by M. M. Kaye
It had snowed for half an hour or so earlier in the night. Snow lay thick upon the verandah rails, and a powdering of blown crystals covered the wooden floorboards with a thin, brittle carpet that crunched crisply under Sarah’s slippers. The small sound seemed terrifyingly loud in the frozen quiet of that silent, sleeping world: ‘Loud enough to wake the dead’… the phrase slipped unbidden into her mind, and the picture it conjured up did nothing to lessen her tension.
She reached Janet Rushton’s door and turned the handle; only to find that the door was locked. But either Miss Rushton was already awake or she was an exceptionally light sleeper, for Sarah heard a swift rustle from inside the room as though someone had sat up suddenly in bed. She tapped softly, urgently, upon the rough wooden panel of the door, and still there was no reply; but as though disturbed by the sound, an overhanging mass of snow at the edge of the roof detached itself and fell with a sighing flump into the snowdrift below the verandah rails, setting her heart racing again. And in a fresh access of panic she grasped the door handle and rattled it urgently.
There was a swift movement from inside the room, and after a moment a voice breathed: ‘Who is it?’
‘It’s me—Sarah Parrish!’ whispered Sarah in ungrammatical frenzy: ‘Open the door. Quick! Oh hurry!’
She heard a bolt withdrawn and the click of a key turned in the lock, and the door opened a few inches; a narrow slit of blackness in the moon-flooded verandah. Janet Rushton’s voice, curiously taut and breathless, said: ‘What is it? What do you want?’
‘Hush!’ begged Sarah urgently. ‘Don’t make a noise! There’s someone trying to get in through your bathroom window. You’ve got to get out of there, quickly. He may be in by now! I saw him—it…’
Janet Rushton still did not speak and Sarah, exasperation suddenly mingling with her panic, thrust with all her strength against the close-held door and stepped over the threshold.
A hand gripped her arm and jerked her forward into darkness, and she heard the door close behind her and the rasp of a bolt shot home. ‘Don’t move!’ whispered a voice beside her—a voice she would never have recognized as belonging to the gay and gregarious Miss Rushton—and the next instant something cold and hard was pressed against the side of her neck. Something that there could be no mistaking. A small, ice-cold ring of metal.
Sarah stood quite still, rigid with shock, while in the darkness a hand went over her body with a swift and frightening efficiency. There was a short gasp, as if of relief; then: ‘Now tell me what you want,’ said the harsh whisper.
Sarah touched her dry lips with her tongue: ‘I’ve told you. There’s someone trying to get in by your bathroom window. For heaven’s sake stop playing the fool and let’s get out of here!’
The cold rim of metal did not move, but in the moment of silence that followed there came a faint and unidentifiable sound from somewhere outside the building, and suddenly the cold pressure was withdrawn. There was a swift movement in the darkness beside her, and Sarah was alone. She heard a door open and the sound of someone stumbling against a chair in the dark bathroom, and turning, groped her way to the electric light switch and pressed it down.
The harsh yellow light of a single shaded bulb revealed a counterpart of the bare wooden walls and shabby, utilitarian furniture of her own room. It shone down upon the narrow tumbled bed and struck sparks from the edges of a pair of skates that lay upon the floor, lit up the slim lines of the skis that leant against the cupboard, and glinted wickedly along the short polished barrel of the weapon in Janet Rushton’s hand …
Sarah’s eyes, narrowed against the sudden light, lifted slowly from the small, ugly weapon to the face of the girl who stood in the bathroom doorway, watching her.
Janet Rushton was an attractive girl of the healthy, outdoor variety, whose chief claim to good looks lay in fresh colouring and abundant curly blond hair, rather than in any regularity of feature. But there was no vestige of prettiness in the face that stared back at Sarah above the gleaming barrel of the little automatic. The blue eyes were hard and unwavering in a face so white and haggard with fear and desperation as to be almost unrecognizable.
She came forward into the room, drawing the door shut behind her with her free hand without turning her gaze from Sarah’s, and said softly: ‘There was someone there: the window-catch has been filed through and there are marks in the snow. But whoever it was must have heard us and gone. What happened? Who was it?’
