This Was Ivor Trent полностью

“Yes, I went mad,” she repeated. “But, first, I must tell you that I had written to Ivor and he had answered my letter. Well, when I came into that money I packed a bag, said nothing to my family, and came to London.”

“To Trent?”

“Yes, but he had no idea I was arriving. It was the act of a fanatic. I was a fanatic. What a pity you do not know his elegant flat near Cork Street! Still, try to imagine the scene. Ivor at home, and alone. A ring at the bell. A young woman, with bag, facing her ideal—believing he would be her destiny. Why don’t you laugh?”

“I don’t think It very funny,” Rendell replied. “Did he?”

“He was—interested. I can’t think of a better word. He soon realised my situation, my emotions—everything! It was impressive how quickly he identified himself with my state. Also, he was very remarkable in appearance. So I was completely done for.”

“But what on earth did he do?”

“Gave me tea—which was very orthodox of him, as tea forms a part of every English crisis. Then he rang up a man and put him off. And then—well—he cross-examined me so subtly that I believed I was telling him things spontaneously. We dined together and then he sent me to bed—early.”

Again she laughed, finding it a little difficult to stop, and then leaned back in her chair pretending to be amused by Rendell’s expression.

“Do you mean you slept in his flat?”

“Yes, in the spare room. Most decorous! And we had breakfast together, and he survived that searching ordeal—and remained my idol.”

“Well, go on!” Rendell exclaimed impatiently as she remained silent, “you can’t stop there.”

“No—neither did he. But that comes later. He seemed rather glad I had turned up from nowhere. He’d just finished a book—perhaps that was why. Finally, he got me a room near his flat. I lived there, feeling I dwelt on the frontier of heaven.”

“But didn’t you write to your family?”

“Oh yes, I sent a line—with no address—saying I was in London and that I was never coming back.”

“And you’ve never been back?”

“Never!” she exclaimed angrily. “I write twice a year to my mother, and she replies telling me what sort of weather they’ve been having. My break with them was final. I did achieve that.”

“And then?”

But she did not answer. She rose and began to wander about the room. When she spoke, her sentences were disjointed. Rendell could not see her face.

“Well, eventually, he discovered—exactly—how I regarded him. That took some time. I mean, for him fully to realise. Then—well—he cured me. No, don’t ask any questions! I—I can’t tell you everything. I told you I couldn’t. He showed me that he wasn’t—well—precisely what I had imagined him to be. He came down from the pedestal very successfully—and he made me watch his descent.”

Then, after a brief silence, she suddenly shouted:

“You needn’t think I became his mistress—because I didn’t!”

“But——”

“You don’t believe that, of course?”

“I believe you,” Rendell managed to say. “I can’t see what you’d gain by lying to me.”

There was a long silence. When she spoke, her voice was so low that he only just heard her.

“He humiliated me—in every way he could imagine. He showed me very clearly that he was not my Christmas-card conception of him. And—now—I hate him.”

“You don’t—you love him.”

“Yes, I love him.”

Her voice was so low that Rendell hardly heard the words.

The silence that followed seemed endless. The atmosphere was heavy with conflicting emotions.

At last she said in a harsh, metallic voice:

“Let’s make this short. All this is a preface. Eventually, when he was bored, he got me a job. I was well educated. I knew several languages. He knows plenty of influential people—and he got me a job in the foreign department of a bank.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Two years.”

“But you’ve seen him since then, haven’t you?” Rendell asked, mystified.

“Yes, when he sent for me. But I’ve not seen him for months.”

She returned to her chair and faced him.

“Now, listen! I’ve trusted you as if you were God. No one knows what I’ve told you. But I had to tell you because I’m terrified.”

“Terrified!”

“Yes, he’s been delirious. No, wait, wait! Delirious. God knows what he may have said. Listen! Mrs. Frazer was with him—and I’m afraid of her husband. He knows something. Yes—he—does! I can tell by the way he looks at me. He might blackmail me. I can’t sleep, I tell you!”

“But I assure you,” Rendell burst out, “there’s nothing to fear from Captain Frazer. His wife knows him too well to tell him anything. That’s definite.”

“How do you know? How can you know?”

“I’ve had a long talk with her, and with Frazer, and with the servant. I know the situation in that house. No one would tell Frazer anything—or pay any attention to what he said. If he made up anything, I’d guarantee to make him take it back—and keep his mouth shut in future. That I can promise you—definitely.”

“Yes, but—Peter Marsden! He’s friendly with Frazer. He might hear something and—well——”

“Well?” Rendell echoed, as she did not continue.