Better to Eat You (9 page)

Malvina put out her cigarette and laced her fingers together.

Fox said, “David tells me he wants to sift the ruins.”

“What?”

“He hopes something may have come through intact.”

“Paper?” said Edgar incredulously.

“Now, how can I tell him he may not stay and try?” said Fox. “Eh?”

Edgar said, “Then listen to me for once, will you? What are you trying to kill her for? You don't need to kill the girl. Probably she doesn't even remember the thing that's got you so worried. And if she did, then what? Suppose she remembered and even suppose she found out? Do you think she's going to throw
you
out into the world without a penny? Your little Sarah?”. The doctor's voice sneered. “She thinks you're a saint on earth. Don't you know she'd keep you right on here and keep you surrounded with all this … this luxury just the same? The poor little dope is crazy about you. She'd forgive you. You haven't a thing to worry about.”

“Perhaps that is true,” said Grandfather, tilting his head.

“Of course it's true.” Edgar lost some of his steam. “I'm glad you can see it. You should have seen it long ago. Before this fire.”

“My dear Edgar,” said Grandfather. “I know nothing about this fire. You mustn't be so jumpy.”

Malvina said, looking as if she were blind, “Grandfather has protected himself. But she wouldn't keep
me
on here in luxury. Or
you,
Edgar.”

“Ah, Malvina, Malvina, come away with me,” he begged. “We can start again somewhere. Anywhere. The money is not so much … Come away with me, Malvina?”

Her face changed: her hands twisted. “I couldn't leave Grandfather,” she said softly. “I don't … think I could.” But in her equivocal way, she was giving him hope.

Edgar said to Fox, “Don't. Don't. Don't try that again.”

Grandfather folded his lips. “Do you know, Edgar,” he said finally, “you put the problem of Sarah in quite a new light. Perhaps I have been fretting for nothing, eh?”

Edgar nodded, his face flushed with victory. “Malvina, come out into the garden?”

“In just a moment, Edgar. Wait for me there.”

When the doctor had gone, Malvina looked at the old man. “When I went out this morning to view the destruction,” the old man said, dreamily, “the firemen were very kind. They showed me about. You know they had to break the lock on Edgar's little laboratory? It seems they had to be sure there was no fire in it.”

Malvina said nothing.

“I have some poison,” Grandfather said. He seemed to brood. “I thought I had better have some. I don't like it. I am quite aware of the danger. It seems they have ways to tell whether a person has taken poison.”

Malvina brushed at her skirt. “Isn't Edgar right about Sarah?” she said in a hard voice. “As far as you are concerned?”

“That I must discover,” the old man said. “Perhaps. Perhaps.”

“Sarah isn't very fond of
me,
” Malvina said sulkily, “but I suppose you wouldn't care.”

“Now come, you don't like Sarah either. Eh, Malvina? You haven't always been kind.”

“
You've
taken care to be kind,” she said resentfully. “If you hadn't, she might have gone back to Japan. And there'd be no problem.”

“I thought it best to be kind,” said Grandfather evasively.

“You
thought,
” she said meanly. “But two heads may be better than one, even if that one is yours, Grandfather. Next time, better let me understand your plans.”

The old man looked at her. His jaws worked. “Why, I did not fail,” he said chidingly. “
You
failed, Malvina. Your simple little part. If you had kept David Wakeley on the beach, my dear. How was it you did not? Couldn't you? I am surprised.”

Malvina's face grew darker.

“Perhaps you don't find him attractive?” the old man said slyly.

Malvina stood up, her skirt swishing. “You're going to let him stay?” Grandfather opened his palms. “David wonders, you know. He asks questions. Asked me who gets Sarah's inheritance, if she dies.”

“He asked you that? He did? Indeed?”

“He did. If he is going to stay on here,” there was an air of weariness and defeat about Malvina, “won't you be forced to give it up?”

“Why, not yet,” said Grandfather. “Not quite yet.”

