The Watcher in the Garden by Joan Phipson Page A

blind,” she said bluntly.
    He was not offended. “Let us say he doesn’t know everything. So he comes from time to time, mainly, I suspect, to think up ways of damaging me or my property.”
    â€œSurely he’d never—” The thought seemed too fantastic to put into words.
    â€œDeliberately harm me? Not today, perhaps, or tomorrow, but some day, unless something happens to remove the grudge. Yes, some day I think he will try. It’s the way he’s made, you see.”
    She wanted very much to ask what the grudge was that he nursed against this harmless old man, but there was a knock at the door and the dog jumped up.
    â€œCome in, Jackson.”
    A small, middle-aged man came into the room. The dog stretched, yawned and moved his tail once or twice. The man looked surprised to see Catherine, but, in a way, pleased. “I’m sorry, Mr. Lovett. I didn’t hear the bell.”
    â€œShe didn’t ring the bell, Bob. She used the knocker. You see, we were right to leave it there.”
    She was surprised to see the depth of affection there was in the smile that passed over the man’s face. “I came to ask about your dinner.”
    â€œOh yes. Is it time already?” He leaned towards Catherine. “Would you like to stay and have some dinner with me? I’m sure Jackson has got enough out there. He’s always very optimistic about my appetite.”
    She had not thought of the time passing and she got up quickly from the chair. “Oh, I’d better go. I’d forgotten.” She saw that he was still waiting for her answer and she felt suddenly uncouth. “I mean—thank you very much, but they’ll wonder where I am. I only came to tell you—to warn you. I would like to stay, but really, I can’t.” Everything she said seemed to her ill-chosen, even rude. Into her mind came her mother’s exasperated voice. “It’s your manner, Kit. You put everyone off. Why can’t you occasionally say the right thing? It’s no wonder—” and her shortcomings would be spelled out once more. Rather desperately she took a step towards him and looked into his face. “You are very kind to me, and I would like to have dinner with you, but I will go now so that you won’t be late.”
    â€œIn that case—” He turned to Jackson. “I won’t be a minute, Bob. I’ll just see Catherine safely on her way home.”
    â€œOh, but you don’t—” A sudden vision of the darkened garden outside made her stop.
    He went on as if she had not spoken. “Which way will you go? Up by the road, or the way you usually come? I think, on the whole, your usual way would be best.”
    She could guess why he said it and was suddenly glad of his offer to go with her. Jackson opened the front door for them and held it open so that the light shone out on to the terrace. Mr. Lovett walked with a surer step than hers, and she realized it was for her the front door had been left open. She followed him down, treading in his footsteps, and the shrubbery enveloped them and the trees closed over them. Without hesitation he took the path to the left and came at last to the boundary fence. Below them on a platform of rock overhanging the gorge and facing down the long valley to the south was the look-out, just visible in the gathering darkness.
    He felt with his stick, found the fence and stopped. “Here we are. Can you find your way from here in the dark?”
    â€œYes. I shall be all right now. Thank you very much—Mr. Lovett.” She would not for a moment suggest that there might be danger still lurking on the isolated path to where she lived.
    But as if he had guessed what was in her mind, he said, “Terry won’t hang about down here. But in any case you’ll be in no danger from him. His violence has never been irrational.” He spoke calmly and then said goodnight to her, feeling