Trusted Like The Fox (12 page)

“Now, don’t worry. I’ll see to him. While I’m fixing him up I expect you’d like a bath. Come along and don’t argue. I’ll show you your room, and then you can look after yourself.”

Reluctantly she followed him into a room at the far end of the passage.

“Will this do?” he asked, standing aside.

She caught her breath. It was even more lavishly furnished than the other room, obviously to please a sophisticated woman.

“Do?” she repeated, staring at him. “It’s beautiful. You can’t mean it’s for me?”

“Why not?” he said carelessly. “It’s nice, but nothing out of the way. It’s yours anyway until we decide what our plans are going to be. There’s a bathroom through there. Make yourself at home.” He walked past her, opened the door of a large fitted wardrobe. “You can borrow anything in here. I think they’ll fit you, but I’m sure you won’t worry too much if they don’t.”

Scarcely believing her eyes, Grace saw the wardrobe was crammed with dresses, frocks and costumes. Without appearing to notice her astonishment he pulled open the drawers.

“There’s everything you need . . . even silk stockings. You ought to have a fine time making yourself look smart.”

“But I couldn’t . . .” Grace began, her face turning scarlet.

“You’ll like this stuff a lot better than Chrissy Taylor’s skirt,” he said, smiling, “and this time you have permission to wear them.” He turned suddenly to look out of the window. “They were my sister’s things. She’s dead. I haven’t disturbed the room. It used to be hers. There’s no point in keeping this junk. You’d better use it.”

“Oh,” Grace said, stepping back. “I — couldn’t. They’re too good for me . . . oh, no, I couldn’t . . .”

An odd expression filtered through the green eyes but was instantly gory. Although Grace only caught a glimpse of it, she was puzzled, but looking at him again she saw only the patient humorous expression in his eyes she had come to expect to see and she was reassured.

“She wouldn’t mind. You’d’ve liked her. She was always ready to help a lame dog over a stile. She would want you to have those clothes, so please don’t be stupid. I’ll leave you to have a bath and to pick something that’ll suit you. I like my guests to look nice.”

He turned to the door but she stopped him.

“But I don’t understand,” she said breathlessly. “Why are you doing this? You don’t know anything about me. Why should you do this for a stranger?”

“I like to help people,” he said casually. “Besides I think you’re in trouble. I’ve been in trouble myself and I know what it means to have help when everyone else’s hand is against you.” He laughed. “And it makes me feel very virtuous.” He ran his fingers through his straw-coloured hair. “He’s in trouble too, isn’t he? He interests me. I have a feeling he’s bad, and bad people attract me. It’s morbid, I know, but they are so much more interesting than the ordinary people one meets every day. Who is he? I wish you’d tell me.”

“I don’t know,” she confessed reluctantly. “I’ve been wondering myself who he is.”

“Well, we’ll find out,” Crane said. “Now I’ll get him into bed. You have a bath. Don’t worry about anything. When I’ve made him comfortable I’ll get you some food. I haven’t had breakfast myself yet and all this excitement has made ms: hungry.”

He went to the door, paused and looked at her intently. Again she thought there was an odd expression in his eyes, but as he was standing with his back to the light she couldn’t be sure.

“There’s a bolt on the door,” he said. “I like bolts, don’t you? They give me a feeling of security.” His face lit up with his pleasant smile and he went away, closing the door softly behind him.

Grace stood staring at the door panels, suddenly uneasy: She reached forward and quickly pushed the bolt into its socket. It slid into place quietly and she noticed that the barrel of the bolt glistened with oil.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Lying in the deep sunken bath Grace ceased to think about Ellis. He slipped from her mind as easily as quicksilver slips through your fingers. Resting her head against the waterproof pillow at the head of the bath, her toes under the glittering chromium taps, she surrendered herself to a feeling of lassitude, and with closed eyes, allowed her mind to remain suspended in a vacuum of sensual pleasure.

The bathroom was small but luxurious. Apple green tiled walls were divided by a broad band of shining chromium. The floor was checkered by green and black squares, and a small green lacquered dressing-table, before which was a thick white rug, was loaded with cosmetics, perfumes and toilet accessories.

