Marriage Bed

by Dixon, H. Vernor

  John’s hat was on a chair and the inevitable brief case was at his feet. He explained that he would be spending the day in Salinas. His voice, too, was weary, but there was a nervous edge to it.

  He blew out his cheeks and sighed. “Damned insomnia. I didn’t get a wink of sleep last night. Usually I can get out one of the horses and ride for a while and then sleep like a child, but last night it was too windy. I probably wore a hole in the carpet pacing the floor.”

  I looked at him over the cup I was holding and asked, “What made you so restless?”

  He gave me a glance that was a direct appeal for sympathy. He lit a cigarette, blew out a puff of smoke, and said, “Oh, hell, everything. It’s the way everything is going. Nothing is turning out right. Vivien stopped by last night.”

  “I know.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Oh? Did you know she was here?”

  “In the guest room.”

  He frowned and drummed his fingers on the table. “Sorry you found it out. I wasn’t able to help myself, Carol. She passed out. She cornered me in the library and started raving about Jeff. What right has she to concern herself in our affairs and go around making a lot of wild accusations?”

  “Were they so wild?”

  John snorted, “A lot of ridiculous nonsense. She’s a tramp. She’s an alcoholic nymphomaniac, that’s all. That kind of woman gets the damnedest slant on everything. No perspective. She’s a troublemaker. If she should start anything with you when she comes downstairs — ”

  “She isn’t here,” I interrupted.

  He seemed relieved. “Did she go already? I was hoping she would.”

  “She left a little after two in the morning.”

  His eyes narrowed and he studied my expression. “You seem to know all about it. Did she bother you?”

  “Her screams did.”

  “Screams?” He smiled. “God, did she have the d.t.’s, too?”

  “Worse than that. She had a peculiar dream.” I told him the dream exactly as she had told it to me, then said, “But perhaps it wasn’t a dream.”

  I had expected him to smile or laugh, but instead he was very attentive. “You have a reason for saying that. What is it?”

  I took the cord from my pocket and placed it on the table before him. He lifted it in his hands and studied it. I said, “A minute or so after Vivien left I found that near the window. This is obviously the cord that had been wrapped around her throat.”

  Sudden anger flooded his eyes. He snapped, “Why didn’t you call me?”

  “Well, I didn’t give it much thought until I’d returned to my own rooms. It wasn’t until then that I realized this was truly the cord and not a part of her dress. Then I was too scared to call anybody. Anyway, I wanted to be alone and think about it. I wanted to be sure in my own mind that a murder had actually been attempted.”

  “Are you?”

  “Not quite.”

  “Hmmmm. Reservations, eh?” He felt the red cord with his fingers and commented, “It’s an odd sort of cord.”

  I asked, “Do you recognize it?”

  He pursed his lips, examined it more closely, then shook his head. “No-o,” he said slowly, “can’t say that I do. Should I recognize it?”

  Again I had the feeling that I was pursuing a direction he wanted me to follow. There was not the slightest feeling of danger in the situation. So I said, “It’s a cord from a man’s dressing gown. And Jeff was wearing it yesterday.”

  He leaned back in the chair and rubbed his hands over his face. He was truly a magnificent actor. His face was dead, but his eyes were alive and feverish and haunted. He dropped his hands to the table and stared over my head. He picked up his cigarette and held it by the hot coal for a moment, seemingly before realizing that it was burning his fingers. Then he turned it slowly about and raised it to his lips.

  He said at last. “Of course, Jeff may have gone in to talk with her — ”

  “Did he know she was here?”

  “Yes.” He nodded. “I told him. So he may have dropped the cord in there and that could have been the inspiration for a drunken and half-awake dream.”

  “But you doubt that.”

  “I don’t know what I believe or what I doubt any more. For the moment, though, let’s give the dream the benefit of the doubt.”

