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[pp. 178-180]
There was a wind from the sea. It chilled the air. It broke the tops of the waves in a white froth and pushed the water high up the beach. Everybody closed their veranda doors and nobody swam. Elizabeth wore a wide red ribbon around her head to prevent the wind blowing her hair across her face. She was in a state of terrified excitement.
"God," she said. "What will Bob say?"
"He'll be cross," said Thelma. "I expect."
"Do you really think we ought to tell him?"
"No."
"But then it'll be over, won't it? Oh, God, I'll be so glad. And we can be friends again, and we can be friends with Bob, when he gets over it," said Elizabeth.
They held hands and walked very slowly, reluctantly, into the woods. They walked in step, looking down at the pine-needle floor in front of them. It was still warm in the woods, out of the wind. The wind sang in the tops of the pines and the air was heavy with the smell of resin.
"Have you got the photos?" said Elizabeth.
"In my handbag," said Thelma.
"Do you carry everything in your handbag?"
"Yes," said Thelma.
"Isn't the wind terrible?"
The wind was shaking the tops of the pines. Needles and pine cones fell from the trees and scattered down through the lower branches on to the springy floor.
"It's somber," said Elizabeth. She shivered, but not because it was cold. It was still warm. The summer heat was trapped among the pines. The warmth and the smells of summer.
"I don't expect they'll be up," said Elizabeth.
"I hadn't thought," said Elizabeth.
"They weren't dressed yesterday."
"What shall we do?" said Elizabeth.
"Wait," said Thelma.
"Shall we walk?"
"If you like."
"Which way?" said Elizabeth.
"Along there," said Thelma. "Through the woods."
"I don't really mind waiting," said Elizabeth, pushing her long dark hair back off her face and onto her shoulders. "I don't really want to tell Bob. 'Course, we'll have to. I wish we'd never done it."
"We didn't do anything," said Thelma. "It was them. They shouldn't have been doing it. They started it."
The trees thinned. Clumps of twisted brambles grew among them covered with fruit that was changing from green to red and purple.
"You want to see the pictures again?" said Thelma.
"If you like," said Elizabeth. "It'll be the last time, won't it?"
"I expect so," said Thelma.
They sat on the floor of pine needles sheltered among the twisting growths of brambles, and the wind whined overhead. Thelma took the photographs from her handbag, and as she looked at each one in turn she gave it to Elizabeth. From time to time Elizabeth giggled and said, "Good Lord!"
"You're going to tell them everything, aren't you?" said Thelma.
"Yes," said Elizabeth.She was still taking the photographs from Thelma, looking at them and putting them down beside her in a little pile. "But I don't want to."
"Why are you going to tell them if you don't want to?" said Thelma.
"I've got to. That's what I said. I told you. I've got to. I don't want to, but I don't feel--you know--clean."
"Have you made up your mind?"
"Of course," said Elizabeth. She picked up the pile of photographs and put them in her pocket.
"I want them," said Thelma.
"If I'm going to tell them, I'll have to show them," said Elizabeth. "You can keep the others--the negatives."
"All right," said Thelma. "If you've made up your mind." She picked up her handbag and opened it and put a hand inside.
"Do you expect they'll be up yet?" said Elizabeth.
"I expect they might be."
"Oh, well," said Elizabeth, beginning to get up off the ground. "Let's get it over with."
[pp. 180-181]
Thelma said, "We're not going to tell them."
Elizabeth said, "But Thelma, you said . . ."
"I wouldn't have told them," said Thelma. "I wouldn't ever have told them. But you said you were going to tell them. And you were going to tell them about me."
"Thelma, don't joke," said Elizabeth. "Please!"
Thelma had taken Burger's revolver out of her handbag and was pointing it at Elizabeth, gripping the gun in both hands. Her eyes were squinted and her head was held back as if she didn't quite know how frightening a bang it might make.
Elizabeth was kneeling on the pine-needle floor. She was staring straight at Thelma with her hands over her ears. Her eyes were wide open, not so much in terror as in total disbelief. She said, "I thought we were friends."
"We're not," said Thelma.
"Thelma, please! You can have anything you want. I'll give you anything. I won't tell them. I didn't mean it. Please don't shoot! You might hurt me!"
