‘Poor Willi!’ Caroline said with a happy laugh, though meaning malice.
‘The Baron is charming, bless him,’ said Laurence, in an absent way, for he was conferring with Ernest over paying their bill.
‘Willi makes his money out of the Black Mass,’ Eleanor stated. ‘That’s where he gets it from, I’m sure.’
‘Oh, surely it can’t be a business matter?’ Laurence put in again. ‘They do quite a trade in consecrated wafers,’ said Eleanor. ‘In
Laurence said, ‘I doubt if they make a point of the wafers being consecrated.’
‘I believe they do,’ Ernest said. ‘I’m afraid that seems to be the whole point of the Black Mass.’
‘It’s a very rare thing these days,’ Caroline said. ‘Satanism fizzled out in the twenties.’
‘Oh, did it?’ Eleanor said, getting ready to argue the point.
Laurence interrupted with, ‘Why did you say your ex-husband should be in prison?’
‘Mind y’r own business, lovey.’ Eleanor screwed up her face into an inebriate smile.
‘Is there a relation of his, do you know, called Georgina Hogg?’
‘I can see,’ said Caroline, ‘we’ve reached the stage where each one discourses upon his private obsession, regardless —’
‘I just wondered,’ Laurence explained, ‘because that crest on Eleanor’s cigarette case is the same as the one on some of Georgina’s possessions.’
Eleanor did not reply. She had a look of drunken incoherence which may have covered any emotion.
‘Possibly derived from the same name, originally,’ Caroline suggested. ‘“Hogg” and “Hogarth”.’
When they went to get their coats Caroline had to take Eleanor’s arm to keep her steady, although she felt a slight electricity singing in her own limbs. In the cloakroom Eleanor revived a little, and putting on her lipstick shifted over her attitude to the woman-to-woman basis. ‘Men are clods.
‘And keep away, Caroline, do, from the Baron.
‘And Laurence said something about a woman called Hogg? I couldn’t quite catch — I’m so sleepy, so tight.’ In evidence, she yawned with her mouth all over her face.
Caroline replied with exaggerated precision, annoyed at having to repeat what Eleanor already knew.
‘Yes. She was a nursemaid or governess with the Manders years ago. Laurence thought there might be some connexion between her and your husband because the crest on your cigarette case is the same as the crest on Mrs Hogg’s possessions, apparently.’
‘A nursemaid with a family crest?’
‘Apparently. It’s quite possible,’ said Caroline.
‘There may be some original connexion between the names “Hogg” and “Hogarth”,’ Eleanor said, as if she had not heard Caroline’s remark to this effect, and had just thought of it herself.
‘Quite,’ said Caroline, and noticed that this abrupt finality did not have a satisfying effect on Eleanor.
As they waited for their coats Eleanor asked, ‘Where are you living now?’
‘In Queen’s Gate, quite near our old flat.’
‘And Laurence?’
‘Laurence is still in the old flat.’
‘Officially, that is?’ said Eleanor. ‘What d’you mean?’
‘Well, dear Carrie, I heard that Laurence couldn’t tear himself away from you, and was stopping over at your new place.’
‘Oh, that’s only a temporary arrangement. I haven’t been well.’
‘A temporary arrangement! You Roman Catholics can get away with anything. You just nip into the confessional in between temporary arrangements, so to speak.’
‘We sleep in separate rooms, as it happens.’ Then Caroline was furious with herself for making this defence where none was due. Laurence wouldn’t like it, either. ‘I rate friendship infinitely higher than erotic love,’ she added, trying to improve matters, but making them worse.
They found Laurence and Ernest outside with a taxi. ‘Let’s walk a little way and get some air,’ Caroline said to Laurence. ‘Oh, then we’ll walk with you. That would be nice,’ said Eleanor. But Ernest, with his tact, got her into the cab. Before they said good night, Eleanor, slurred and mouthy, declared, ‘Now, Laurence, take care of Caroline. She’s just been telling me that you both sleep in separate rooms. It’s a good story if you stick to it. And it must be a frightful strain either way. No wonder Caroline’s haunted.’
They left London next day by car, though Laurence’s M.G. was overdue for repair, instead of going by train. This was owing to their getting up late and frittering the day in talk, first about poor Eleanor, as they agreed she was, then about themselves.
Caroline had not slept much that night. To start with it was after four o’clock by the time she parted from Laurence who was sleeping on a camp bed in the kitchen. She lay awake for about half an hour and then she was visited by the voices, preceded by the typewriter. This was the first time it had happened while Laurence was in the flat.
As soon as she heard the familiar tapping she called softly to Laurence; he was quite near, only a few yards away through the open door.
‘Are you awake?’