  He leaned back, again lost in thought, and I considered what I had been thinking about most of the night. It seemed to me that once that cord had been placed around Vivien’s throat it would have been a relatively simple matter to choke off any screams and easily complete the job of strangulation. Yet Vivien had been allowed to slip from his arms; no effort had been made to stop her from screaming. Maybe that had been the desired result. Then I wondered if I was quite sane myself. Black was becoming blue and white was turning gray.

  John cleared his throat and again turned his attention to me. “Did you talk with Jeff last night?”

  “Yes. He came into the library just as you were hanging up. He was in a peculiar frame of mind.”

  “Yes,” John agreed. “I talked with him, too, and it meant nothing. He’s obsessed with the idea that he’s burned out. There is good reason for it, of course, but still — ” He paused a moment, considering some thought in his mind, then said, “I’m glad you talked with him. I had the impression, from the way he was talking, the way he was acting, that last night had some critical meaning to him.”

  “You mean,” I stated bluntly, “that he had made up his mind to end everything last night.”

  “Well—”

  “I had the same impression, so let’s not be evasive about it. However, he changed his mind.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Well, I don’t mean that he really changed his plans. He has just altered the timing.”

  “Hmmmmm?”

  “I had a telegram from Sam Brandt, my former collaborator. He’s down south and is coming to spend the week end with us.”

  “That will be nice. I’ll be glad to meet him.”

  “Anyway, I thought it might be a nice idea to have a formal party for him Saturday night.”

  “Tomorrow? That’s rather short notice for a formal.”

  “I know. But Jeff didn’t think so. He started making plans right away and told Brannen to get the household staff busy.”

  “So that accounts for all the activity this morning. I wondered why the ballroom was being aired.”

  I said, “That’s it. But getting back to Jeff, that’s when he altered his plans — when I told him about Sam’s visit and mentioned a party. I had a hunch, too. I had a hunch that whatever purpose he was after could better be achieved on that night. Which is why he changed his mind.”

  John drummed his fingers on the table, a slight frown creasing his sandy eyebrows. “I don’t quite follow you, Carol.”

  I said, “I think you do. But it isn’t important. The important thing is the coming week end. But whatever takes place, when Sam leaves I’m leaving, too.”

  He sat back and regarded me through narrow blue slits. “Now I don’t follow you at all. You mean you’ll be leaving for good?”

  “Yes. I’ve definitely made up my mind. I wasn’t wanted in the first place, I’ve taken a mental and emotional beating ever since I’ve been here, and, to be truthful about it, I’m frightened.”

  He snorted, “Nonsense.”

  “Nevertheless, I’m afraid. There’s something being generated here that’s mysterious and terrifying. Curiosity kept me here for a few days and, after that, the simple desire to save our marriage. Our marriage, though, is just a minor inconvenience in something much larger and more formidable. I’m convinced there is nothing I can do to save it, so I’m leaving.”

  Peculiarly, he looked rather frustrated as he said, “Have you told Jeff?”

  “Yes. The news didn’t make the slightest impression on him. That may be, of course, because he knows me well enough to know that I want no part of the Hamlyne estate. He isn’t afraid of a propert
y settlement.” I looked at John across the table and asked, “Are you?”

  “No.” He smiled. “I think I know you pretty well, too.”

  “Then there’s nothing for either of you to worry about.”

  “But what will you do?”

  His words had such concern in them that I smiled and almost reached across to pat his hand. I said, “What I’ve always done. After all, I can still write plays. This has only been a brief interlude.”

  He pursed his lips and nodded. “Yes. Naturally. It’s difficult for me to keep you in perspective. I didn’t know you in New York, as Jeff did. I’ve just known you here, as a woman, a desirable woman possessing all the attributes for the perfect mistress of Lynecrest. The way I’ve known you — ” Then he paused and tiny wrinkles tugged at the corners of his eyes. “Why, damn it,” he chuckled, “I sound almost like a suitor. That will be enough of that.”

