The Unsuspected

There was Althea, standing back in the hall. She wore yellow. She was exquisite. Her oddly shining gray eyes weren't looking at Tyl at all.

A blond girl in a black wool frock who had the face of a baby doll smiled at her and went running down the long living room, calling, 'Mr. Grandison!”

Tyl waited where she was for Grandy. She saw him coming—the arrogantly held gray head, the beak of a nose, the lively eyes behind the pince-nez, the unimpressive body with the fat little bulge of a tummy, the thin legs, the biggish, awkward feet.

She began to laugh and cry. He was purring. His beautiful voice that seemed not to need any breath came pouring out in endearments. Through her own tears, she could see in his black eyes the eternal spectator, who viewed with such lively interest and delight this dramatic and emotional moment in which he took part. He was just the same. She threw herself into his arms. She felt so safe. It was wonderful to feel so safe.

Chapter Nine

Never afterward was Mathilda able to put the ringer of her memory on the moment that changed anything. It was like the tides on the beach. The sea would be coming up on the sand. Later, one was aware that it had begun to go down instead. But the moment of change escaped, couldn't be remembered, was not noticed at the time. So it was about Oliver.

There was a familiar hubbub. Grandy thought she was too thin. 'My poor baby, your eyes are bigger than your face!'

Althea said, 'That suit, Tyl!' with shocked disgust.

They introduced her to Jane Moynihan. Grandy had a visitor in his study who must be dismissed. He trotted off down the long room again. She saw Francis follow, saw him stop, halfway down, to speak to that pretty little girl named Jane. She saw Althea, watching.

Mathilda remembered later that she was able to turn easily and look Oliver square in the face, finding it the same friendly face, the same sandy eyebrows. Suddenly she could see the white walls of the African town in the sun. The waters of the oceans of the world were crisscrossed with the vanished tracks of the ships of men. She thought. I've been away.

He said, 'Gosh, Tyl, you'll never know how I felt!'

She thought, I'll never care.

The tide had turned. It was going out. The strange thing was that it must have turned before this, and she hadn't known. But it was true; she didn't care any more how he felt, how he had felt or how he would feel tomorrow. The agony of caring was gone. Maybe

shed beaten it out of herself by caring so much and so hard. She felt very tired, as if all the sleep she'd lost over her emotions about him had accumulated in a reproachful cloud. It hadn't really been necessary.

Something must have gone out of her face, because Oliver could tell. She could see him persuading himself that he was, on the whole, relieved and glad. She saw right through. It was like watching the wheels go around in an insignificant toy. It was fascinating, but not important. Then the weariness lifted and Tyl felt free and lively. Her body felt light.

She said gaily, 'Where are my things? Where do I go?'

'You re in the gray room.' Althea was approaching with her mannequin's walk. 'I'm afraid we took your old room, darling. Naturally, since it was always the nicest'

'Yes, I know,' Tyl murmured. She was amused. It seemed to her that Althea was suddenly transparent too. Oliver picked up her suitcase. There was a little silence among the three of them, because Francis' two bags with his initials on them were there on the

floor.

It came into Mathilda's head to tell them, then and there, and yet she didn't. She ought to have said, 'I'm not married to Francis.' But something was wrong with her mood. She couldn't have said it without giggling.

'Fran's been down in the guest house,' Althea was saying.

'Oh, leave them,' said Tyl carelessly. She was too much amused, too tickled, too giddy with inner mirth to tell them now. She ran upstairs. Her feet felt like flying. Althea came pelting after.

'Lord, Tyl, you are a skinny little rat'

Mathilda was burrowing into the gray room's clothes closet. She found a green wool dress. In the eye of the beholder, she thought. In a pig's eye.

'I've got good ankles' she said, muffled among the clothes. The knowledge that Althea couldn't hurt her made her dizzy.

Althea had sat down on the foot of the bed and her shining eyes that caught and reflected the light as if they had been metal, like silver buttons with black centers, were fixed on Tyl as if to read her very soul.