Chapter 7

Ten o'clock that Tuesday morning, David left the ruins of the studio, washed the new black from his hands, crossed the garden, and went boldly into the house by the glass door, knowing the sweet scent of charred wood still clung to his clothes. There was no one in the big room so he swung purposefully across it and into the corridor that led to Sarah. He tapped on her door.

Edgar Perrott opened it. As soon as he saw who it was, the doctor began to close the door against him. “I'm afraid Sarah shouldn't see you,” he said severely through the crack. “She'd rather not, and I doubt if it's good for her …”

David's feet struck roots into the carpet. “The least she can do is see me,” he said loudly and brutally. “Have you mentioned to her that I saved her life?”

He heard a cry within the room.

“I … Yes, Sarah?” The doctor said to David, “Just a minute.”

David waited, feeling grim. He was going to get in to see her and he didn't care how.

The door opened in a moment and he was admitted. Sarah's room was charming, all done in soft greens and white, with a broad window to the sea, a narrow one to the garden. Mrs. Monteeth was busy folding bedding into a neat pile on a sofa where she must have slept the night. She went on working. The doctor showed no disposition to leave, either.

David strode toward the bed where Sarah was propped on pillows. The petal texture of her face was not marred. The big glasses rode her small nose with that effect, both absurd and charming, that always brought him the image of a quaint little owl. Her beautiful mouth was suffering.

He was wrenched with pity and said more tenderly than he had expected, “How are you, Sarah?”

She didn't even make the perfunctory answer. “Can you get it back?” she said instead. “Will it be possible to do it all over again? Your work? Was it all lost?”

She was the first one to mention his loss to him and David was momentarily staggered. Others had spoken of the Cadillac ruined, the damage in dollars, the cost of the building, even the bruised and trampled garden. But not his pieces of paper, the labor of his mind. Although he had deceived her and it was not true that his work was gone, she touched him with this understanding.

“Let's not think about that,” he said rather awkwardly.

“I can't think of anything else,” she said. “How long did it take you? Oh, how many years?”

“Not long,” he answered cheerfully. “It's not important, Sarah. I'll go at it again soon. Not now.”

“No,” she said immediately. “Not now. Not right away. Oh, I am sorry …”

“Let me ask you a question,” he interrupted. He didn't want to talk about her sorrow. He was guilty in the matter and he couldn't explain in front of Edgar. “Just how did that fire start?” She was staring at him sadly and didn't answer. “Tell me this. Had you been smoking, Sarah? Had you been using your lighter?”

“Her lighter?” Edgar edged in. “What about her lighter?”

“The men found a lighter. Gust says it belongs to her. It was opened. Whether it burst open in the heat or whether somehow or other the flame, left burning, came in contact with cloth or paper …”

“Sarah?” said Edgar sharply.

The blonde head moved to deny. Someone had brushed it; the pale mass of Sarah's hair was in shining order. It went like satin back from her temples and then crested over like a miniature breaker. “I wasn't smoking,” she said. “I couldn't have been. I was asleep.”

“Asleep!” David was astonished.

Edgar said in a quick low voice, “She was worried, you see. Couldn't work. Psychosomatic headache, I suppose. Took a couple of headache tablets and they hit her. Imagine it was escape.”

David wasn't here to listen to Edgar's theories.

“The man from the fire department wants to know about that lighter,” he insisted.

“I don't know anything about it,” Sarah said.

“I'll talk to them. Sarah mustn't be bothered.” Edgar was didactic. “I assume they think Sarah somehow or other accidentally set the fire?”

“Something set it.” David was sticking to brutal simplicity. “They'd like to know what. So would I.”

“If she did groggily light a cigarette she may never remem—” began Edgar.

But Sarah cried out, “Please, don't stay here! I do thank you for pulling me out. I do. I am grateful. But don't stay here any longer.” Her voice was at that breaking point.

David knew that Sarah was thinking her jinx, the evil luck that followed her, had set the fire. “Don't be silly,” he scoffed.

But Sarah was in a tailspin. “I was afraid … afraid of something. But I never thought of that. To lose all your work is the most terrible punishment … breaks my heart it happened because of me. Don't you see you mustn't talk to me … go away … You see you
must
go away.…” She was weeping.

