The Stranger Came (16 page)

A
face
like
wet
grey
cloth
pressed
itself
almost
into
hers.
All
curiosity
over
a
mouth
gathered
in
the
ugliness
of
contempt,
it
reduced
her
to
one
of
the
women
who
were
despised
for
blabbering
their
memories
and
fears
to
the
indifferent
street.
Then
she
saw
there
were
other
watchers,
three
walking
youths,
the
wind
pulling
at
their
hair
and
thin
jackets,
watching
her
while
she
gaped
at
the
blank
sky,
possessing
her
with
their
eyes,
her
weakness,
her
folly.

As
if
he
had
come
out
of
a
poster
of
the
sun,
the
man stepped
from
the
doorway
beside
the
travel
agents.

'It's
my
impression
you
were
supposed
to
be
here
before
this,'
he
said.
'It's
all
right
though.
I
can
see
you're
not
well.
We'll
go
back
to
my
place.’

The
dry
branches
rattled
and
she
was
more
afraid
than
ever,
until
she
remembered
a
voice
promising
her
that
nothing
was
certain.

Not
even
the
coming
of
pain.

Chapter
5

Rain
during
the
night
had
removed
the
last
of
the
snow
from
the
fields
and
on
the
Wednesday
morning
the
sky
was
as
high
and
blue
and
shiny
as
if
it
had
been
polished
for
the
occasion.

'You
are
actually
coming,'
Maitland
said.
'Not
that
you
haven't
a
perfect
right
to –'

Perhaps
she
had
taken
so
little
to
do
with
the
work
of
the
Committee
because
her
entitlement
had
nothing
to
do
with
what
she
could
bring
to
it,
but
only
with
being
her
father's
daughter.
The
mild
ironical
thought
occurred
to
her
that
if
men
had
the
same
scruple
half
the
boardrooms
in
the
country
would
be
empty.
But,
of
course,
there
had
been
Maitland;
so,
anyway,
she
had
not
been
needed.

She
was
surprised
by
the
outskirts
of
the
city.

'Are
you
driving
too
fast?'

'I
always
drive
fast.’
He
raised
an
eyebrow.
It
was
unlike
her
to
question
what
he
did.

'It's
just,'
she
tried
to
bring
the
idea
into
focus,
'just
that I
wondered
if
you
haven't
begun
to
drive
more
quickly.
I've
felt
that
recently
without
realising
it.’

'No,'
he
said.
'I
shouldn't
think
so.’

'Do
you
remember
Jenny
Craigie?'
she
asked
on
impulse.

'Should
I?'

'She
was
my
friend
when
I
first
met
you.
A
stout
girl,
but
always
smiling
–
really
rather
a
pretty
face.
She
used
to
complain,
“Oh,
not
pheasant
again!”
Whenever
she
got
a
parcel
sent
her
from
home.
Her
father
was
a
gamekeeper, you
see,
not
rich
or
anything.
Usually,
in
fact,
she
was
short
of
money.
That's
what
made
it
so
funny –
“Oh,
not
pheasant
again!” '

'And
I
met
her?'

'Oh,
yes.
She
went
abroad
though,
just
after
we
graduated.
Somewhere
extraordinary
like
Iceland.
I
wrote
to
her
but
never
had
a
reply.’

He
laughed
on
a
note
of
exasperation.
'Why
are
we talking
about
her
then?'

'I
suppose
she
wasn't
a
keeping
in
touch
sort
of
person...I
was
thinking
about
what
you
said
the
other
day.
And
I remembered
Jenny
saying,
Your
Maitland
should
have
been
a
pirate.’

'Silly
thing
to
say,'
but
she
smiled
when,
after
a
moment,
he
murmured,
'funny
I
don't
remember
her.
She
sounds
a
bit
of
a
character.’

'I
knew
some
interesting
people.
She
wasn't
your
type.’

'Oh,
type
…
What
was
it
I said
the
other
day?'

'You
said,
“All
the
fun's
gone
since
the
Garden
Noamsky
dug
his
own
grave
–
and
that's
the
deep
grammar
of
that
!”
'
And
spread
out
his
arms
pushing
with
the
palms
of
his
hands
as
if
the
hills
round
the
campus
were
crowding
in on
him.
Standing
there
by
the
edge
of
the
frozen
loch.

She
saw
that
he
was
smiling
across
at
her.
'I think
it
sounded
funnier
when
I said
it.’
And
in
the
voice
of
an
Irish
comedian,
'It's
the
way
you
tell
them!'

'It
didn't
sound
funny
to
me.
It
sounded
as
if
you
felt you
had
made
a
mistake
.
And
I
couldn't
understand
why. You've
made
such
a
success
of
your
life.’

'Sam
Wilson
with
my
life
–
or
Marshall
or
Turner –
for
them
my
life
would
be
a
success.
It
isn't
good
enough
for
me.’

She
was
accustomed
to
the
restless
flow
of
his
talk
and
to
its
touches
of
excess.
He
let
the
silence
run
on,
however,
and
she
thought
about
what
he
had
said
and
found
she
disliked
it.
She
really
disliked
it
a
great
deal.

'I
don't
think
I've
ever
heard
you
being
so
…
'
she searched
and
could
only
find,
'humourless.’
As
soon
as
she had
used
the
word,
she
regretted
it.
If
he
had
been
angered,
she
would
not
have
been
able
to
defend
using
it.

After
a
silence,
he
said,
'You
shouldn't
take
things
I
say casually
so
seriously.’

'You
sounded
serious,'
she
said,
concentrating
on
the
flow
of
shop fronts
as
they
left
Haymarket
behind.

'Perhaps
I
was
irritated
because
they
don't
give
out
Nobel
prizes
for
linguistics.
All
those
molecular
biologists
are
hogging
them.’

After
all
it
was
she
who
had
been
humourless.
Her
attention
was
diverted
by
a
change
in
their
route.
Instead
of
going
along
Princes
Street,
he
had
swung
right
and
was
beating
successive
traffic
lights
on
the
amber
speeding
up
Lothian
Road.
'Didn't
I
say?
We're
picking
up
Monty
Norman.’