‘How on earth should I know?’ demanded Sarah heatedly. She had been more shaken than she would have thought possible, and her receding panic was rapidly being replaced by wrath: ‘I went into my bathroom to get some biscuits, and I heard a noise outside. I’d already heard it, and I thought at first it was a rat; but it was someone trying to open your window, and…’
‘Who was it?’ interrupted Miss Rushton in a harsh whisper.
‘I’ve just told you! I haven’t any idea!’
‘Was it a man or a woman?’
‘Why, a—’ Sarah checked, brows wrinkled, and after a moment’s thought said slowly: ‘A man, I suppose. I don’t really know.’
‘You don’t know? But that’s absurd! It’s almost as bright as day outside.’
‘Yes, I know. But you see he—it—was in the shadows and close against the wall. Anyway it never occurred to me that it could be a woman. I thought it was some coolie or a hotel thief, who meant to burgle Mrs Matthews’ room and had mistaken the window.’
‘Why should you think that?’ The question was sharp with suspicion.
‘What else should I think?’ snapped Sarah, exasperated. ‘No one is likely to raise much fuss if half Mrs Matthews’ possessions are stolen, because the chances are that no one will be able to say what’s missing. You can’t tell me that any ordinary sneak-thief is going to take the trouble to break in at your window when mine is already open. Of course I thought it was Mrs Matthews’ room he was after! I was just going to shout and scare him off, when … when…’ Sarah shivered so violently that her teeth chattered.
‘When what? Why didn’t you?’
‘He—it—turned its head, and it hadn’t got a face.’ Sarah shivered again. ‘I mean, it was wearing a sort of tightly fitting hood with holes for its eyes, and it had a gun. I–I knew then that–that it couldn’t be some ordinary little thief, and I was scared out of my wits. All I could think of was to get you out of your room before that creature got in. And,’ concluded Sarah stormily, exasperation and wrath overcoming her once more, ‘all I got for my pains was a gun jabbed into me!’
Janet Rushton gave a sharp sigh and dropped the gun into the pocket of the windbreaker coat she wore over her pyjamas. She said uncertainly: ‘I–I’m most awfully sorry. It was terribly stupid of me. I’m afraid I lost my head. But I … you startled me. I’m always nervous in this country—especially in a hotel. It makes me feel safer having a gun, and I——’
‘Oh, rubbish!’ interrupted Sarah tersely. ‘You aren’t the nervous kind; I’ve seen you ski! There’s something very peculiar about all this, and I don’t like it. What’s going on?’
A slow flush rose in Miss Rushton’s white face, and faded again, leaving it if possible paler than before, and all at once Sarah was smitten with compunction: the girl looked so exhausted and desperate. Her anger ebbed away and she smiled unexpectedly into the drawn face: ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be cross and scratchy, and I don’t want to do any of this “fools rushing in where angels fear to tread” stuff, but it’s beginning to look to me as though you’re in some kind of a jam. Are you? Because if you’d like any help, here I am. I’ve got quite a good shoulder for crying on, and a bottle of aspirin and a tin of salts in the next room. Just state your preference. We aim to please.’
She was relieved to see an answering smile replace the look of tension upon Miss Rushton’s face. ‘That’s nice of you—considering the hysterical reception I gave you,’ conceded Janet in a more normal voice. ‘Thank you for coming in as you did. I ca
n’t apologize enough for treating you like that, but you see I’ve–I’ve been rather worried lately. Oh, it’s only a purely personal matter—but … Well, I suppose I’ve been letting it get on my nerves a bit. I was half asleep when I got out of bed, and I didn’t realize who you were when you came bursting into my room in the dark. It was a bit unnerving, you know. I … I don’t know what you must think of me.”
Her voice seemed suddenly to fail her, and she took a few jerky steps to the nearest chair, and sitting down abruptly, as though her legs could no longer support her, helped herself to a cigarette from a box on the table beside her and looked vaguely about her for a light.
Sarah handed her the box of matches that stood on the chimney-piece, and said lightly: ‘You lie very badly, you know. Still, if that’s your story, you stick to it. I’m going to make up the fire and wait here while you smoke that cigarette, and after that, if you’re feeling any better, I’ll get back to my own room.’
