic when we were even closer. How is Jeffrey, by the way? Is he there?”

  “Not right this minute. He’s hunting quail somewhere. I was just on my way downstairs to have Martinis with his twin brother. You’d be amazed how much alike they are.”

  He laughed. “That must be confusing.”

  I said dryly, “You have no idea. Sam, I have to see you as soon as possible, before I lose my mind.”

  “Now, really, Carol — ”

  “I mean it. I’ve run into a situation here that’s beyond the powers of my simple brain. I can’t describe it over the telephone because I don’t know what there is to describe.”

  “Abracadabra.”

  “I know. I can’t help it. But, honestly, something — God alone knows what — is terribly wrong around here. I’ve come close to leaving here almost every day since I arrived. I’ve been puzzled and frightened and — well,” yes — very stupid, too. Our marriage isn’t a normal marriage at all. I was just thinking a few minutes ago that Jeff is slowly but surely losing his sanity. Sam, I have to see you.”

  “Well,” he said, after a moment’s pause, “naturally, if you feel that way.”

  “It’s only two hours or so by plane. There are two or three flights up in the afternoon. I’ll meet you at the airport tomorrow.”

  “Now, wait a minute. I just got here and these people expect to talk things over with me.”

  “Then I’ll fly down there.”

  “Oh, no, you won’t. You’ve torn my life inside out once already!”

  “You weren’t in love with me, Sam. You just liked thinking of the idea.”

  “Let’s not start picking daisy petals. Anyway, I don’t want you to come down here. You’d get me all fouled up and I’d be able to accomplish nothing. Don’t be so damned selfish. But I’ll get the preliminaries out of the way as fast as I can and fly up for a week end. I’ll send you a wire.”

  “I won’t be here.”

  “Very well. You can go anywhere you please, but don’t come down here. Listen, Carol; this is a new job for me, this picture business, and I have to get it started properly. I promise I’ll break away as soon as I can, maybe in a few days.”

  “Of course, Sam, I am being selfish. I’ll be here.”

  “That’s better.”

  He talked a while longer about his assignment at the studio and then rang off. I sat back on the bed, smiling and feeling very good. At least, he was close. Then my eyes focused on reality and I looked about the room and I was again at Lynecrest and its massive weight was descending on me and John was probably waiting downstairs. My heart started hammering wildly. That simple conversation with Sam had restored my perspective and I knew that something evil was brewing in the very walls of Lynecrest.

  Chapter Nine

  JOHN WAS WAITING for me by the library fireplace. It shocked me to notice that he had assumed the same stance Jeffrey used. But he was holding a Martini in his hand, instead of a highball, and there was none of Jeffrey’s mocking smile in his eyes. He looked grim and formidable.

  He nodded toward another Martini. I picked up the glass and settled myself on the couch. I sipped at the drink. As usual, it was very good. But I was wondering what was wrong with John.

  To break the ice, I said, “You could get a job as a bartender specializing in Martinis.”

  He was watching me, but he did not seem to be listening. He said, “I’m afraid I have to hand you an unpleasant task.”

  “Yes?”

  He nodded. “I could do it myself, but I think it’s more in your province.” He smiled, but for a second only as he said, “That’s one nice thing in having a woman about the house. You get all the disagreeable tasks. Anyway, I wish you’d talk to Miss Laura and Brannen. Tomorrow morning will be good enough.”

  “About what, John?”

  “The maids, I suppose. Someone has been going through my desk. I wish to know who it is and have the person fired at once. That’s one thing I will not tolerate. They all know that. Even Jeff never touches a thing in my rooms, and he goes in there often.”

  I felt hot and cold waves sweeping through me and looked down into my glass. I could not face him as I said, “I’m the guilty one.”

  “You? But what on earth would you be doing in my desk?”

  “Well,” I lied, “I was in there looking for a book to read and then decided to get some writing paper. My correspondence has been sadly neglected. I thought you’d have some in your desk.”

  “Plenty. But there was no need to search for it. I keep my stationary on top of the desk.”

  Then I looked up at him. There was an amused smile tugging at his mouth, but his eyes were narrowed to blue slits. It was all so plain that he knew I was lying.

  I put my drink aside and leaned back in the couch and faced him. “So I was lying,” I snapped. “I was not looking for paper. I was looking for poetry.”

  His jaw dropped and his eyes opened with amazement. He stared at me and scratched his head, one eyebrow raised in amused unbelief above the other. “Poetry, Carol?”

  “Yes, poetry. Definitely poetry. I knew that one of you had been writing it, but not which one. I thought it might be you. That’s what I was looking for in your rooms.”

