possible either. “Now you’ll say you’ve had the phone cut off.” Damn her! Damn them both!
“We could have afforded it, of course. We just didn’t need it any more. I’m sorry, Duncan, I just don’t know what you can do. But we may as well all go and sit down where it’s warmer.”
“I don’t want to sit down,” Duncan almost shouted. “I have to get home.” He shook off the hand she had laid on his arm and which seemed to be forcibly detaining him. “I must just walk to the nearest house
with
a phone.”
Hugo opened the door. The rain was more like a wall of water than a series of falling drops. “In this?”
“Then what am I supposed to do?” Duncan cried fretfully.
“Stay the night,” said Elizabeth calmly. “I really don’t know what you can do but stay the night.”
The bed was just what he would have expected a bed in the Crouch menage to be—hard, narrow, and cold. She had given him a hot-water bottle, which was an object he hadn’t set eyes on in ten years. And Hugo had lent him a pair of pyjamas. All the time this was going on, he had protested that he couldn’t stay, that there must be some other way, but in the end he had yielded. Not that they had been welcoming. They had treated the whole thing rather as if—well, how had they treated it? Duncan lay in the dark, clutching the bottle between his knees, and tried to assess just what their attitude had been. Fatalistic, he thought, that was it. They had behaved as if this were inevitable, that there was no escape for him, and here, like it or not, he must stay.
Escape was a ridiculous word, of course, but it was the sort of word you used when you were trapped somewhere for a whole night in the home of people who were obviously antagonistic, if not hostile. Why had he been such a fool as to leave those car lights on? He couldn’t remember that he had done and yet he must have. Nobody else would have turned them on. Why should they?
He wished they would go to bed too. That they hadn’t he could tell by the light, the rectangular outline of dazzlement, that showed round the frame of his bedroom door. And he could hear them talking, not the words but the buzz of conversation. These late Victorian houses were atrociously built, of course. You could hear every sound. The rain drumming on the roof sounded as if it were pounding on cardboard rather than on slates. He didn’t think there was much prospect of sleep. How could he sleep with the noise and all that on his mind, the worry of getting the car moved, of finding some way of getting to the office? And it made him feel very uneasy their staying up like that, particularly as she had said, “If you’ll go into the bathroom first, Duncan, we’ll follow you.” Follow him! That must have been all of half an hour ago. He pressed the switch of his bedlamp and saw that it was eleven-thirty. Time they were in bed if she had to get to her school in the morning and he to his accountancy course.
Once more in the dark, but for that gold-edged rectangle, he considered the car lights question again. He was certain he had turned them out. Of course it was hard to be certain of anything when you were as upset as he. The pressure they had put on him had been simply horrible and the worst moments those when he had been alone with Hugo while that woman was fishing the ancient pullet she’d dished up to him out of her oven. Really, she had been a hell of a time getting that main course when you considered what it had amounted to. Could she …? Only a madwoman would do such a thing and what possible motive could she have had? But if you lived in a remote place and you wanted someone to stay in your house overnight, if you wanted to
keep
him there, how better than toimmobilise his car? He shivered, even while he told himself such fancies were absurd.
At any rate, they were coming up now. Every board in the house creaked and the stairs played a tune like a broken old violin. He heard Hugo
“We could have afforded it, of course. We just didn’t need it any more. I’m sorry, Duncan, I just don’t know what you can do. But we may as well all go and sit down where it’s warmer.”
“I don’t want to sit down,” Duncan almost shouted. “I have to get home.” He shook off the hand she had laid on his arm and which seemed to be forcibly detaining him. “I must just walk to the nearest house
with
a phone.”
Hugo opened the door. The rain was more like a wall of water than a series of falling drops. “In this?”
“Then what am I supposed to do?” Duncan cried fretfully.
“Stay the night,” said Elizabeth calmly. “I really don’t know what you can do but stay the night.”
The bed was just what he would have expected a bed in the Crouch menage to be—hard, narrow, and cold. She had given him a hot-water bottle, which was an object he hadn’t set eyes on in ten years. And Hugo had lent him a pair of pyjamas. All the time this was going on, he had protested that he couldn’t stay, that there must be some other way, but in the end he had yielded. Not that they had been welcoming. They had treated the whole thing rather as if—well, how had they treated it? Duncan lay in the dark, clutching the bottle between his knees, and tried to assess just what their attitude had been. Fatalistic, he thought, that was it. They had behaved as if this were inevitable, that there was no escape for him, and here, like it or not, he must stay.
Escape was a ridiculous word, of course, but it was the sort of word you used when you were trapped somewhere for a whole night in the home of people who were obviously antagonistic, if not hostile. Why had he been such a fool as to leave those car lights on? He couldn’t remember that he had done and yet he must have. Nobody else would have turned them on. Why should they?
He wished they would go to bed too. That they hadn’t he could tell by the light, the rectangular outline of dazzlement, that showed round the frame of his bedroom door. And he could hear them talking, not the words but the buzz of conversation. These late Victorian houses were atrociously built, of course. You could hear every sound. The rain drumming on the roof sounded as if it were pounding on cardboard rather than on slates. He didn’t think there was much prospect of sleep. How could he sleep with the noise and all that on his mind, the worry of getting the car moved, of finding some way of getting to the office? And it made him feel very uneasy their staying up like that, particularly as she had said, “If you’ll go into the bathroom first, Duncan, we’ll follow you.” Follow him! That must have been all of half an hour ago. He pressed the switch of his bedlamp and saw that it was eleven-thirty. Time they were in bed if she had to get to her school in the morning and he to his accountancy course.
Once more in the dark, but for that gold-edged rectangle, he considered the car lights question again. He was certain he had turned them out. Of course it was hard to be certain of anything when you were as upset as he. The pressure they had put on him had been simply horrible and the worst moments those when he had been alone with Hugo while that woman was fishing the ancient pullet she’d dished up to him out of her oven. Really, she had been a hell of a time getting that main course when you considered what it had amounted to. Could she …? Only a madwoman would do such a thing and what possible motive could she have had? But if you lived in a remote place and you wanted someone to stay in your house overnight, if you wanted to
keep
him there, how better than toimmobilise his car? He shivered, even while he told himself such fancies were absurd.
At any rate, they were coming up now. Every board in the house creaked and the stairs played a tune like a broken old violin. He heard Hugo
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