She turned to the task of stacking pine chips and fir cones from the wood-box onto the still faintly glowing embers in the fireplace, and blew them into a blaze while Miss Rushton lit the cigarette with uncertain fingers and smoked it in silence.
Sarah added some dry aromatic deodar logs to the fire and sat back on her heels: ‘There. That’ll blaze up beautifully in a minute or two. It’s a pity we haven’t got a kettle. I’d like to go all girlish and make a pot of tea.’
Janet made no comment. She had been watching Sarah make up the fire: studying her intently. Now she stubbed out the end of her cigarette in the ashtray on the table, and getting to her feet, walked over to the fireplace and stood leaning against the chimney-piece, staring down at the bright leaping flames. Presently she said abruptly: ‘Why did you think I was lying?’
Sarah leaned back against the side of an armchair and looked up at her with a disarming smile. ‘I didn’t think. I knew.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Do you really want to know?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Well, I’m not exactly an idiot, and as you’ve already pointed out, it’s almost as bright as day outside—and you took a good long look at me through the crack of that door! Half asleep, my foot! You knew exactly who you were shoving that gun into, and—well, I’m curious. That’s all.’
The pale face above her flushed painfully in the glancing firelight, and Sarah said contritely: ‘That was rude of me. I’m sorry. You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to, and if you’re feeling better now I’ll go back to bed. At least this business should give everyone a laugh at breakfast!’
She stood up and held out her hand: ‘Good-night.’
Janet Rushton looked from the outstretched hand to Sarah’s face, and turning away to pull up the small chintz-covered armchair, she sat down again and said haltingly: ‘Don’t go just yet … please! I–I’d be very grateful if you’d stay a little longer and just … just talk to me until I feel a bit less fraught. You don’t know what a relief it would be to sit back and listen to someone else, instead of sitting here by myself and–and thinking about … Besides, after that thief scare, I couldn’t feel less like sleeping. So if you could stay for a bit…?’
‘Of course,’ agreed Sarah cheerfully, resuming her seat on the floor and clasping her arms about her knees. ‘What would you like me to talk about?’
‘Yourself, I think.’ Janet’s voice, which had been noticeably quiet, returned to its normal pitch, and Sarah automatically raised her own to match it.
‘Story of my life? “Me,” by me. Mankind’s favourite topic! All right. I’m afraid it’s not wildly enthralling, but such as it is, you shall have it. Let’s see … Well, to begin with, like most of us I’m a mixture of England–Ireland–Scotland and Wales, which nowadays adds up to “British” to save time. But I was born in Cairo of all places, because Dad was in the Foreign Service and he and Mother happened to be posted there at the time. I even have a vague recollection of being carried round the Pyramids, sitting in front of Mother on the back of a camel. I suppose I was about three then, and … But perhaps you’ve been to Egypt?’
‘Not yet. It’s one of the places I’ve always meant to visit one day—ever since I heard about Tutankhamen’s tomb when I was in primary school.’
‘I mean to go back there too, one day. To see all the things I missed. I remember a lot more about Rome, because I was older when Dad was posted there, and I still haven’t forgotten all my Italian—or any of the other languages I picked up at the various schools that “Foreign Service children” go to. It was a marvellous life for a child. I can’t think of a better one and I only wish … Oh well, I don’t suppose that any of the places I remember will ever again be quite the same as they were before the war. Just as Vienna was never the same after the First World War! “Babylon the great is fallen, is fallen…”’ Sarah sighed and dropped her chin on to her clasped hands.
‘You were lucky,’ observed Janet. ‘My father was in the Indian Army, so like most “children of the Raj”, I and my brothers got shipped back home at a very early age, to be “educated”. A lot earlier for Tony and John and Jamie than for me. After that we only saw our parents about once every two years until our school days were over and we came back here again. Didn’t you ever go to a boarding-school in England?’
‘Yes. But not until I was fourteen. That was because … Well, my parents were due to go to America, and they were taking me with them, like they always did. But it–it was the year the war broke out. We’d been on holiday in England that summer, and we sailed on the Athenia at the beginning of September.’