The revolver made a tremendous reverberating crash as it fired. Thelma fell backward with the shock of the noise and rolled onto one shoulder. The gun fell out of her hands on to the ground. The smell of burned explosive was strange and acrid. It hung in a little gray-blue cloud, and then the air moving thorugh the trees began to disperse it. Thelma got up, picked up the gun, and crouched on her knees. Elizabeth had fallen backward with her legs still partially bent under her. Her dark hair lay spread out on the pine needles. She lay absolutely still. A big dark stain was spreading over the upper part of her dress. Thelma got up slowly and stood over Elizabeth, looking down at her. Elizabeth's lips were slightly parted and her eyes were half-open, but she didn't move.
Thelma began to recover from the shock that the tremendous explosion had given her. Her heart was bouncing in her chest. She looked around. She peered through the shadows of the forest, she looked into the bramble thicket. There was no one to be seen. The wind still whined and the moving pines scattered the sunlight in all directions. She went back to Elizabeth. She bent and touched her. She was warm and soft. She might have been asleep if it hadn't been for her half-open eyes and the dreadful sticky substance spreading over the front of her dress.
Thelma put down the gun, turned Elizabeth a little to one side, and pulled her legs straight. Then she took hold of Elizabeth's ankles and began to drag her toward the bramble thicket. Elizabeth seemed to sigh, but she didn't speak and her lips didn't move. Her dress rode up above her waist, exposing her little pink pants and her white tummy. Her arms, limp as a contortionist's, were high above her head. Her body made a little track over the pine needles.
[pp. 185-188]
When the door opened, the brilliance of the sunlight pouring through the windows facing south made him squint his eyes. A figure stood in front of him in black silhouette. He knew it was Madame Girard because he could smell her perfume.
"But Richard . . . !" said Madame Girard. She put her hand up instinctively to feel that her hair was in place.
"Can I come in?" said Richard.
"Well, I . . . ," said Madame Girard. She looked around quickly as if expecting someone to be standing behind her; then she opened the door. Richard walked into the room, and she closed the door behind him.
"I had to see you," said Richard.
"Ah, you poor boy," said Madame Girard.
"Are you coming back?"
Madame Girard laughed and said, "But of course not. I have another position."
"Here?"
"Of course. You see . . . ?"
She pointed around the room. It was a big room with white walls and a high, molded ceiling. There were large pictures on the walls, and the settee and armchairs were covered in gold brocade. It gave an impression of wealth and distinction, and it obviously pleased Madame Girard.
"You're staying here?" said Richard.
"It's a much better position," said Madame Girard. "Better pay. Not so hard work. I have my own room here."
"But I thought you said--I thought we were going to be together. I thought we were in love. You said . . ."
Madame Girard laughed. The sound seemed to tinkle around the room. It had the quality of a small bell. It was a metallic sound with no resonance that seemed to bounce sharply off the wall and windows.
"Poor boy," said Madame Girard. She took his head in her hands and give him a little peck of a kiss. She was teasing him, and he didn't want to be teased. He didn't feel lightly about the relationship, as she did. His feeelings for her weighed on him very heavily.
"Lucienne," said Richard. "I'm going off my head. I don't think I can live without you. I haven't slept since you went. When I close my eyes I can't see anything but you--your face, your body. . . ."
"Richard!" she said, scolding him. "Such thoughts!"
"I can't help it, Lucienne. I've tried to forget. I've burnt the pictures of you. I've tried to put you out of my mind, but I can't. I can't!"
"You silly boy," said Madame Girard. "I like you very much, and we had a lot of--er--pleasure together. But I really am too old. Look--twenty-six! Much too old. I've been very naughty letting you encourage me. But you're only a boy. Boys should look for nice young girls--not older women."
"I don't want a young girl," said Richard. "I don't want anyone else. Only you. If you come back, I promise I won't do anything you don't want. I won't have any of those moods that you didn't like. . . ."
"Terrible, weren't they!" Madame Girard laughed. "When you are older, you will grow right out of them. Sixteen is such a terrible age."
"Lucienne," said Richard, taking hold of her arms. "If you don't come back, if I can never see you again, I think I'll kill myself!" His eyes were brimming with tears. He was trembling with the attempt to control himself.
"What a silly boy you are," said Lucienne. She had stopped laughing and stopped teasing him. There was an astringency in her voice, as if she was becoming a little tired of his behavior. "You take it all so seriously. Love--it's a very light thing. It comes and goes. It doesn't last forever. How silly of you to think it might."
