Sheraton sideboard. He moved back, breath held in, and reached for the next door. He pushed it open. The room was darkened by venetian blinds upon which the sun fell slanting, dazzling a little along the long hairlike slits of the almost closed blinds. Ducane blinked into the semi-darkness of the room. Then, on the far side, he saw a standing figure. A remarkable figure, the figure of Judy McGrath. 'Hello, Mr Honeyman. Didn't I tell you that we'd meet again?' What was remarkable about Judy McGrath this time was . that she had no clothes on. Ducane came slowly on into the room and closed the door behind him. Collecting himself he looked about with deliberation. There was no one else present. 'Good evening, Mrs McGrath.' 'You must excuse my deshabille. It's so hot this evening, isn't it.' 'Exceptionally hot and stuffy,' said Ducane. He sat down in an armchair and stared at Judy. He said softly, 'Helen of Troy'. 'I knew you'd find me out, Mr Honeyman, you're so clever. Have a cigarette? Or one of Richard's cigars? T 'No thanks.' Ducane felt, this is a moment outside my ordinary life, a moment given by a god, not perhaps by a great god, and not by a good one, but by a god certainly. It had never fallen to his lot to contemplate a naked woman in quite this way before. Judy stood in front of him with a slight awkwardness. The human body, even that of a beautiful woman, cannot easily stand in complete repose. She stood half turned away from him, one knee bent, one shoulder hunched, her chin jutting as if to see him she had to peer over something. Her body lacked the authority of its beauty and wore a little shame, the shame of what is usually hidden from the air and which greets it a little self- consciously. However used Mrs McGrath was in her spirit to taking her clothes off, her body was yet a trifle less forward. Half consciously Ducane noted this and it touched him. The sunlight dazzled in streaks along the shutters and filled the room with a thick powdery half-light, a warm golden-brown air, in the midst of which Judy McGrath's body rose up, moved slightly, a pillar of honey with a fleeting lemony radiance. The warm light caressed her, revealed her, blended with her. Her black hair, dusted over with a sheen of brown, seemed a slightly greenish bronze, and the shadow between her large round slightly dependent breasts was a blur of dark russet. Judy's eyes, brooding slits now, were almost closed. She swung her body slightly, revealing the curve of the buttock, outlined in a thin are of fuzzy phosphorescent fire. Ducane breathed deeply and swallowed his breath before it could become a sigh. He said, 'I came here to see Mr Biranne, but you will do just as well.' 'If you have a use for me, Mr Honeyman, I'm yours.' 'Why did Radeechy kill himself?' 'I don't know, Mr Honeyman. Mr Radeechy was a strange man with strange habits, who got strange ideas into his head.' 'Was it your notion or your husband's to blackmail him?' 'I have no idea, Mr Honeyman. I'm a woman. Look.' Ducane was looking, but his head was perfectly clear now. He noticed that the huge brown circles in the centre of her breasts were reminding him of Fivey. 'Tell me about Radeechy,' said Ducane. 'I could love you, Mr Honeyman. You could love me.' 'I doubt that, Judy. Tell me about Radeechy.' 'You mean what we did in the vaults at night?' 'In the vaults – 'said Ducane carefully. 'In the vaults of the office.' 'I see,' said Ducane slowly, thinking as fast as he could. 'Of course. You used to go with Radeechy into the vaults, into the old air-raid shelters underneath the office ' 'That's right, Mr Honeyman. I thought you knew. I thought you knew everything.' 'I know practically everything,' said Ducane. 'I just want you to tell me the rest. Why did you go to the vaults?' 'It was getting to be a bit awkward at his house, you see, with Mrs around, and the neighbours. We used to make quite a lot of noise.' 'Hmmm,' said Ducane. 'Did Mrs Radeechy know about all this?' 'Oh yes, it was all ever so honest.' 'Did she mind?' 'I don't know,' said Judy. She had begun to oscillate her body in a circular movement, pivoted upon her rather large feet which were gripping the carpet with long clawlike toes. , She seemed not to. But I guess she did really.' 'Was Radeechy anxious because he was distressing his wife?' 'He was never anxious when he was with me, Mr Honeyman. No man is ever anxious when he is with me.' 'What did Radeechy want you to do for him,' asked Ducane. 'I mean apart from the things that were obvious.' 'None of Mr Radeechy's things were obvious things, Mr Honeyman.' 'Well, presumably he made love to you.' 'Oh no, nothing like that. It was all very spiritualistic, if you see what I mean. Besides, Mr McGrath was there half of the time.' 'Oh. You took part in rituals, magic?' 'I never understood it really, I just did what he told me, half of the time I couldn't see what was happening. Some gentlemen have very strange ideas. He was not the first.' 'What do you mean by spiritualistic?' 'It was all ideas, all in his head like. There are some like that. He never touched me, not with his hands that is.' The phrase 'not with his hands' produced an effect on Ducane which he took a moment to recognize as extreme physical excitement. He pushed his chair back abruptly and stood up. Judy McGrath immediately, with an electrical jerk, altered her stance, stepping forward towards him and throwing her head back. At the same time she picked up something from the table. Ducane's lowered gaze now sought out, what he had before avoided seeing, the place of the darkest shadow. 'Don't go,' she said softly. 'Or else take me with you. What are your things, Mr Honey? Whatever they are I could do them. And there are things I could teach you too.' 'Put your clothes on,' said Ducane. Something moved in the sulphurous light between them and came to rest upon his wrist, brushing caressingly along the hairs of his arm. It was the pencil-thin tip of a riding whip, the other end of which rested in Judy's hand. Ducane jerked his arm away and moved quickly out of the room. He blundered through the hall and swung the front door wide open and blinked in the sudden brightness of the Twenty-five street. As he began to walk rapidly along the pavement he nearly collided with Biranne, who was carrying a bottle. They looked at each other appalled, and before Ducane pushed past and hurried on he saw Biranne's face transfigured with fear. WOW 'why do animals not have to blow their noses?' asked Edward. No one seemed to know the answer to this question or be prepared to enter into a discussion of it. Mary was cooking rhubarb, Paula was looking through a page of the Aeneid into some private worry of her own, and Ducane was engaged in composing and censoring some very private pictures of Judy McGrath. 'Uncle Theo wants Mingo please,' said Henrietta who had just come into the kitchen. 'Here's a postcard come for you, John.' The twins shovelled the sleepy Mingo up from his comfortable place in Montrose's basket and departed carrying him between them. Ducane surveyed a picture of some veiled women. On the other side Kate had written, Darling, veiled