'What on earth happened to your hair?' she cried.

Althea's own hair was a soft silvery cloud of curls, cut short, swept up, every tendril blending charmingly with the whole effect. Mathilda shook her brown mane, which hung free to her shoulders. 'I washed it myself,' she said defiantly.

Althea's delicate eyebrows trembled with pitying comment. She touched the nape of her own neck with a polished finger tip. 'I've been down with the grippe,' she said, and sighed. 'I've been miserable.'

'Too bad.' Tyl bit her lip. Laughter bubbled inside. She could hardly keep it under. And I've been shipwrecked and rescued and half around the world, she thought, and it's eating you. Oh, it's eating you.

Althea said, with grudging admiration, 'You re a sly one.' She sloped gracefully back on one elbow. 'Where did you find this Francis of yours?'

Mathilda, in her slip, let her bare shoulders fall a little.

'A millionaire,' complained Althea. Her voice verged on a whine, 'Really, Tyl, you scarcely needed a millionaire. It doesn't seem just and fair. Look at Oliver and me, poor as church mice, both of us.'

And it's eating you, thought Tyl. 'I know what you mean,' she said aloud, flippantly. 'Maybe we ought to shuffle and deal again.'

She saw, in the mirror, Althea's dainty body stiffen, saw the painted lashes draw down to narrow those gleaming eyes. What ails me? she wondered. She was treating Althea to a taste of sauce, as she had never dared before. She thought, It's true. She is envious. She always has been. She thought, But I ought not to let her go on thinking I'm married. I mustn't be childish.

She said aloud, 'There's something you don't know about —'

'Is there, indeed?' said Althea acidly. 'About true love, I suppose?'

Tyl picked up her own turquoise-handled hairbrush and made her mane fly. She thought, Just for that, you can wait.  And again, suddenly, she wanted to laugh. Her mouth began to curve. She had to control it The whole situation was so totally turned about. So ridiculously altered from what she had feared. For it wasn't Althea who had the husband Tyl had wanted. No, It was Althea who wanted the husband she thought Tyl had. Althea had her silver eyes on Francis.

Chapter Ten

Inside the study, the man named Press waited. He stood looking down at the floor.

'Now, as I said,' purred Grandy, 'I don't intend to repeat such a broadcast. They came around, you know, and I had to claim a good deal of poetic license. But you needn't worry. You are still unsuspected. As I said. And don't come here. I'll be in touch with

you from time to time.'

The man had a very round head and wide-spaced dark eyes. He looked up. The eyes had no hope in them.

'Don't you know' said Grandy ever so softly, 'I rather enjoy playing God?'

The man named Press barely nodded. His eyes were still hopeless.

Outside, in the living room, Francis smiled politely at the blond secretary. 'Had to tell her the yam,' he said, as if he were saying, 'Hello, how are you?'

Jane's pretty baby face was a perfect mask. 'Oh, no,' she moaned.

'Something's going to bust any minute. Pray I get hold of Althea before it does. Who's in there?'

'That man Press. The same one.'

'I'm going to tell Grandy the duckling's lost her memory.'

'Why?' Her pleasant smile might have been sculped on.

'For time,' he said. 'To tempt him. Be ready to get out of here,” he murmured, brushing by.

'Oh, Fran,' moaned Jane.

Grandy s study door had a little whimsical knocker on the living-room side. It knocked back at you if the word was to come in. This was because the study had been completely soundproofed, so that Grandy s genius could work in quiet. Francis opened the door

when the signal came.

'I thought you had company, sir,' he said.

The visitor must have left by way of the kitchen. Grandy was sitting at his big light wood desk. He touched his pince-nez with his long-fingered, knot-knuckled hand. 'No, no. Come in.'

Francis walked across and sat down in the visitors chair. He followed the precepts of good acting. He tried to think only of and within the frame of mind he was to seem to be in. He was a hurt, bewildered, rebuffed, humiliated and worried lover. At the same time, he mustn't miss anything he could glean from that face, that somewhat birdlike