The small man murmured again and went away, closing the bedroom door. Jessica, who had composed her plan of action carefully T-NATG-H 193 beforehand, now felt so giddy with emotion that she had to sit down on a chair. She had not realized how powerfully Ducane's bedroom would affect her. The silence, his trousers neatly folded upon the counterpane, his brushes and collar studs upon the dressing table, the bare masculine plainness of a single man's room, the bitter-sweet sense of familiarity and absence made her suddenly sick with longing. The bedroom, unlike the drawing-room below, might have been any man's room, yet it was full of the ghost of Ducane which, distilled now into a purer male essence than any she had ever encountered assaulted her fainting senses. Jessica's rolling eye lighted upon the bed and jealousy pulled her together like a mouthful of brandy. It was not a narrow bed. It was not exactly a double bed, but it was one of those rather broad single beds with plenty of room for two. She leapt up and began her search. Jessica was of the opinion that it is virtually impossible for a woman to inhabit a room, even for a short while, without leaving traces. If a woman had been in Ducane's bed some sign would certainly have been left behind, some token from the transcendent region of Ducane's love life, some glittering fragment of that Jessica- excluding super-world upon which her imagination had by now so finely worked. What she would do with this talisman, whether torment herself or torment him, she had not yet thought. What she wanted was simply to have the tiny thing in her possession. Very carefully Jessica folded back the coverlet of the bed and drew down the bed clothes. She put her face close to the pillow sniffing attentively. She had taken care to wear no perfume herself that day. Her pale streaky hair fell forward on to the pillow. How unfortunate that she suffered from hay fever. She interrogated her sense of smell. There was a faint cosmetic odour but it might have been shaving cream or even disinfectant. Inconclusive. Leaving the bed she moved to the wastepaper basket. It contained a screw of Kleenex, a toothpaste carton, an empty cigarette packet, half a comb and a good deal of human hair. Jessica picked out the ball of hair and began straightening it out and sniffing it. It was all dark brown and looked like pucane's hair. After a moment's hesitation she stuffed the hair into her pocket. She opened the wardrobe. The neat line of pucane's sombre suitings confronted her in the darkness like so many shrunken male presences. The wardrobe smelt of wood and man. It was like a little enchanted house or the ark of some unfamiliar faith. Jessica stood in awe before it. Then, frowning with determination and courage, she began quickly to go through the pockets of the suits. Ducane's pockets were full of entities, papers of all sorts, parking tickets, cloakroom tickets, more hair, coins, several combs and numerous searounded pebbles. There were two letters, but one was from the telephone company and the other from a plumber. Jessica left the wardrobe and transferred her attention to the chest of drawers. Here, although there was much to make her gasp and sigh – neckties remembered from happier days, cuff links which she herself had given him – there was nothing at all in the way of 'evidence'. There were no contraceptives. There, was nothing feminine. Jessica, now in a flurried rush slid into the bathroom. There was an indeterminate smell of bath essence. A black silk dressing gown covered with red asterisks hanging behind the door had masculine handkerchiefs in its pockets and smelt of tobacco. The bathroom cupboard revealed no perfumes, no face creams. The bathroom wastepaper basket contained a detective novel. Jessica ran back into the bedroom. There must be something to find, she thought, and I must find it. Certainty was so much better than doubt, and with certainty would come power, the power to hurt and astonish, the power to create again, however perversely, a bond of living emotion, Jessica began to look into corners, to search the floor. Some tiny thing, a bead, a button, a hairpin, must be hiding somewhere in the carpet. She lifted the skirts of the bed-cover and crawled underneath the bed. There as she lay full length, feverishly combing the carpet with her fingers, she became aware that the room had darkened. Then she saw two male feet and two lengths of trousered leg which had come close up beside the bed. Jessica crawled out. 'You know, what you told me just now can't be quite true.' The speaker who uttered these words rather apologetically was the small white-haired man who had let her in. Jessica was so relieved that it was not Ducane that she sat down on the bed for a moment and just stared. Then she said, 'I was just checking the power points.' 'To begin with,' the man went on, 'I have been looking them up in the telephone book and there is no such firm as Payne and Stevens, and secondly Mr Ducane has just lately had new curtains fitted in this room. And thirdly why have you taken the bed to pieces. That will do to begin with.' The small man took a chair, placed it in front of the closed door, and sat down on it expectantly. Jessica looked at Ducane's bed, with the bedclothes pulled down and the pillows disarranged. She looked at the chest of drawers, with every drawer open and ties and shirts hanging over the edge. Whatever was she to say? Jessica was not afraid of being sent to prison, she was afraid of being trapped by Ducane, of being kept there by force until he returned. She thought, any moment now I shall burst into tears. 'You see,' the small man went on in a gentle slightly foreign voice, 'I can't just let it go, can I? I mean, you might be a burglar, mightn't you? And I have to defend my friend's belongings, with which I must say you seem to have been making rather free.' Jessica found her voice. 'You're not the – butler, chauffeur?' 'No. It's the butler chauffeur's afternoon off. I'm someone else. But that doesn't matter. I'm still waiting for you to explain yourself, my dear.' 'I'm not a burglar,' said Jessica in a small voice. 'Well, no, I didn't really think you were. I reflected on you a little bit downstairs, after I'd looked up Payne and Stevens, and I said to myself that young lady is no burglar, However you must be something, you know, and I'm still waiting to hear what it is.' Jessica sat hunched on the bed. She felt frightened, guilty and wretched. Suppose indeed the little man were to keep her here until Ducane came back, suppose he were to lock her in? Why did loving so much lead to nothing now but misery and terror? Tears filled her eyes. She thrust her hand into her pocket and brought out the ball of Ducane's hair which fell on the floor. 'Oh come come come come come.' He came and sat beside her on the bed and handed her a big clean handkerchief in which she hid her face. 'I'm not a monster, you know. I don't want to frighten you. I won't hurt you. But just imagine yourself being me! I must ask you some questions. And naturally I'm curious too. I simply can't think what you can be up to. It is all a bit odd, isn't it? There, there don't cry. Just talk to me a little bit, will you?' Jessica stopped crying and rubbed her face over. She stared into the male darkness of the wardrobe. She felt full of misery and violence. The unexpected, that at least was something. She would impale herself upon it. She said in a hard voice, 'You ask me what I am. I am a jealous woman.' Her companion whistled softly, a long melodious whistle. Then he said, 'Wow!' 'Mr Ducane and I used to be together,' said Jessica, 'but then he dropped me. And he says he hasn't got anyone else. But I'm sure that isn't true. I saw a woman coming into the house one day. I just felt I had to know for sure. So I got in, as you saw, and I've been searching the room to see if any woman has been here.' 'Found anything?' he asked in an interested tone. 'No. But I'm sure – ' 'I don't think John would tell a lie, even about that.' Jessica turned to face the small brown man. He was regarding her now with a kind of humorous glee. 'Please will you tell me,' said Jessica, 'do you know, has he got a mistress? Well, why should you tell me. This is all fantastic.' 'But I adore what's fantastic. No, I'm sure he hasn't got a mistress. Is that enough for you? Will you go away happy?' 'No,' she said. 'Nothing's enough. Nothing.' 'The demon jealousy. Yes. I know about it too. Tell me your name, my child, your first name only. We seem to be almost acquainted.'
