household.”
Roger nodded; looked at her; and wondered.
• • •
The house was in the old Colonial style, built of weatherboard, with tall round pillars at the front, on either side of the large verandah and the dozen steps leading up to it. It stood in parkland. Gardeners were working on the lawns and in the flower gardens, which were massed with colour. Hissing sprays of water filmed the air in a dozen places. On one side was a swimming-pool, with diving-board and two small brick-built sheds, one at each end. The water looked limpid in the sunshine, and shone pale blue because of the tiles.
Lissa pulled up at the front steps. The other car drove past them towards garages which were just visible. As they walked towards the open front door, Dr Carl Fischer appeared, a hand raised, face twisted in a smile. It might have been the direct rays of the sun, but it looked to Roger as if Fischer were showing signs of great strain.
He shook hands with Roger.
“They tell me you’ve been getting around.”
Roger smiled. “A little,” he conceded.
“I’m glad you don’t look like another patient,” said Fischer dryly.
“How are they?” Lissa asked as they entered the shady hall.
“Much worse, since they heard that Ricky had been traced and lost again. The news came over the radio, someone must have picked it up in Wycoma.” Fischer glanced at Roger almost accusingly, as if to blame him for the news leaking out. “Belle gave David another look at hell after that. He looks as if he’s turning into stone, I don’t think he’s slept since he got back. He won’t have a shot. I can’t give Belle any more, she’s built up a resistance.”
“I’d better go and see her,” Lissa said almost wearily. “Where is she?”
“In her room. I shouldn’t go yet, she’s quiet. When she sees Roger, she’ll blow up again.” Fischer had as much time for Belle Shawn as he would have for a dog with rabies, if his manner were any guide. “David’s in the library.” He stopped by an open door. “I won’t come with you, if you don’t mind. I could use some sleep myself.”
“You go and rest,” Lissa said.
Fischer was obviously so tired that he could have gone to sleep on his feet.
As he went upstairs with Lissa, Roger glanced at her, wondering how much of the brightness of her eyes was due to over-exhaustion. It was hard to believe that she, too, hadn’t slept, but if this household were as she had said, and Fischer had confirmed this, how could she have done so? Yet she had shown no sign of fatigue on the journey, had been bright-eyed when she had come to Sergeant Al’s office. Perpetual youth? Roger found himself scowling at his own strange fancy and stranger mood.
Now they were on a spacious landing, oil paintings, mostly portraits, on the walls, the floors highly polished, skin rugs showing up darkly against the fight brown of the wood. Lissa went straight to a door on the left, the farthest from the staircase, opened it and went straight in. As she glanced back, her look said:
“Wait, Roger.”
He waited.
She walked across a carpeted room, and he could see the books which rose from floor to ceiling along one wall. The late afternoon sun came in at a window where the blind wasn’t drawn properly; apart from that, it was shadowy.
“Hallo, David,” she said.
Shawn didn’t speak.
“How are you?”
Shawn still didn’t speak, and the dislike Roger had felt for him came back, but he fought against it. Shawn was living in two different kinds of hell, he had never seen him except under dreadful pressure.
“I’ve brought Roger West,” Lissa announced. He’s outside.”
“Should I care?” Shawn asked. His voice was still husky, but very tired, as if finding any words was a physical effort.
“He saw Ricky last night,” said Lissa.
Even without seeing Shawn’s face, Roger sensed the tension which had clutched the man. A chair creaked. Roger moved forward, knowing that Shawn was coming towards the door. As he reached the doorway, Shawn was halfway from the window. Lissa stood against the window, and the shaft of sunlight caught her right hand and the side of her face. Shawn’s face, against the light, looked dark and full of shadows, but his eyes burned. His hands were clenched by his side. He stopped moving, just stared.
Then, from across the landing, there came a scream.
20
SCREAMING BELLE
SHAWN moved convulsively, as if someone had stabbed a knife into his back. The scream came again, as a door burst open and a woman ran across the landing into the room. Now she was screaming all the time. Roger spun round. Belle Shawn was beating her hands against her breasts, her mouth was open as if it were locked that way. She wore a simple white dress buttoned down the front, the top button unfastened, and her fair hair was braided and drawn back from her forehead. In spite of the way her mouth, stretched back, she still appeared beautiful — tall, full-breasted, with the figure of a Juno and the wildness of the demons in her eyes.
“Why don’t you stay with me?” she screamed at Shawn. “I can’t bear to be alone, you ought to stay with me. You don’t care, that’s the truth, you don’t care about me. You don’t care about Ricky. You’re a devil, that’s the truth of it, a cold, heartless devil.
