He lowered the paper a little and gave me an unenthusiastic glance.
‘Yes, I have,’ he said briefly.
‘Then could you please tell me what would be a good thing to give the Admiral to add to his collection? And where would I get it, and how much would it cost?’
The paper folded over, hiding my picture. He cleared his throat and with strained politeness started to tell me about some obscure form of crystal which the Admiral didn’t have. Press the right button, I thought… Doria spoilt it. She walked jerkily over to Kraye and said crossly, ‘Howard, for God’s sake. The little creep is buttering you up. I bet he wants something. You’re a sucker for anyone who will talk about rocks.’
‘People don’t make fools of me,’ said Kraye flatly, his eyes narrowing in irritation.
‘No. I only want to please the Admiral,’ I explained.
‘He’s a sly little beast,’ said Doria. ‘I don’t like him.’
Kraye shrugged, looked down at the newspaper and began to unfold it again.
‘It’s mutual,’ I said casually. ‘You Daddy’s doll.’
Kraye stood up slowly and the paper slid to the floor, front page up.
‘What did you say?’
‘I said I didn’t think much of your wife.’
He was outraged, as well he might be. He took a single step across the rug, and there was suddenly something more in the room than three guests sparring round a Sunday morning fire.
Even though I was as far as he knew an insignificant fly to swat, a clear quality of menace flowed out of him like a radio signal. The calm social mask had disappeared, along with the wordy, phony, surface personality. The vague suspicion I had gained from reading his papers, together with the antipathy I had felt for him all along, clarified into belated recognition: this was not just a smooth speculator operating near the legal border-line, but a full-blown, powerful, dangerous big-time crook.
Trust me, I thought, to prod an anthill and find a hornets’ nest. Twist the tail of a grass snake and find a boa constrictor. What on earth would he be like, I wondered, if one did more to cross him than disparage his choice of wife.
‘He’s sweating,’ said Doria, pleased. ‘He’s afraid of you.’
‘Get up,’ he said.
As I was sure that if I stood up he would simply knock me down again, I stayed where I was.
‘I’ll apologise,’ I said.
‘Oh no,’ said Doria, ‘that’s much too easy.’
‘Something subtle,’ suggested Kraye, staring down.
‘I know!’ Doria was delighted with her idea. ‘Let’s get that hand out of his pocket.’
They both saw from my face that I would hate that more than anything. They both smiled. I thought of bolting, but it meant leaving the paper behind.
That will do very nicely,’ said Kraye. He leant down, twined one hand into the front of my jersey shirt and the other into my hair, and pulled me to my feet. The top of my head reached about to his chin. I wasn’t in much physical shape for resisting, but I took a half-hearted swipe at him as I came up. Doria caught my swinging arm and twisted it up behind my back, using both of hers and an uncomfortable amount of pressure. She was a strong healthy girl with no inhibitions about hurting people.
‘That’ll teach you to be rude to me,’ she said with satisfaction.
I thought of kicking her shins, but it would only have brought more retaliation. I also wished Charles would come back at once from wherever he was.
He didn’t.
Kraye transferred his grip from my hair to my left forearm and began to pull. That arm was no longer much good, but I did my best. I tucked my elbow tight against my side, and my hand stayed in my pocket.
‘Hold him harder,’ he said to Doria. ‘He’s stronger than he looks.’ She levered my arm up another inch and I started to roll round to get out of it. But Kraye still had his grasp on the front of my jersey, with his forearm leaning across under my throat, and between the two of them I was properly stuck. All the same, I found I couldn’t just stand still and let them do what I so much didn’t want them to.
‘He squirms, doesn’t he?’ said Doria cheerfully.
I squirmed and struggled a good deal more; until they began getting savage with frustration, and I was panting. It was my wretched stomach which finished it. I began to feel too ill to go on. With a terrific jerk Kraye dragged my hand out.
‘Now,’ he said triumphantly.
He gripped my elbow fiercely and pulled the jersey sleeve up from my wrist. Doria let go of my right arm and came to look at their prize. I was shaking with rage, pain, humiliation… heaven knows what.
‘Oh,’ said Doria blankly. ‘Oh.’
She was no longer smiling, and nor was her husband. They looked steadily at the wasted, flabby, twisted hand, and at the scars on my forearm, wrist and palm, not only the terrible jagged marks of the original injury but the several tidier ones of the operations I had had since. It was a mess, a right and proper mess.
‘So that’s why the Admiral lets him stay, the nasty little beast,’ said Doria, screwing up her face in distaste.
‘It doesn’t excuse his behaviour,’ said Kraye. ‘I’ll make sure he keeps that tongue of his still, in future.’
He stiffened his free hand and chopped the edge of it across the worst part, the inside of my wrist. I jerked in his grasp.
‘Ah…’ I said. ‘Don’t.’
‘He’ll tell tales to the Admiral,’ said Doria warningly, ‘if you hurt him too much. It’s a pity, but I should think that’s about enough.’
‘I don’t agree, but…’
There was a scrunch on the gravel outside, and Charles’ car swept past the window, coming back.
Kraye let go of my elbow with a shake. I went weakly down on my knees on the rug, and it wasn’t all pretence.
‘If you tell the Admiral about this, I’ll deny it,’ said Kraye, ‘and we know who he’ll believe.’
I did know who he’d believe, but I didn’t say so. The newspaper which had caused the whole rumpus lay close beside me on the rug. The car doors slammed distantly. The Krayes turned away from me towards the window, listening. I picked up the paper, got to my feet, and set off for the door. They didn’t try to stop me in any way. They didn’t mention the newspaper either. I opened the door, went through, shut it, and steered a slightly crooked course across the hall to the wardroom. Upstairs was too far. I shut the wardroom door behind me, hid the newspaper, slid into Charles’ favourite armchair, and waited for my various miseries, mental and physical, to subside.
Some time later Charles came in to fetch some fresh cartons of cigarettes.
‘Hullo,’ he said over his shoulder, opening the cupboard. ‘I thought you were still in bed. Mrs Cross said you weren’t very well this morning. It isn’t at all warm in here. Why don’t you come into the drawing-room?’
‘The Krayes…’ I stopped.
‘They won’t bite you.’ He turned round, cigarettes in hand. He looked at my face. ‘What’s so funny?’ and then more sharply, looking closer. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘Oh, nothing. Have you seen today’s
‘No, not yet. Do you want it? I thought it was in the drawing-room with the other papers.’
‘No, it’s in the top drawer of your desk. Take a look.’
Puzzled, he opened the drawer, took out the paper, and unfolded it. He went to the racing section unerringly.
‘My God!’ he said, aghast. ‘Today of all days.’ His eyes skimmed down the page and he smiled. ‘You’ve read this, of course?’
I shook my head. ‘I just took it to hide it.’
He handed me the paper. ‘Read it then. It’ll be good for your ego. They won’t let you die! “Young Finch”, he quoted, “showed much of the judgment and miraculous precision of the great Sid”. How about that? And that’s just the start.’
‘Yeah, how about it?’ I grinned. ‘Count me out for lunch, if you don’t mind, Charles. You don’t need me there