"You don't love me anymore, do you, Lucienne?" said Richard.
"I think you are a very nice boy," said Lucienne.
"You don't love me, do you?"
"Of course not. Of course I don't love you. How very silly you are."
"Oh, my God!" said Richard. He put his hands over his face and turned away from her.
"You must go now," said Madame Girard. "And you must stop taking everything so seriously. Girls don't like to be taken too seriously. And you mustn't come here anymore. Herr Meyer will not like it."
"Lucienne, how could you!" said Richard. He was crying behind his hands.
Madame Girard went up to him and put an arm around his shoulders. She said, "Oh come, Richard . . ."
"Don't!" cried Richard, freeing himself from her. "Don't touch me! Oh, God . . . !" He took out a handkerchief and wiped his eyes, then turned and made for the door.
Madame Girard began to laugh. She was not laughing at Richard but at the whole dramatic situation. When Richard had gone out onto the dark landing and closed the door behind him, he could still hear the laughter tinkling in the sunlit room.
[pp. 189-190]
When Thelma came in, Mrs. Davies said, "Have you seen Richard?"
"Why?" said Thelma.
"Mr. Burger--the Canadian gentleman--he wants to see him."
"What for?"
"I didn't ask him what for," said Mrs. Davies. "It's really none of my business and it's certainly none of yours, and where on earth did you tear your dress?"
Thelma looked down at her dress. There was a little right-angled tear at the side where a thorn from the brambles had caught. "I expect it was in the woods," she said.
"You'd better go upstairs and change it," said Mrs. Davies. "And while you're up there, wash your hands. I expect they could do with it."
Thelma changed her dress and washed her hands and face. She stood looking at herself for some time in the mirror in the bathroom. She put up a hand and pulled a fine hair off her forehead. She grinned into the mirror, then opened her mouth to see how much the two new front teeth had grown.
Downstairs Mrs. Davies said, "If you see Richard, tell him that Mr. Burger wants to talk to him. And lunch is just after twelve. Don't be late."
[p. 190]
Thelma stood on the veranda and looked toward the sea. The whole surface of the water was broken up with white foam. She looked up at the sky. It was cloudless and pale blue. The wind didn't seem to come from anywhere at all. It whisked her hair back off her face, and it would have lifted her dress if she hadn't put her hands on her thighs to stop it. The wind was rather exciting. It blew at you whichever way you turned, and it warmed your cheeks and made you feel good.
[pp. 190-191]
She walked slowly through the woods with the tip of a finger in her mouth. She walked across the sand in front of Burger's villa and climbed the steps to the veranda. The doors were closed and she rang the bell. Burger came to the door. He didn't smile at her and he didn't put a hand on top of her head and ruffle her hair. He just stood in the doorway in his check shirt looking down at her as if he wasn't a friend of hers at all. At last he said, "What is it, Thelma?"
"I haven't seen Richard," said Thelma.
"O.K.," said Burger.
"He isn't at home and he isn't doing his photography."
"O.K. Fine."
"When I see him I'll tell him you want him. I'll tell him he has to come and see you."
"Yeah, tell him that," said Burger.
"Aren't you friends?" said Thelma.
"I've got a lot on," said Burger. "Come back later."
"Is Elizabeth inside?"
"Elizabeth? No, I haven't seen her."
"She said she was coming to see you," said Thelma.
"She hasn't been."
"I think she's got lost," said Thelma.
"She'll turn up," said Burger, beginning to close the door. "See you later, eh?"
From somewhere in the villa Dorothea screamed, "For God's sake, Bob, don't leave me!"
"See you later, Bob," said Thelma.
[pp. 193-195]
When lunch was over and Mrs. Davies had put Richard's plate in the fridge, Mr. and Mrs. Harrison called. They came in and sat down in the living room. They both looked very worried. Elizabeth hadn't come home to lunch and nobody had seen her. Mrs. Harrison had a half-smoked cigarette in her hand that she kept putting to her lips. Her fingers were stained from smoking.
"I know there's some perfectly reasonable explanation," said Mr. Harrison, "but she's never done this kind of thing before."
"She's very independent, of course," said Mrs. Harrison. "She might have taken it into her head to go off somewhere without telling us."
