'Alan!' said Polly, blushing deeply.
'How long have you been listening?' I demanded.
'Actually, right from the beginning,' said Polly shamefacedly.
'Henry always listens,' said William, proud of his brother.
'Shut up,' said Henry.
'You little beasts,' I said.
William looked hurt. He said again. 'But Henry always listens. He listens to everyone. He's checking up, and that's good, isn't it? Henry checks up all the time, don't you Henry?'
'Shut up William,' said Henry, getting red and furious.
'So Henry checks up, does he?' I said, frowning crossly at him. Henry stared back, caught out, but apparently unrepentant.
I advanced towards them, but the homily on the sacredness of privacy that I was about to deliver suddenly flew out of my mind. I stopped and thought.
'Henry, how long have you been listening to people on the telephone?' I asked mildly.
He looked at me warily. Finally he said, 'Quite some time.'
'Days? Weeks? Months?'
'Ages,' said Polly, taking heart again as I no longer seemed angry with them.
'Did you ever listen to your father?' I asked.
'Yes, often,' said Henry.
I paused, studying this tough, intelligent little boy. He was only eight, but if he knew the answers to what I was going to ask him, he would understand their significance and be appalled by his knowledge all his life. But I pressed on.
'Did you by any chance ever hear him talking to a man with a voice like this?' I asked. Then I made my voice husky and whispering, and said, 'Am I speaking to Major Davidson?'
'Yes,' said Henry without hesitation.
'When was that?' I asked, trying to show nothing of the excitement I felt. I was sure now that he had listened in to the telephone call which Bill had mentioned as a joke to Pete, who had not taken in what he said.
'It was that voice the last time I listened to Daddy,' said Henry, matter-of-factly.
'Do you remember what the voice said?' I forced myself to speak slowly, gently.
'Oh yes, it was a joke. It was two days before he was killed,' said Henry, without distress. 'Just when we were going to bed, like now. The phone rang and I scooted in here and listened as usual. That man with the funny voice was saying, Are you going to ride Admiral on Saturday, Major Davidson? and Daddy said he was.' Henry paused. I waited, willing him to remember.
He screwed up his eyes in concentration and went on. 'Then the man with the funny voice said, You are not to win on Admiral, Major Davidson. Daddy just laughed, and the man said, I'll pay you five hundred pounds if you promise not to win. And Daddy said, Go to hell and I nearly snorted because he was always telling me not to say that. Then the whispery man said he didn't want Daddy to win, and that Admiral would fall if Daddy didn't agree not to win, and Daddy said You must be mad. And then he put down the telephone, and I ran back to my room in case he should come up and find me listening.'
'Did you say anything to your father about it?' I asked.
'No,' said Henry frankly, 'That's the big snag about listening. You have to be awfully careful not to know too much.'
'Yes, I can see that,' I said, trying not to smile.
Then I saw the flicker in Henry's eyes as the meaning of what he had heard grew clearer to him. He said jerkily, 'It wasn't a joke after all, was it?'
'No, it wasn't,' I said.
'But that man didn't make Admiral fall, did he? He couldn't- could he? Could he?' said Henry desperately, wanting me to reassure him. His eyes were stretched wide open and he was beginning to realize that he had listened to the man who had caused his father's death. Although he would have to know one day about the strand of wire, I didn't think I ought to tell him at that moment.
'I don't really know. I don't expect so,' I lied calmly. But Henry's wide eyes stared blindly at me as if he were looking at some inward horror.
'What's the matter?' said Polly. 'I don't understand why Henry is so upset. Just because someone told Daddy they didn't want him to win is no reason for Henry to go off in a fit.'
'Does he always remember so clearly what people say?' I asked Polly. 'It's a month ago, now, since your father died.'
'I expect Daddy and that man said a lot of things that Henry has forgotten,' said Polly judiciously, 'but he doesn't make things up.' And I knew this was true. He was a truthful child.
He said stonily, 'I don't see how he could have done it.'
I was glad at least that Henry was dealing with his revelation practically and not emotionally. Perhaps I had not done him too much harm, after all, in making him understand what he had heard and disregarded.
'Come along to bed and don't worry about it, Henry,' I said, holding out my hand to him. He took it, and uncharacteristically held on to it all the way along the landing and into his bedroom.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
While I was dressing myself at tortoise pace the following morning the front door bell rang downstairs, and presently Joan came up to say that an Inspector Lodge would like to see me, please.
'Tell him I'll be down as soon as possible,' I said, struggling to get my shirt on over the thick bracing bandage round my shoulders. I did up most of the buttons, but decided I didn't need a tie.
The strapping round my ribs felt tight and itched horribly, my head ached, large areas of flesh were black still and tender, I had slept badly, and I was altogether in a foul mood. The three aspirins I had swallowed in place of breakfast had not come up to scratch.
I picked up my socks, tried to bend to put them on with my one useful arm, found how far away my feet had become, and flung them across the room in a temper. The day before, in the hospital, the nurse with nice teeth had helped me to dress. Today perverseness stopped me asking my father to come and do it for me.
The sight of my smudgy, yellow, unshaven face in the looking-glass made matters no better. Henry's 'horrible monster from outer space' was not so far off the mark. I longed to scratch the livid scar on my cheek, to relieve its irritation.
I plugged in my electric razor and took off the worst, brushed my hair sketchily, thrust my bare feet into slippers, put one arm into my hacking jacket and swung it over the other shoulder, and shuffled gingerly downstairs.
Lodge's face when he saw me was a picture.
'If you laugh at me I'll knock your block off. Next week,' I said.
'I'm not laughing,' said Lodge, his nostrils twitching madly as he tried to keep a straight face.
'It's not funny,' I said emphatically.
'No.'
I scowled at him.
My father said, glancing at me from behind his Sunday newspaper in the depths of an armchair by the fire, 'You sound to me as if you need a stiff brandy.'
'It's only half-past ten,' I said crossly.
'Emergencies can happen at any time of the day,' said my father, standing up, 'and this would appear to be a grave one.' He opened the corner cupboard where Scilla kept a few bottles and glasses, poured out a third of a tumbler full of brandy, and splashed some soda into it. I complained that it was too strong, too early, and unnecessary.
My father handed me the glass. 'Drink it and shut up,' he said.
Furious, I took a large mouthful. It was strong and fiery, and bit into my throat. I rolled the second mouthful round my teeth so that the scarcely diluted spirit tingled on my gums, and when I swallowed I could feel it slide warmly down to my empty stomach.
'Did you have any breakfast?' asked my father.
'No,' I said.
I took another, smaller gulp. The brandy worked fast. My bad temper began draining away, and in a minute or two I felt reasonably sane. Lodge and my father were looking at me intently as though I were a laboratory animal responding to an experiment.