Edgar's hand was telling David's arm to come away.

David stood there, looking down, and he knew he had to talk to her alone and right now. Of course she piled this on top of the rest. To her it was one more accident in the same inexplicable series. But she wasn't seeing, as he could see, how the bad luck had shifted. How the victim of it was no longer only Sarah's companion, but included Sarah
herself.
He didn't trust Edgar; didn't trust anyone. He had to have a chance to talk to this girl alone. He wondered how he could get it. He thought—well, he would flatly demand it. He wondered if it would work.

Sarah bowed over, trying to stifle the sound of that heartbroken weeping. David let himself be drawn toward the door, but there he struck root. He would budge no farther.

“She's pretty upset,” Edgar was muttering. “You better not stay.”

“I want you to leave me alone with her,” said David in a low voice. “Take Mrs. Monteeth along. Let me be alone with her.”

“I can't do that,” said Edgar sternly. “You can see for yourself … the kindest thing …”

“I know what I'm doing,” David insisted. “Will you get out of here? I've got things to say to that girl that I am not going to say in front of an audience.”

“What things?”

“Personal,” said David desperately. “Private.”

He saw that Edgar was startled. The soft noise of Sarah's weeping ceased. She was motionless and silent. Mrs. Monteeth had heard him, too, and she straightened from her task.

Edgar said, with a writhe of the lips, “It's hardly the moment to come a-courting.”

“How do you know?” David thrust at him. (Use this. Use anything.) “Give me a chance, will you? You heard her say her heart was broken? Maybe I can fix that.”

Edgar licked his mouth. There was a strange glow in his eyes. He nodded to Mrs. Monteeth and she went fluttering by. Edgar followed her out and closed the door.

Delighted, David turned toward the bed. Sarah was propped on her elbows with her helpless arms across her breast. “No,” said Sarah, “no, no no …”

“All right.
No,
” said David sharply. “Skip it. Forget it. I'm not going to ask you to marry me. I ask you to listen.” He went near.

Telling Mrs. Monteeth that she must remain available, Edgar himself went swiftly through the big room to the study door. Grandfather was alone there in his lair. “Oh, Edgar?” The old man was sucking fruit.

“Where is Malvina?”

“Gone to the village for a crab for my lunch.”

“You had better know. Wakeley is alone with Sarah.”

Fox's face darkened. “I told you …”

“He wants to propose to her,” said Edgar with profound satisfaction. “He asked me to leave them so that he could.” Edgar turned his palms, imitating the old man. “Well? Could I refuse?”

The old man began to struggle out of his chair.

“And
that's
torn it,” said Edgar, still satisfied.

“You are perfectly incompetent,” fumed Grandfather. “I see I must go myself.”

“Go and do what?”

“Whatever can be done,” snapped Grandfather.

“Tell her? Tell her the truth? You'd be better off to tell her before she finds out through Wakeley's curiosity.”

Grandfather was patting himself, feeling his vest to be buttoned securely. “It is not for you to tell me what to do,” he said. His face was evil and angry. Then the old man went nipping briskly through a door and didn't bother to look back.

Edgar stood and the satisfaction drained away from his face.…

Between David and the little blonde there seemed to be no communication. He felt as if he were batting at a wall. She was in that emotional tailspin, obsessed with her old trouble. He could not make her hear.

“I tell you I lost nothing. Nothing important. What's going on here
is
important. Please, Sarah, try to listen.” He began to pace. “Don't you realize … Didn't you get my note?”

She didn't react. She didn't know what he was talking about.

“Piece of paper,” he prompted.

“I saved one piece of paper …”

“This?” David glanced at the charred fragment and dismissed it. “No, no. The note I put on your table. Didn't you have sense enough to know I wanted you to read it? Gone in the fire now, of course. And you never saw it.” He bent over her. “Snap out of it, Sarah. And be quick, please. There is no such thing as a Jonah. What's the matter with your brain?”

She shuddered. “But it happens. Something always happens.”