"We thought she might just have said something to Thelma," Mr. Harrison added. "Some little thing that might give us an idea of where she's got to."
"They just don't think, do they?" Mrs. Davies said. "It doesn't occur to them that they might be upsetting people. Richard's disappeared too. Just gone off somewhere without a word. I expected him in for lunch, but there's no sign of him."
"He's quite a lot older," said Mrs. Harrison. "Elizabeth's only nine."
"Well, of course, he is older," Mrs. Davies agreed. She turned to Thelma and said, "Tell Mr. and Mrs. Harrison, Thelma. Did Elizabeth say where she was going?"
"To see Bob," said Thelma.
"Bob?" Mr. Harrison said. He looked very serious, sitting on the edge of his chair and leaning forward toward Thelma.
"Mr. Burger," Mrs. Davies explained. "They call him Bob. He's a Canadian."
"Mr. Burger?" Mrs. Harrison asked. "By herself?"
"She couldn't have gone off with him, could she?" asked Mrs. Harrison. "Could she have gone in his car?"
"He hasn't seen her," said Thelma. "I asked him."
"Oh, my God, Tom! What ought we do do?" cried Mrs. Harrison, suddenly getting up and walking to the window.
Mr. Harrison turned to Thelma and asked very deliberately, "Thelma dear, can you remember exactly where you were when she left you?"
Thelma nodded.
"Would you mind, Mrs. Davies?" asked Mr. Harrison, with a quick glance toward Mrs. Davies. "I wonder if Thelma could show me. It might just give me and idea. . . ."
"Of course not," said Mrs. Davies. "Thelma won't mind showing you, will you, Thelma?"
"No," said Thelma.
"I wonder if. . . ." Mr. Harrison turned to Mrs. Davies again and asked confidentially, "Do you think my wife might stay here? Just for a short while? I don't really want to leave her by herself. She is rather upset."
"Of course," said Mrs. Davies. "Of course she can stay here. It's only natural that you should be upset. She'll be perfectly all right here, Mr. Harrison."
Mr. Harrison got up. "It's very kind of you," he said.
[pp. 196-197]
He turned toward Burger's villa, and Thelma walked behind him. He didn't say anything else, and Thelma didn't say anything. When they reached the villa, Mr. Harrison rang the bell. Burger came to the door and said, "Yeah?"
"Harrison," said Mr. Harrison. "Elizabeth's father. The little girl with the long hair. Thelma's friend."
"Yeah?" said Burger, holding the door open against the wind.
"I believe Elizabeth came to see you?" said Mr. Harrison.
"No," said Burger. "I told Thelma. She asked me if I'd seen her. She didn't come here."
"Well, that's odd," said Mr. Harrison.
"What is this?" said Burger. "She missing or something?"
"Yes," said Mr. Harrison. "Since this morning. She didn't come back for lunch. She went off with Thelma, but Thelma says she left her. Liz said she was coming to see you."
"What did she want to see me for?" said Bob.
"I don't know," said Mr. Harrison.
"D'you know, Thelma?" Bob asked, turning to look down at Thelma.
Thelma shook her head. She didn't look at him because he still sounded very serious.
"What're you going to do?" asked Burger.
"Wel--I don't know," said Mr. Harrison. "I've no idea where to look. I suppose she could be anywhere." He glanced at his watch. It was nearly two o'clock. "Give her another hour, I suppose, then I'll have to see the police."
"The police?" Burger said.
"I can't think of anything else," said Mr. Harrison.
Burger thought for a moment. Finally he said, "I guess not."
[pp. 200-202]
When Thelma and Mr. Harrison had gone, Burger closed the door and ran upstairs. Dorothea was in bed clutching a pillow to her. Her eyes were red. They looked bruised. When Burger came up to her, she put out a hand and clutched him. She said, "Bob, you've got to forgive me. Darling, you've got to forgive me. Give me time. I'll be all right. I swear to God I'll be all right. But the strain! Wondering what the hell's going to happen next!"
"Ge your clothes on, Dolly," said Burger.
"Did you find him--the boy? What did he say?"
"I didn't see him. Just get up and get dressed. We're leaving."
"Darling--like that? Just leaving? Why now, when I said time after time before . . ."