  He got to his feet and picked up his hat and brief case. “I must run, Carol. You and Jeff and Brannen can take care of the party details without me. And if you’re definitely decided on leaving — well, then, let’s make the party a really good one.”

  Brannen and Miss Laura came in to talk over details as soon as John had gone. That was a weird day. I had made up my mind to leave Lynecrest, a Jeffrey who didn’t exist was supposed to be on the verge of suicide, a murder had undoubtedly taken place, something even uglier was coming to fruition in the atmosphere of Lynecrest — and there I was planning a gay party for the following night. There was no sense to the party, but there was also no escaping it. Then I hoped that it was too late to arrange a formal, but the Hamlyne name carried sufficient weight to make time unimportant. “Why, darling, I’d just love to be there. How sweet of you to ask me!” It all went the same way. I talked on the phone to people I had never met in my life about a party I did not want and they all acted delighted.

  Jeffrey — at least, it was his clothes — came down shortly after noon to help with the arrangements. He was enthusiastic and in excellent spirits and a few times I almost caught myself believing that he was the man I had married. He took practically everything out of my hands and accomplished more in an hour than I could during the entire day. He used John’s apartment, mostly, so that he would have two outside lines, and kept them busy for hours.

  That evening, supposedly after returning from Salinas, John called from his own apartment. “Jeffrey” had disappeared. Wildly, feeling a frantic haste about it, I thought that I could spring a trap and had Brannen call every room in the house, as if searching for Jeffrey. I even had a look in the garage under the house and found his car. Then I telephoned the tack room at the ranch. Luke Dodd answered and said, “He was here just a minute ago, Mrs. Hamlyne. He went out on his favorite hunter, the black.”

  So that was that, all beautifully covered up, a black horse carrying a ghost through the night.

  I went up to John’s rooms and watched his expression closely as I told him, “I’m almost sorry you came home. Jeff has been in a perfectly normal mood all day. But now that you’re back he has disappeared. Dodd says he went out riding.”

  John had taken off his jacket and slid his arms into a dressing gown, which he tied about his waist. He nodded and said, “He’ll probably ride up to the club. Do you want me to go after him?”

  “No. Never mind. He wants to avoid you, so let’s not press it. Maybe you can take his place. Now, here’s the last part of the list we were working on.”

  We worked for an hour or more and then he mentioned casually, “By the way, I’ve invited the Chandlers. I thought you’d forget them, or decide not to invite them. I hope you don’t mind.”

  I did mind, very much, but I said, “I don’t think Scott will come.”

  “Oh, I think he will. I was talking with Vivien. Stopped there on my way home. She promised to bring the big ox. He isn’t over a bad hangover and is as docile as a kitten.”

  “He may cause trouble. You know his attitude toward Jeff. I wish you hadn’t invited them, John.”

  “Well,” he laughed, “the harm is done. But more harm would have been caused by their absence. People around here are terrific gossips. I thought it best to invite them.”

  There was nothing I could do about it, so I simply erased the matter from my mind. We talked over the last details that needed to be settled and then it was quite late and I was tired. I yawned and told John that I had better get some sleep. I would have to be up early in the morning.

  He walked with me to the door of his apartment and his face was suddenly gray and haggard. He leaned an arm against the door, towering above me as I stood there before him. He looked down into my eyes and said, “I’ve been thinking all day of what you had to say this morning.”

  “About what?”

  “Your impression that Jeff has altered his plans and has put the time back until tomorrow night.”

  I was too tired to escape from him and, besides, his change of attitude irritated me. I asked, “What plans?”

  “Now, Carol — I’ve told you before that Jeff has made three separate attempts at suicide, so let’s face things as they are. I thought he was going to make a fourth attempt yesterday and even you felt it. This coming visit of your friend made him change his mind. I really believe, now, that he may carry it through tomorrow night, or at least sometime during the week end.”

  All the frustration I was feeling boiled to a head and I cried out, “You’re not a very good liar.”

