Coral Glynn (10 page)

She stood in the room for a long time, and then went around it, touching things: the velvet drapes, the silk cushions, the polished wooden arms of the chairs. Such good care she took of it all, and for what? Then she went back downstairs into the kitchen. The tea things had been left on the table, and they stood there under the harsh overhead light, on display, revealed: the cups and saucers, the teapot, and the bitten-into rock bun the Inspector had said he would take with him but had not.

*   *   *

After they had finished dinner Dolly stood up and said, “I’ll tell you what, Coral darling, let’s let the men stay here and talk about whatever men talk about, and you and I go upstairs and pick out a dress for me to wear at your wedding.”

Coral looked at the Major—perhaps it was time for them to be leaving?—but he was intent upon doing some sort of complicated violence to a cigar. So she stood up and followed Dolly out of the dining room, back through the maze of tiny sitting rooms, into the front hall, and up a rather grand staircase that turned twice before it reached the first floor.

Dolly led their way down a hallway past many closed doors. She paused outside one door and said, “I’ve got my own bedroom. You must have your own, too. It’s the key to a happy marriage.” Then she pushed open the door and entered the room. It was larger than any of the rooms downstairs but so stuffed with furniture that it seemed quite small. For a moment Coral assumed that Dolly had opened the wrong door, and they had mistakenly entered a sort of storage room, for the furniture was oddly spread about: a canopied bed was in the centre of the room with chairs and tables and wardrobes scattered around it. The only piece of furniture that made contact of any kind with a wall was a mirrored vanity table, its surface piled high with bottles and brushes and other accoutrements of beauty and health, and stacks of magazines, which, judging from their bloat, had been mostly read (and dropped) in the bathtub. The Pekes, who had joined this feminine exodus, jumped up into one of the chairs and snuffily burrowed themselves into the cushions. It was stuffy in the room and rather warm; an electric fire glowed malevolently in the grate. The wallpaper, curtains, and upholstery were all of the same deeply purple violets-gone-mad pattern.

“Isn’t it cosy?” said Dolly, picking her way amongst the furniture towards the vanity. “I love my little room! Would you like a cigarette?” She indicated a little china donkey that sat on the bedside table and carried two baskets of cigarettes across his back.

Coral said, “No, thank you.”

Dolly pulled a cigarette out of one of the baskets and said, “Watch this!” She pushed a button between the baskets and the donkey raised his tail and emitted a flame from beneath it. Dolly laughed and lit her cigarette with the flame. “I know it’s naughty,” she said, “but I think it’s adorable. Robin brought it back from Gibraltar. I collect animal figurines.” She selected one of the larger bottles from amongst the many on the vanity table and poured something into a smudged tumbler. “I’ve only got one glass, but we can share,” she said. She offered first go to Coral.

“No, thank you,” said Coral.

Dolly helped herself and sat in the chair unoccupied by the Pekingese. “Someone told me that the Duchess of Windsor always insists that her bed be in the centre of the room, even in hotels and things, because she finds it so much more convenient. And it is, isn’t it? Everything else so close at hand. Sit down, darling, just push the little beasts off, go ahead and push them.”

Coral was reluctant to push the dogs from the chair, so Dolly stood up and did it for her. One of the little dogs fell on its head and yelped. The dogs relocated themselves to the bed. “I know they’re awful brats,” said Dolly, “but I adore them. They’re like children to me. I can’t have any children, you know. I had a mistake before we were married and then a dead one after, so I had all my plumbing taken away. Fortunately I haven’t a maternal bone in my body. And I know I’d’ve been an absolute dragonish mother, so it’s all for the best. Although it’s a shame for Robin, of course; he likes children so much. I expect you and Clement plan to have children. I’ll be their godmother! That I could manage very well, I’m sure. Bring them presents and give them advice, that sort of thing. Now, you must tell me all about your dress. Clement said you got it at Dalrymple’s.”

“Yes,” said Coral, “but—”

“Was Mrs Henderson in there? She’s awfully common, you know, but she acts posh, as if she’s just selling dresses for the fun of it. I hate people who try to be what they’re not, but she does have some lovely things in there, I’ll grant her that. So do tell me about your dress. What colour is it?”

“Lavender,” said Coral.