"One of the kids is missing. One of the little girls. They're bringing the police in. They'll go through everything--papers, passports, who we are, why we picked this place to come to, where we came from. It's too risky. They could start checking up at home. I guess there'll be an extradition agreement between this place and the States. Anyway, it's too risky. We're leaving. Get dressed."
Burger got a suitcase from on top the wardrobe. He put it on the bed and threw clothes and belongings from the dressing table into it.
Dorothea got up and sat on the edge of the bed shivering.
"Up!" said Burger as he left the room. "Up, up, up!"
He went through the drawers downstairs. When the suitcase was full, he got a second one from the broom cupboard in the kitchen. He looked under the dining table, checked the mantelshelf over the fireplace, and pushed back the armchairs to make sure nothing had fallen under them.
"You up, Dolly?" he called.
There was no answer. He pulled out a drawer in the dining table and turned it upside down over the open suitcase. He listened to hear if the water was running in the bathroom, but here was no sound at all from upstairs. He said, "Goddammit!" and ran up to the bedroom. Dorothea was still sitting on the edge of the bed. Tears ran down her cheeks. She had taken off her pajama jacket and dropped it on the floor. She sat quite silently, her arms crossed over her breasts, shivering violently.
Burger cried, "Dolly! For Christ's sake!" When she didn't say anything or look up at him, he struck her with the flat of his hand across her cheek. She seemed stunned for a moment; then very slowly she lifted her head to look at him. "Come on!" cried Burger. "If we're not out of here . . ."
She got up off the bed and he pulled her to the bathroom. He turned on the shower and pushed her head under the spray of cold water. She shuddered but let him hold her there. The water drenched her hair and splashed over her bare shoulders. At last she lifted her hands and rubbed her eyes and lifted her wet hair clear of her face.
"You all right?" said Burger.
She nodded and said, "I'm all right."
"You'll get dressed?"
"Sure. I'll get dressed."
"For God's sake, speed it up. We want to be out of here in fifteen minutes. You got your clothes? You know where you left your shoes?"
"In the bedroom. I'm all right, Bob. I'm all right now. I just couldn't move."
"I'll put the stuff in the car," said Burger.
[pp. 202-204]
He put the map on the passenger seat and went back in the villa. Dorothea was dressed. Her hair was still dripping. Little lines of water ran down her neck and jaw. She wore her sunglasses so that her bruised eyes were almost invisible. One cheek was pink where his hand had struck her. She was holding a glass half-full of brandy in both her hands, trying to keep it against her lips. The trembling made it difficult, and some of the brandy was dripping off the point of her chin and onto her dress.
Burger went up to her and took the glass out of her hands and poured the brandy into the sink.
She said, "Bob, please!" She was pleading with him as if she were a little girl and he had taken some dearly loved doll away from her.
He took a towel from the rail in the kitchen and wiped the brandy off her chin. "Take off your glasses," he said. When she had taken them off, he put the towel over her head and rubbed her hair briskly. "Pull yourself together, Dolly," he said. "You forgot to dry your hair." She let him rub her hair, as if she were a child in the hands of a concerned parent, holding on to his chest with both her hands. She didn't speak. She just stood obediently in front of him as he rubbed her hair.
"All right," said Burger at last, tossing the towel onto the draining board. "Come on."
He took her hand and led her into the living room. He gave one last look around. "You got everything?" he said.
"My coat," said Dorothea.
"It's in the case," said Burger. "You got your handbag?"
"My handbag?" She looked at her hands as if she expected to find one of them clutching the bag. "I guess . . ."
"Where is it?" said Burger, pulling at her hand.
"The--er--it must be in the bedroom."
"Just stay there," said Burger. "Just don't move."
He ran upstairs. The handbag wasn't in the bedroom. She had left it in the bathroom with her makeup laid out on the window sill. He picked up a tube of cream, her lipstick, a white nylon comb, and a little round mirror inside a felt cover and put them in her handbag. When he got downstairs again, she was still standing exactly where he had left her. She had put her sunglasses on again and was staring at the window. He gave her the handbag, took her by the elbow, and led her to the door. "Just get straight in the car, Dolly," he said. His voice was firm and authoritative.
"You're not mad at me, Bob?" she said.
"I'm not mad at you," said Burger. There was no irritation in his voice, only firmness. He spoke as he might have spoken to a child who had been a little troublesome. "Just get in the car. Close the door. Wait for me."
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