  He started to laugh. “Any luck?”

  I had to smile, too, and said, “No. Not with you, anyway. It was Jeff.”

  I was about to tell him I had been in Jeffrey’s rooms, too, but that made me feel just too guilty. I said, “Well, it has to be him. Doesn’t it?”

  He was apparently satisfied. He looked over my head and mused, “He did read a lot of it at one time. I remember, now. Tried to get me interested in it a few years ago, but when I laughed about it he dropped the subject. A silly sort of pastime. I would hardly call it a masculi
ne endeavor.”

  “I don’t think you can deny Jeff’s obvious masculinity.”

  “I’m not trying to.” His eyes swung down to me and his smile deepened. “I see. So you’ve been subjected to his crowds of women already.”

  That was one of the things that was strange about John. The use of the word “crowds” was not only in bad taste, but it had been used deliberately.

  I said, “Not crowds, exactly. Vivien Chandler seems to be the number one problem.”

  His face flushed an angry red. “Damn that Jeff. Why doesn’t he write off that mess? I’m telling you, Carol, he’s very likely to drag the two of us into a scandal.” He began pacing back and forth before the fireplace, saying, “That has always been the trouble between us; one scandal after another, and he thrives on it.”

  “I don’t think he’s doing much thriving on this one.”

  John waved a hand to dismiss any opinions I might have about Jeffrey. “You don’t know him. I do.”

  “But perhaps you don’t.”

  He came to a halt and frowned at me. “What do you mean by that?”

  That was the opening I had wanted. John was clever enough to be evasive, if he wanted, and I had thought he would be. But he was attentive and even curious. There was distinct reservation in his curiosity, but I had the impression that he would have forced the discussion to revolve about Jeffrey if I had not done so. It was only natural that he would like to know what was going on in my mind.

  I took a grip on my newly regained perspective and said, “John, I think I should know exactly what has come between you and Jeffrey.”

  “I think he should tell you that story. Ask him when he gets home.” He said icily, “I’d like to hear his version, too.”

  “He may not be home tonight. He called from Soledad a little while ago. He and some friends are going hunting.”

  “That,” John snorted, “is so typical of him. He knew the deal I was starting today. He knew I’d like to talk it over with him.”

  “I don’t think he’s staying away for that reason. But he does avoid you. I have noticed that. Why? What has really gone wrong between the two of you?”

  “I’ve told you as much as I can.”

  I shook my head. “No,” I said, “I don’t believe you have. You have told me what you wanted me to believe, but that hasn’t necessarily been the truth.”

  “Oh.” He smiled. “Has Jeff been feeding you a lot of propaganda?”

  “We haven’t discussed the matter. But there’s something so — so queer about the whole situation that now I would like to know. You have gone out of your way to paint Jeff as a renegade who keeps you always in hot water. A bad boy who thinks nothing of trailing the Hamlyne name through the mud. It got so bad that you exploded, finally, and had a showdown with him. That’s what you have implied.”

  John leaned back against the fireplace, trying to be casual, but I noticed that his fingers were nervously tugging at a coat button. “Well?” he asked.

  “That picture is ridiculous. All that I know about Jeff contradicts it.”

  He laughed, a short burst of cold sound. “You claim to know more about my own brother than I.”

  “No. I’m just saying that you’ve distorted what you know about him. Prior to your row, Jeff had an unusually well-balanced personality. He was a cheerful man with thousands of friends and he was every inch a sportsman, even in his attitude toward women. You keep hinting about scandal, yet I have never heard that he was ever involved in any kind of scandal, principally because he was so honest in his affairs of the heart.”

  “How about Vivien?”

  “That’s different. That could be a scandal. But, John, it would be the first and not one of many as you would like me to believe.”

  He assumed an air of injured innocence. “What other conclusions have you reached?”

  He was being condescending, but behind the smooth mask of his face was something ugly. It was mirrored in his eyes and in the cool line of his lips. I realized suddenly, rather appalled by the thought, that I was a bit afraid of him.

  I managed to suppress that for the moment and said, “I have no conclusions, only questions, only questions or half-formed answers. But I don’t believe the pattern you have been making of Jeff’s character. I believe his character underwent a change only after you forced a showdown. Now, what was that all about?”

  John frowned, seemingly perplexed. “That would seem to place the burden of guilt squarely upon me.” Then he smiled and said, “I assure you, Carol, there is nothing psychic in my relations with Jeff. I am not a Machiavellian character conniving to drive my own brother into insanity.”