Grace had often seen such luxury on the films but the idea that she herself should have a room like this took her breath away.

Her mind was stunned by this fantastic transformation. A few hours ago she had been crouching in a damp trench in stolen clothes, wet, dirty and hunted by the police. Now she was clean, temporarily safe and in love.

She had read of people falling in love at first sight, had seen it happen often enough on the films, but she hadn’t really believed such a thing possible; but now, she realised it had happened to her.

She had said to Ellis, “No one has ever been kind to me,” and she had been grateful to him for throwing a ruined meat-pie in her face when she had been starving. She had thought that act was kindness since she had no other standard from which to judge. Then Richard Crane had come into her life. He had been kind, giving her this unbelievable luxury, offering her clothes — not soiled, cast-off, unwanted clothing people had given her in the past, but model gowns and fashionable dresses — the kind you saw in the windows of exclusive West End shops. He had saved her from the police, taken her into his home without forcing her to tell him who she was, and had been kind about her deafness.

At first, she had been suspicious of this kindness, but now she was free of panic and could think clearly, she began to wonder if he too hadn’t fallen in love with her as she with him. Was that the explanation of his generosity and obvious desire to protect her? she asked herself. Surely no man would risk so much for a girl about whom he knew nothing unless he had fallen in love with her?

Like most uneducated, lower-class girls Grace was essentially a romantic. She devoured paper novelettes, and in her dreams lived the roles of her favourite film stars, imagining that some day a Prince Charming would discover her and whisk her away from poverty to a life of love, happiness and wealth.

Since she had lost her hearing she had known instinctively that her chances of having a husband and a home were even more remote. But now her hopes flared up and against her better judgement — for, in spite of her romantic dreams, Grace was practical and no fool — she decided it was just possible that Crane had fallen in love with her.

She wasn’t beautiful, she told herself, but perhaps he didn’t think beauty was necessary. Perhaps he had seen at once that she would do anything to please him, would keep this lovely place of his perfectly, would be loyal and true to him until she died. Tears came into her eyes when she thought of dying, of leaving him, old and lonely, to look after himself.

She sighed, closed her eyes, and for a time her mind swam in a treacly sea of romantic sentimentality.

Then abruptly she remembered her responsibilities. She couldn’t lie in the bath day-dreaming like this while Richard — she thought of him as Richard now — was nursing Ellis. Her place was at his side.

She scrambled out of the bath, dried herself hurriedly and although she wished to be with him immediately, she could not resist pausing to powder herself with the huge puff on the dressing-table.

Naked, the yellow ball of swan’s down in her hand, she looked at herself in the full-length mirror. Even to her critical eyes she admitted that her body was pleasing, and she had a sudden, wild, unbridled desire to offer herself to Crane as a token of her love and gratitude. But the moment the idea had crossed her mind she shied away from it. The beatings she had received from her foster-father had left scars on her mind. He had flogged into her the knowledge that her mother was bad and had given herself to any man who fancied her. Grace had accepted his doctrine that there was no worse sin a woman could commit and that no decent man would respect her if she did yield to him.

With a feeling of guilt, she hurriedly slipped into her silk wrap and sat on the stool before the mirror. Her hair, freshly shampooed, looked soft and wavy. She ran a comb through it, still disturbed in her mind, and adjusted the thick tresses with clips. She hesitated before putting on lipstick, but her lips were so pale she decided she must make the best of herself if only to please Richard.

Once again in the bedroom she slipped into the dress she had selected from the dozen or so costumes and frocks in the wardrobe. It was a dress of deep blue with a long, narrow V neck and three-quarter sleeves. She glanced at herself in the mirror and was startled and delighted by the transformation. The dress fitted her as if it had been made for her, and she scarcely recognised herself, realising with delight that she was looking quite attractive.

But this was no time for preening, she told herself, and with a final glance into the mirror, she slid back the bolt and opened the bedroom door.

The smell of bacon frying told her where to look for the kitchen, and as she walked down the passage to a half-open door she suddenly felt self-conscious and almost dreaded to meet Crane again. Suppose she looked into his eyes and saw she was mistaken and that he didn’t love her as she thought? Suppose he didn’t find her attractive after all the trouble she had taken?