“Oh! I think I know exactly the dress. Has it got bouclé sleeves?”

“I don’t think so,” said Coral.

“No, I think it has,” said Dolly. “I tried it on the other day, but it made me look stout. But I’m sure it will look lovely on you, you have such a long waist. My problem is I’m so short-waisted. If it’s the dress I think it is, I know exactly what I’ll wear. I’ve got a lovely pinkish
peau de soie
that will look perfect with your lavender. I know it’s to be a simple day wedding but I think we should wear hats. Matching hats, and the boys can wear matching waistcoats and ties, not matching to our hats, but matching to each other’s. What about gloves? I think for a wedding, gauntlets would be nice, don’t you? Matching, of course, it’s important to have matching for the photos. My sister was my maid of honour and she insisted upon wearing green because she says everything else clashes with her skin—she suffers jaundice and is terribly pallid—so she wore this awful dark green velvet tea gown which looked black in all the photos and spoilt everything. I think she did it on purpose; she’s terribly jealous of me. You see, she knew Robin before I did and he wasn’t the least bit interested in her but she got it in her mind somehow that I stole him away from her. Robin’s convinced she’s a lesbian because she lives with an odd girl named Jill on an old farm near Chipping Manor. They breed white Alsatians. Clement’s such a darling, but of course you know that. We thought he’d never marry because of his afflictions; he once told Robin he could never subject a woman to such a thing, but I’m sure he thinks your being a nurse makes all the difference. Ghastly things don’t bother nurses much, do they?”

Coral seemed not to be listening. She sat in her chair gazing at the ceramic donkey on the side table.

“What is it, darling?” asked Dolly. “You look a bit ill. Do you feel all right?”

Coral returned to herself, and said, “Oh, yes—I’m fine.”

“I’m sorry,” said Dolly. “I know I talk too much. And drink too much, too, for that matter…” She looked down into the glass she still held. “I try and stop, I do, but I’m not a very strong person. And so very stupid as well.”

“Oh, no,” said Coral. “You mustn’t think that—”

“It’s because of fear,” Dolly continued, as if Coral had not spoken. “It’s why I talk too much and why I drink, because I’m afraid that something terrible is going to happen, something terribly terribly ghastly, and talking forestalls it. And drinking. I don’t know why I’m so afraid. I wasn’t always like this. Are you afraid?”

“Afraid of what?” asked Coral.

“Of life,” said Dolly. “Of everything. And everyone.”

“No,” said Coral. “I don’t think I am.”

“If you have to think about it, you’re not,” said Dolly. “That much I can tell you. What’s the most terrible thing you can imagine happening?”

“I don’t know,” said Coral. “The war?”

“Oh, I can think of much worse than that.”

Dolly reached over to the bed and grabbed one of the little dogs from the heap and cuddled it against her breast. “Oh, you little darling,” she cooed to it. “You’re the littlest, most darlingest darling…”

Coral watched her for a moment and then said, “I was wondering…”

“What?” Dolly prompted.

“May I ask you something?”

“Of course,” said Dolly. “You may ask me anything.”

“Well, it’s only because, as you know, I have no real friends or family—”

“Oh, yes you do, Coral darling! We are your friends and family now!”

“Thank you,” said Coral.

“So, what is it that you want to tell me?”

“It’s about something I saw,” said Coral. “And I don’t know what to do.”

“How intriguing you are! What did you see? Tell me!”

“Have you heard about the girl, the one who was found hanged in the woods?”

“Of course,” said Dolly. “Did you see her? Hanging from a tree?”

“No,” said Coral. “But I think I saw her—the little girl—a week or so ago. I was walking in the woods and I heard a strange sound…”

“What sort of sound?”

“I don’t know. I can’t describe it. It was like an animal, perhaps, a trapped animal. I didn’t know what it was.”

“Yes, yes,” said Dolly. “And?”

“So I walked into the woods, following the sound. In the midst of all this holly I found a little girl and a little boy. The little girl was tied up, tied by her hands, and the boy was throwing pinecones at her. I told them to stop it, to stop it right away, but they said they were playing. They said it was a game. The girl said it, too. I didn’t know what to do, so I told them to stop it again and untied the girl, and then went away.”

“And you think that’s the little girl who was hanged?”

“I think it must be,” said Coral. “Don’t you?”