  He left the fireplace and leaned over to place his hands on my shoulders. “Look; you’re getting beyond your depth. Believe me, I don’t enjoy what has happened between us, but there’s nothing strange about it. This isn’t the first time two brothers have fallen out with each other.”

  He sounded so logical and looked so sweetly reasonable that I was almost convinced. Then I thought of the night Jeffrey had used the word “strange” so often and shuddered. For at least that short space of time Jeffrey had not been sane.

  I said, “I’m sorry, John, but I can’t dismiss it that easily. Something ugly has taken place in this house. I feel it and I know it. I’m convinced of it.”

  John straightened and looked off into space and all the blood drained from his face; even his lips were a ghastly gray. He walked back to his position in front of the fireplace like a sleepwalker facing a nightmare. When he turned to face me his eyes were deadly and the cruelty in their depths was on the surface. Mingled with it was great emotional pain.

  He stood there for a long while, his eyes fixed sightlessly upon mine. At last he wet his lips with the tip of his tongue and said huskily, “You’re a very perceptive person. It’s amazing just how perceptive you are; almost too much so for the good of any of us. But how far have you gone in your theory that something is wrong here? And what is it that’s so wrong?”

  “Oh, John,” I cried, “I don’t know. It’s just that everything is so odd. Jeff has changed so terribly, he isn’t at all the man I married, and he’s far from being a normal person. And I think that everything wrong has its origin in the quarrel between you two.”

  “You believe that?”

  “Yes.”

  “I wish I could. I wish I could simplify things that easily. But, like everything else concerning human beings, there are wheels within wheels and complexities beyond complexities.”

  I thought, with satisfaction, that now we were getting somewhere. I said, “I understand that. It would take something unusually powerful to change you or Jeff. Don’t you think I should know what it is?”

  A touch of color crept back into his cheeks and his eyes began to focus on mine. I came close to gasping aloud. There was no mistaking his expression. He was regarding me exactly as one would a meddlesome child. I had frightened him for a moment, but now that fear was gone. Evidently he had been afraid that I knew more than I did. When he realized that I knew nothing his attitude changed.

  He said, “I still think Jeff should explain it.”

  “Explain what?”

  “Now,” he laughed, “you’re not even being clever. I’m sorry, but it’s Jeff’s duty, not mine. Make him talk it over with you when he gets home. Meanwhile, suppose we just forget the whole matter.”

  He bluntly concluded our discussion by ringing for Brannen and telling him that we were ready for dinner. It was a silent meal. He was preoccupied with his own thoughts, or some new thought that had taken hold just before we left the library, and I was trying not to hate him.

  It was not that my perspective had slipped again, but rather the opposite. I was seeing John for the first time clearly for what he was: an arrogant man of enormous conceit, with a devious brain that could follow all sorts of unethical directions and manage to excuse itself at each step.

  I was giving attention, also, to a supposition that
he had unwittingly suggested. That was his remark about a psychic relationship between himself and Jeffrey. The Hollywood studios had bared that subject to such an impossible degree, with their usual talent for misinterpretation of what is psychic and what is neurotic, that I felt almost as if I were exploring the subject from a loge seat in the balcony. Possibly that helped to preserve my own sanity.

  I studied John across the table and remembered a remark that Sam had made about another producer, that the man was a master puppeteer. John liked to pull strings, too. Considering his evident lust for power, it was possible that he was dancing his own brother toward the edge of a chasm from which there would be no return. What profit would there be in such a procedure?

  Adverse publicity would not be a deterrent. There were many quiet ways to take care of a prominent person whose mind was slipping. John would then have total control of the great Hamlyne wealth and could prove that Jeffrey’s power of attorney (about which he had lied to me) had been signed during a lucid period. There would then be no danger of Jeffrey’s ever revoking it, John could operate as he pleased.

  There was considerable profit in such speculation.

  But it was all based on the questionable premise that John was capable of exercising some powerful influence over Jeffrey’s mind and behavior. Drugs. That was laughable. Something hypnotic? Movie stuff. Could Jeffrey possess a guilt complex about something? That I doubted.

  It would have been revealed in the untrammeled writing of his poetry.

  There was one broad avenue that did not lead into a blind alley and that was Jeffrey’s affection for John. Everyone who knew them well had told me how “crazy” Jeffrey was about his brother. They could not all be wrong. It was possible that John was playing upon that blind affection — in reverse.

  I could not follow the thought too far, as a headache was throbbing at my temples, but I had a hunch that, for the first time, I was on the right track. It would account for the strange behavior of the two brothers and for my own feeling that something ugly had either happened or was brooding within the thick walls of Lynecrest.