Timidly she pushed open the door and looked into a beautifully appointed kitchen, fitted with every conceivable laboursaving device, and decorated in white and royal blue.

Crane was standing by an electric cooker, a cigarette in his mouth and a fork in his hand. He glanced round with a smile when he heard her come in but when he caught sight of her the smile froze on his face and he gave a convulsive start.

There was a long pause, neither of them saying anything. Grace went cold as she saw his skin change from healthy tan to a greenish grey. Sheer naked terror had sprung into his eyes, his mouth was loose and slack and he seemed unable to breathe.

The slight clatter of the fork as it fell from his fingers on to the floor seemed to rouse him, and he attempted to pull himself together, his mouth twisting into a ghastly effort to smile.

Grace stepped back, her hand to her mouth, her eyes wide with fright.

“I thought it was Julie,” he said, the muscles in his face stiff, his eyes still dark with terror. “I — I really thought you were Julie . . .” and abruptly he pushed past her and almost ran from the room, leaving her staring after him.

With an effort Grace controlled her rising panic. She picked up the fork and mechanically moved the slices of bacon in the frying pan. The electric kettle began to pour out a jet of steam, and she made coffee. She wouldn’t let herself think, forcing herself to complete the preparation for breakfast. When it was ready she had a grip on her nerves and she did not flinch when Crane returned to the room. He too had himself under control, and the kind, humorous expression was once more in his eyes, but Grace drew away from him as he approached her, her eyes searching his face.

“I can’t say how sorry I am to have given you such a fright,” he said. She smelt brandy on his breath as he spoke to her, and she flinched, moving still further away. “Please forgive me,” he went on. “I was thinking and I didn’t hear you come in. That dress was one of her favourites, and — and well, you did look like her. It’s odd, but she used to dress her hair the way you’ve dressed yours. You scared me out of my senses.”

“Oh,” she said, instantly sorry for him, and no longer frightened. “I’m sorry, too. I couldn’t think . . .” Without realising what she was doing, she put her hand on his arm.

“It was stupid of me,” he said, patted her hand and moved away. It was a friendly gesture, but she was hurt that he so obviously avoided her touch. “You see, Julie’s only been dead a few months, and I miss her — I miss her badly, and seeing you so unexpectedly I thought . . .” for a fleeting moment the calm expression in his eyes slipped and she saw terror again there, but he quickly controlled himself . . . she’d come back.” He picked up the coffee-pot. “Well, come on, let’s eat. I’m starving and I’m sure you must be too.” He looked at her quickly. “And you so startled me I haven’t even said how nice you look. Why, you look wonderful.”

She knew at once that for the first time since they had met he was being insincere, that he didn’t think she looked wonderful and that he wished she hadn’t put on that particular dress. She was so disappointed that she could have cried, blaming herself for spoiling a moment that could have been precious to them both.

“You take the dish in and I’ll bring the coffee and toast,” he went on, moving to the door.

She picked up the dish of bacon and mushrooms and followed him into the long, narrow sitting-room. He had laid the table and he set down the coffee and toast, took the dish from her and placed it on the hot plate.

“Now, let’s eat.”

But she couldn’t until she had changed the dress.

“I won’t be a moment,” she said and fled back to her bedroom.

She hurriedly pulled the dress over her head, sending a cascade of hair clips flying in all directions, and tossed it on the bed. She ran to the wardrobe, opened it, snatched down a simple frock of gay-checked gingham from its hanger. When she had slipped into it, she went to the dressing-table and fluffed up her hair, leaving it loose on her shoulders. She knew she didn’t look so attractive in this dress, but that couldn’t be helped. She wasn’t going to risk any more insincere compliments from Crane, nor did she wish to remind him of his dead sister.

She returned to the sitting-room, paused outside to smooth down the dress, opened the door and went in.

Crane looked at her and instantly his face lit up.

“What a nice child you are,” he said. “To have taken all that trouble just because I behaved like a fool. Come on and sit down. That dress suits you. You know you’re quite an attractive little thing . . . but perhaps someone else has told you that.”