  He stared at me incredulously. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I said you’re not a very good liar. You aren’t. That ledge outside was Jeff’s private sanctuary. If he had ever dreamed of committing suicide he had the perfect place to do it. This lying of yours …” My words slid to a halt. I had said too much.

  John’s face had turned a nasty white, with pink spots of angry color blazing in his cheeks. His lips thinned and his eyes narrowed to cold slits. I had gone too far. That was the one weak spot in all of his elaborate planning. It was absolutely essential to him that I, and everyone else, accept without question the fact that “Jeffrey” was suicidally inclined, so that, no matter how he finally managed to stage it, there would be no doubt in anyone’s mind that such an event had actually taken place. I realized, too late, that I had made a horrible and probably fateful blunder.

  We were standing, facing each other across the open doorway. He came slowly through the doorway and stopped just before me. He dropped a hand on my arm and my flesh crawled. He looked down into my eyes and there was murder gleaming in his own. Thank God I was rigid with fear. I believe that if I had cried out, or made the slightest wrong move, he would have stilled my voice forever then and there.

  His fingers were tight on my arm and for a long while he stared into my eyes, but then his grip relaxed and his hand dropped. Slowly his eyes traveled up and down my body, almost as if he were undressing me. I almost fainted as I realized what he was thinking, but it saved my life.

  He stepped back from me and sat on the edge of a desk and his killing mood was gone. He actually managed to smile, a sort of sly smile, as if we were two conspirators sharing a secret. “Suppose,” he said softly, “that we talk it over some other time.”

  The implication was obvious. We would talk it over after the thing was done.

  The lights danced before my eyes and I leaned back against the wall and felt ill. I turned away from him — he made no attempt to stop me — and was barely able to walk down the long hallway and to my rooms. I fell across the bed. I tried not to face the terrible thing that was in my mind, but that was impossible. Mercifully, however, nervous exhaustion swept over me, and I slept.

  Chapter Fifteen

  SATURDAY MORNING I refused to face anything other than the party. Brannen and Miss Laura helped with all the arrangements, pleasant anticipation written all over their faces, and even Ann looked as pleased as the others. It was all very smooth, too smooth. It was as if fate had taken the direction of the party out of my hands and no
thing could stop it.

  About half an hour before Sam’s plane was due, I had one of the cars brought around to the driveway and headed toward the airport. The moment I was away from Lynecrest I was afraid that Sam’s plane might have to land at Salinas. Thick fog was down in the trees and blotting out the road. I had to drive with the fog lights on, not so much to see where I was going as to protect me from other cars. As soon as I went down the long hill and entered Monterey, though, I drove out of the fog and into brilliant sunshine, as if I had gone through a wall. I sat back with relief.

  The airliner settled onto the Del Monte runway, then turned about and taxied to a halt before the small frame administration building. The engines choked to silence. I stood midway between the plane and the building, so nervous that I was pressing my fingernails into the palms of my hands. Three people came out of the cabin and then Sam came out and down the steps and saw me and smiled and waved a hand. I literally threw myself into his arms.

  New York, Iowa, or California, it was the same Sam. He had discarded his cane in deference to Western informality, a big concession for him to make, but otherwise there was no change. He looked as if he had just stepped from a barber’s chair and had arrived in a tailor’s box. His bony face was as homely and as interesting as ever and his penetrating eyes had not lost their power of drinking in detail at a glance. He knew instantly that I was badly unstrung.

  He carried a Gladstone and a folding suit bag to my car and got in at my side. I started toward the highway with the engine barely turning over in high gear. I was in no hurry to arrive at Lynecrest.

  Sam paid no attention whatever to the magnificent scenery. In all the years we had worked together I had never known him to be interested in anything other than people. He kept his eyes upon me, patiently waiting to hear what was on my mind. He sensed the confused state of my mind and asked me where Monterey was located. I pointed down the highway and said, “Straight ahead. We’ll be going through it in a minute, or one corner of it, anyway.”