“I suppose it was,” said Dolly. “But perhaps it wasn’t. Lots of children play in the woods, I imagine.”

“I should have told someone, but I didn’t. And I don’t know what to do now.”

“I don’t think you should do anything now. It’s a thoroughly nasty business, it’s gruesome, and you’re well out of it. And besides, there’s nothing you can do now, is there? I’d just forget all about it.”

“But shouldn’t I tell the police about the boy?”

“I suppose, but why get involved? I’m sure they’ll find him, and if they don’t, you can always send an anonymous letter later. You know, tipping them off without involving yourself. I could help you write it. We could do it with cut-out letters from the newspaper like they do in films. Or several different typewriters.”

“So you think I should do nothing now?”

“I forbid it!” said Dolly. “You’re about to be married, in case you’ve forgotten, and that’s all you should be thinking about. Put it out of your mind and enjoy this happy time. Promise me you will.”

“I don’t know,” said Coral.

“Look, you asked for my advice, and I’ve told you. I think I have a bit more experience of the world than you have, so you should really listen and do as I say. And I’m a friend of Clement’s. Have you told him anything about this?”

“No,” said Coral. “But I think I must—”

“Don’t!” said Dolly. “Not a word. He hates any sort of nastiness, and since it’s over and done with, you must keep it to yourself. It was right for you to tell me, and now you must do as I say. Do you promise?”

“Yes,” said Coral, “if you think it best.”

“I’ve never been surer of anything,” said Dolly. “Trust me, darling. Oh, you poor dear. You look so awfully worried. Really, you mustn’t let anything ruin your happy occasion. We get so little happiness in life, you know. Now I shall weep!” Dolly lurched forwards and embraced Coral. She laid her snuffling head upon Coral’s shoulder.

For a moment Coral was stunned by this embrace, but almost instinctively reached her arms around Dolly and softly patted her back. After a moment Dolly lifted her head and touched her forehead to Coral’s cheek.

Coral waited a moment and then removed her hands from Dolly’s back and leant back into her chair. Dolly wiped at her teary eyes. “I’m sorry to be so weepy,” she said. “I don’t know what’s come over me. It’s been so long since I’ve had a real friend, you see. In London I had lots and lots of friends, but up here everyone keeps to themselves. I think we’re a bit too grand for them. I’m so happy we shall be friends now—that’s why I was weeping. But we shall, shan’t we?”

“Yes,” said Coral. “I suppose we will.”

*   *   *

Do you think they will always go away together, after dinner, and leave us alone?” Robin asked Clement.

“I don’t know,” said Clement.

“It would be funny if they did.”

“Funny? Why?”

“I don’t know,” said Robin. “It just seemed to me, for a moment, funny.”

Clement did not answer.

“Well, well,” said Robin. “I wish I had some champagne. Congratulations are in order.”

“Why?”

“Why? Don’t be an ass. You’ve found yourself a perfect wife. Or she’s found you.”

“Why do you say she’s perfect?”

“Because she is. She’s beautiful, sweet-natured, charming.”

“How can you know that? She’s hardly said a word.”

“Just by looking at her, of course. I never listen to what women say. I’m sure it’s an effect of living with Dolly, but all the same, all you have to do is look at Coral to know that she’s a peach.”

“A peach?”

“You are going to marry her, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” said Clement. “Of course I am.”

“Then you might seem just a bit happy about it.”

“I am. Of course I am. I just don’t understand your gushing.”

“Gushing! I hardly say calling your bride a peach was gushing. And even if it were, what’s the matter of that? Someone ought to be happy about it.”

“You don’t think she is?”

“I was thinking of you.”

“I’ve told you I’m happy.”

“Then why mayn’t I gush?”

“Because you know I can’t bear falseness.”

“But it isn’t false. Why would you think it false?”

“Because I know you.”

“Perhaps not as well as you think.”

“Oh, Robin. What else am I to do?”

“Nothing. It is the natural thing.”

“You have Dolly, you know. I don’t want to be alone forever.”

“I don’t think marrying Coral has much to do with it.”

“With what?”

“Being alone.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“Oh, nothing,” said Robin. “You mustn’t mind me.”

“Of course I do. You are my dearest friend.”

“I am your only friend. And you have just announced how little it means to you.”