The Comforters

will recur. You have been under a considerable strain from what I hear of your severed relations with Laurence.’

‘We haven’t parted, really, you know.’

‘But you now have separate establishments?’

‘Yes, I’ve got rooms in Kensington. Laurence is keeping on the flat for the time being. He’s away in the country. I must get in touch with him tomorrow, first thing.’ She gave the deliberate impression of not wanting to talk any more.

‘In Sussex? With Mrs Jepp?’ — a genuine curiosity in his voice.

‘Yes.’

‘I met her one day about three years ago. Laurence introduced me. A fine old lady. Wonderful for her age. Quite excellent. Do you see much of her?’

‘I saw her last Easter,’ Caroline said, ‘she was grand.’

‘Yes, she is grand. She doesn’t visit London, of course?’

‘No,’ Caroline said. ‘That must have been her last trip when you met her. She hasn’t been to London since.

‘She doesn’t care for the Hampstead menage?’

‘Well, she’s an independent soul,’ said Caroline absently.

She had only half taken in the Baron’s chatter, although he continued to speak of Louisa.

‘I must get in touch with Laurence first thing,’ Caroline repeated. ‘Mrs Jepp isn’t on the phone. I’ll send a wire. Oh, Willi! — those voices, it was Hell!’

Now, lying awake in the dark, Caroline recalled the conversation, regretting that she had shown such a supine dependence on the Baron. More and more she thought, ‘I should have stayed at home and faced whatever was to be faced.’ She knew she had tough resources. And as she tormented herself, now, into confronting her weakness, painfully she recollected the past hour; some of the talk which she had let slip so drowsily through her mind came back to her. It had struck her in passing that the Baron had seemed extraordinarily interested in Laurence’s grandmother. He was the last person one would expect to have remembered — and by name — an undistinguished old lady to whom he had been introduced casually three years ago. Mrs Jepp was not immediately impressive to strangers; was not at all the type to impress the Baron.

Through the darkness, from beside the fireplace, Caroline heard a sound. Tap. The typewriter. She sat up as the voices followed:

The Baron had seemed extraordinarily interested in Laurence’s grandmother. He was the last person one would expect to have remembered — and by name — an undistinguished old lady to whom he had been introduced casually three years ago. Mrs Jepp was not immediately impressive to strangers.

Caroline yelled, ‘Willi! Oh, my God, the voices… . Willi!’

Through the wall she heard him stir.

‘Did you call, Caroline?’

Eventually he shuffled in and switched on the light.

Caroline pulled the bulky borrowed dressing-gown over her shoulders, her eyes blue and hard with fright. She had grasped the rosary which she had tucked under the cushion at her head. Her fingers clung shakily to the beads as a child clings to its abracadabra toy.

‘My dear Caroline, what a charming picture you make! Don’t move for a second, don’t move: I am trying to recall — some moment, some scene in the past or a forgotten canvas — One of my sister’s friends perhaps — or my nurse. Caroline, my dear, there is no more exquisite sight than that of a woman taken unawares with a rosary.

Caroline slung the beads on the post of the chair. The thought flashed upon her, ‘He is indecent.’ She looked up at him sharply and caught him off his guard; his mouth and eyes drooped deadly tired, and he was resisting a yawn. She thought, ‘After all, he is kind; it was only a pose.’

‘Tell me about the voices,’ he said. ‘I heard nothing, myself. From what direction did they come?’

‘Over there, beside the fireplace,’ she answered.

‘Would you like some tea? I think there is tea.’

‘Oh, coffee. Could I have some coffee? I don’t think I’m likely to sleep.’

‘We shall both have some coffee. Stay where you are.

Caroline thought, ‘He means that he isn’t likely to sleep, either.’ She said, ‘I’m awfully sorry about this, Willi. It sounds so foolish, but it really is appalling. And you must be dead tired.’

‘Coffee and aspirins. My Caroline, you are not to apologize, I am delighted —’

But he could hardly conceal his sleepiness. As he returned bearing their coffee, with a bottle of brandy on a tray, he said, as one who keeps the conversation flowing, notwithstanding a tiger in the garden, ‘You must tell me all about the voices.’ He saw her removing the cottonwool plugs from her ears, but pretended not to notice. ‘I have always believed that disembodied beings inhabit this room,’ he went on, ‘and now I’m sure. Seriously, I’m sure— indissuasibly convinced, Caroline, that you are in touch with something. I do so wish I had been able to give you some phenobarbitone, an excellent sedative; or something to make you sleep. But of course I shall sit up with you, it’s nearly five already. …

He said no more about hallucinations, by which Caroline understood that he now really believed that she was crazy. She sipped her coffee submissively and jerkily, weeping all the time. She told him to leave her.

‘Of course not. I want to hear about the voices. It’s most intriguing, really.’