‘The Athenia? But wasn’t she——?’ Janet stopped abruptly and Sarah nodded.
‘Yes. She was torpedoed the day after war was declared, and … and my parents went down with her. There weren’t enough lifeboats, you see.’
A log burst into flame and the fire blazed up and crackled merrily.
Janet said: ‘I’m sorry,’ and Sarah gave a sharp little sigh.
‘So am I. It seemed such a … such a pointless waste. They were both so … Oh well, that’s how I finished my school days in a boarding-school in Hampshire; because Dad had managed to pitch me into a lifeboat with a lot of other children, and we all got back safe and seasick to England, where I was scooped in by my grandparents and eventually sent to Gran’s old school. It got bombed twice while I was there, and the first time we moved into two wings of someone’s Stately Home, and when that went too, into a clutch of Nissen huts that were a lot warmer. Then, as soon as I struck seventeen, I left and joined the W R A Fs. I was demobbed last year, and as I wanted to see our Vanishing Empire before it vanished for keeps, I jumped at the chance when my Aunt Alice suggested that I come out and spend a few months with them in Peshawar.’
‘What made you come up to Gulmarg?’
‘Why, skiing of course! What else? We always went skiing during winter and spring holidays before the war, and I was given my first pair of skis before I was five. So when the Creed’s told me about this meeting, and offered to give me a lift in their car, up and back, I couldn’t resist it. I was afraid I might have forgotten how to ski, but thank goodness it seems to be one of those things that you don’t forget—like riding a bicycle.’
‘Who are your aunt and uncle?’ asked Janet.
‘The Addingtons. Aunt Alice is mother’s eldest sister, and Uncle Jack’s commanding the Peshawar Brigade at the moment. You’ve probably met them.’
‘Yes,’ said Janet slowly, ‘they were up here last year. I wondered why your name rang a faint bell—it was your uncle, of course. I sat next to him at a dinner party last year and he mentioned you. It seems you had a good war record.’
‘No more than anyone else in the Women’s Services,’ said Sarah with a laugh: ‘That’s just Uncle Jack blowing the family trumpet. He didn’t do too badly himself, what with a bar to his D S O after Alamein, and another in Burma. I only got the usual service medal.’
‘Plus a commission i
n record time,’ observed Janet thoughtfully.
Sarah blushed vividly. ‘Well … yes. And, as that more or less concludes our broadcast from Radio Parrish, I’d better be going. That is, if you’re feeling a bit less fraught?’
‘I think I am,’ conceded Janet, ‘but if you’re prepared to stay a little longer I’d like to tell you something. I don’t suppose I should, but in the circumstances it seems preferable to letting you go on being curious—and possibly “giving everyone a laugh” with the story of this business tonight. Besides, God knows I need help—you were right about that.’
Sarah gave her a puzzled look, and abandoning her intention of leaving, settled back to wait with a curious mixture of expectancy and apprehension. But Janet seemed in no hurry to begin. Instead, she turned her head and looked searchingly about her as though to make sure that there was no third person in the small room, and Sarah’s gaze, following hers, lingered upon the door that led into the darkened bathroom, across which lay the long shadows of the tall, polished skis. The heavy curtains over the windows hung still and smooth in the firelight, and the painted parchment lampshade cast a circular shadow upon the wooden ceiling. The silence in the small room was all at once oppressive, and Sarah had the sudden and disturbing fancy that the cold silent night and the frozen snowdrifts had crept closer about the outer walls to listen.
The flames whispered and flickered in the silence and a drop of moisture fell down the chimney and hissed upon the glowing logs.
Miss Rushton rose stiffly and crossing to the bathroom door opened it to reach in and switch on the light. Closing it again, she stood for a moment looking at it thoughtfully, and Sarah, watching her, remembered that her own bathroom door could only be fastened with a drop-latch fitted with a flimsy catch from the bedroom side, although the opposite side was fitted with a bolt. Janet Rushton dropped the latch into place and came back to her chair: ‘I’m going to tell you this,’ she said softly, ‘because—well, partly because I’ve got to tell you something and I’m too dog-tired to think up a lie that would hold water. And partly because in case anything happens to me I should like someone to know.’