Shape of Snakes

said why you needed to see him,' she reminded me, as we went back into the hall.

'I wanted to talk to him about Michael Percy,' I lied, dredging up the only excuse I'd been able to come up with. 'But you've already told me they lost touch'-I gave a rueful shrug-'so he wouldn't have been able to help me anyway.'

'What did you want to talk about?'

'Whether Michael's as bad as he was painted in the newspapers,' I said, pulling open the front door and nodding to the cab driver to say I was coming. 'I'm thinking of visiting him in prison-he's just down the road from us on Portland-but I'm not sure if it's a sensible thing to do. I rather hoped Alan could give me some advice.'

It sounded so weak to my ears that I expected suspicion to bristle out of her like hackles, but she seemed to find it reasonable. 'Well, if it's any help, Al said it was well out of character for him to hit that woman. He reckons Michael was a lot less violent than he was when they used to hang out together. They had a fight before they fell out, and Al said Michael took a beating because he wouldn't defend himself.'

'What were they fighting about?'

'That girl you mentioned-Bridget. It was when they were in their late teens. Al was so crazy about her he wanted to marry her, then he walked in one day and found her in bed with Michael. He went berserk ... broke Michael's jaw and God knows what else ... even attacked the policemen who arrived to break it up. It was mayhem, apparently. Bridget was screaming in the hall, Michael was half out the window and it took four policemen to get Al off him. He ended up in juvenile detention for it.'

'Goodness!'

'He's been straight ever since,' she assured me.

'I should hope so.'

Beth laughed. 'It all worked out for the best. He wouldn't be married to me if he'd stuck with her.' A wistful note entered her voice. 'But he's never broken anyone's jaw for me ... so I guess I'm not as attractive as Bridget.'

I gave her an impulsive hug before heading for the cab. 'Just don't test him,' I warned over my shoulder. 'I have a nasty feeling he'd break more than jaws if he found you in bed with someone else.'

I spoke lightly, but the warning was sincere.

Letter from Dr. Joseph Ellas, psychiatrist

at the Queen Victoria Hospital, Hong Kong-dated 1985

QUEEN VICTORIA HOSPITAL

Hong Kong

Dept. of Psychiatry

Mrs. M. Ranelagh

12 Greenhough Lane,

Pokfulam

June 12,1985

Dear Mrs. Ranelagh,

I am sad to hear you're leaving Hong Kong. I have enjoyed your letters and those all-too-rare occasions when you have consented to talk to me in person! You will like Sydney. I spent two years there from '72 to '74 and it was a delightful experience. Australia has the enthusiasm and vigor that comes from a mix of different cultures and I'm confident you will enjoy a polygeny where class divides are nonexistent and success depends on merit and not labels. You see, I have come to understand you.

You mentioned in your last letter that you and Sam have reached a fine understanding where the past remains buried in England. You also tell me he's an excellent father. You do not, however, say you love him. Am I supposed (like Sam?) to take that for granted? My friend the rabbi would say that nothing thrives in a desert. He would also say that whatever lies buried in England will resurface the minute you go home. But perhaps that is the plan? If so, you are a patient woman, my dear, and a little cruel, too, I think.

With best wishes for your future wherever it may be.

Yours affectionately,

J. Elias

Dr. J. Elias

*19*

Sam was sitting in the car outside Dorchester South station when I finally reached it at ten o'clock that evening. I wondered how long he'd been waiting because I hadn't phoned to say which train I was catching, and I feared it couldn't have done his temper much good if he'd been there any length of time. My intention had been to take a taxi home and face the inevitable row behind closed doors but, if his bleak expression when he got out of the car at my approach was anything to go by, he planned to have it in public.

'Jock phoned,' he said tersely.

'I thought he might,' I murmured, opening the back door and dumping my rucksack on the seat.

'He told me you left him at about four o'clock. What the hell have you been doing? Why the hell didn't you phone? I've been worried sick.'

I showed my surprise. 'I said I'd make my own way home.'

'I didn't even know if you were coming home.' He stalked angrily round the bonnet to open the passenger door for me, but it was so out of character that I stepped back automatically, assuming he was opening it for himself. 'I'm not going to hit you,' he snapped, gripping me by the arm and pressing me clumsily into my seat. 'I'm not a complete bastard.'