Randall removed himself on hands and knees and then got up. Lindsay went on, 'You said once you'd like to know what we were like when you weren't there. Well, now I'm going to show you. Randall watched her open-mouthed, his hands hanging. He was prepared for anything, for a strange darkening of the room and the appearance in luminous effigy of a magical Emma and Lindsay.
Lindsay pulled the tape-recorder out from where it was nestling under the frill of Emma's chair. Crouched above it she examined it and adjusted the tape. Then she set it going. With hypnotic slowness the two wheels began to revolve. She turned her eyes, sombre and stern upon Randall. After a moment the silence of the attentive room was broken by Emma's voice.
'If you're going to do it it's got to be now. There's no time for theory now, no time for ifs and buts. You're in the dark, and you must go forward in the dark. »
'Look here —’ said Randall.
•'That's the novel, you fool, said Lindsay. 'The real bit comes in a minute.
'God! said Randall. He wiped his face all over with a handkerchief 'She» didn't know you were recording it, the real bit?
'Of course not. Otherwise what would have been the point? I fiddled with the machine and pretended to switch it off but didn't.
Emma's voice continued. 'As he debated, his hand was already cur ling round the gun in his pocket. He who hesitates is lost and Marcus Boode had no intention of being that. Reason and hope of support lay behind him. Before him, somewhere in that uninviting labyrinth, was the murderer of Sebastian Leech. He shrugged, and glided on to the head of the downward-plunging stairs.
There was a pause during which the tape-recorder murmured quietly. Then in another tone Emma' spoke again. 'Lord, what stuff —
Lindsay's voice said, 'You're tired, my dear. Don't forget you're going to Kent tomorrow. Time to knock off, yes? Would you like some whisky in your hot milk? Lovely whisky, yes?
'No, darling, no whisky. Well, perhaps a little. I hope you'll be all right here all alone.
'I hope you'll be all right. It's a long time since the old mole left its burrow. I shall be fine. Really, darling, you can't look after me all the time!
'Mmm. Can't I? Ah well. It's hard luck on young Randall that he's got to be out of harm's way. He might have given you lunch and spoilt you a little. Or is it just as well, eh, little fox?
'There you go! Yes, poor Randall was nearly in tears about it.
'We'll deal with Randall, we'll cheer him up when I get back. He'll be all right, oh yes, Randall will be all right.
Lindsay switched the tape off and rose to her feet. As if automatically overbalanced by her movement Randall sank into a chair. Hands on hips she looked down at him with an air of scornful triumph. 'You see how well I look after you!
'You could have faked that, said Randall.
'Oh, break it up, boy! said Lindsay. She kicked his ankle hard.
'I don't know. I'm going crazy, said Randall. He supported his head in one hand and rubbed his ankle with the other. Once the possibility that Lindsay, even though through some kind of hideous tortuous benevolence, were deceiving him had been admitted to the extent of seeking proofs of her innocence, her innocence became so precisely unprovable that he was prepared to believe himself the victim of some unimaginably motivated hoax. Lindsay might have faked the tape, putting together remarks which belonged in other conversations. It was apparently quite easy to do this. Or she might really have had this conversation with Emma — and then told Emma afterwards that Randall was not in fact going away. Or they might cold-bloodedly have play-acted the scene together, laughing about it afterwards over their whisky. There were dozens of possibilities. After all, Lindsay had cooperated cheerfully for nearly a year in Emma's play of making a lap-dog of him. But then after all so had he!
'Come. You'll have to start trusting me somewhere, said Lindsay more gently.
'I know, he said. 'The trouble is if I don't trust you from the start I can't trust you at all.
'Well, trust me from the start then.
Randall got up slowly. Lindsay's hair had begun to escape from inside her dress and was lying on her shoulders in wide tangles and scatterings of gold. He was moved by how young she looked, how waif-like, a little waif out to make her fortune, a Dick Whittington of the passions.
'I will, he said humbly. It was a gesture of surrender.
Lindsay took him by the hand. She was all kindness now. 'You know, she said, 'I always thought this scene would be you seducing me — but it's turned out to be me seducing you! I've had to fight every inch of the way. Aren't you a perfect disgrace?
'You've imagined this scene? said Randall, gratified. 'A thousand times.
He was delighted and yet terrified, and as they reached the door of her bedroom he had a certain foreboding.
Lindsay pulled the curtain and turned the light on. She undid her bed. The room in the red glow from the reading-lamp seemed suddenly small and desperate. A line of strange daylight showed beyond through a chink in the curtain. Randall closed the door and leaned against it. He felt exhausted.
Lindsay turned to face him, twisting her hair together and throwing it back over her shoulder. With a half-shadowed face she looked like a figure on a playing card. She said in a cold murmur, 'Just one last thing, Randall. I may have changed the order of the programme, but I haven't changed the items. Don't forget your practical thinking.
'No dough, no go. She began to take off her dress.
Christ, what a girl, thought Randall. He worshipped her. At the same time he felt paralysed with fear. He wondered now whether his crazy imaginings about Emma's complicity had not perhaps been devices designed by himself precisely to prevent his ever arriving at this moment. He watched her.
Lindsay pulled the brown dress over her head and shook her hair, free of it. She was wearing a very brief petticoat underneath. She put the dress aside and stood now looking at him, gathering her hair once more with a hand that shook slightly.
'Oh God, Lindsay —’ said Randall. She looked so strangely pathetic, yet why was he so strangely afraid? She looked like a poor condemned whore taken to execution in' her shift. Yet his knees trembled.
'Come, come, she said very softly.
'Come, Randall. She bent and began to take off her stockings.
Randall fumbled with his tie. He seemed to be tightening the knot rather than loosening it.
Lindsay had removed other undergarments but not yet the petticoat. She came to him now and began to help him with the tie, murmuring 'Dear, dear, dear. He felt the warmth of her Anns. He got the tie off and took off his jacket and waistcoat and put them on the chair. He kicked off his shoes. Then he leaned back against the door panting for breath. By now he could hardly recognize Lindsay.
She regarded him with a tender irony. 'Would you like to go home now?
'Oh God, Lindsay, said Randall again, and he fell on his knees, grasping her about the legs. Her legs were infinitely warm and soft. As she began to pull the petticoat off he laid his head against her thigh. He could feel her trembling violently. He gave long sighs.
'Now, now, now —’ said Lindsay. She was kneeling beside him and unbuttoning his shirt. He touched her breasts. He remembered her breasts. Then his searching hand was jerked upwards by Lindsay pulling his shirt and vest over his head. And now she was unbuttoning his trousers.
'All right, all right, said Randall. 'I'll do it. He sat on the floor and took off the rest of his clothes.
Lindsay was lying full length on the undone bed. Randall knelt and looked. Then he looked into her face. It was as if their eyes had become huge and luminous so that when they gazed they were together in a great cavern. Slowly he pulled himself up to sit upon the edge of the bed. Then he turned away from her and hid his face in his hands.