You wait until I get back, I said, moving towards the door. But if youve made a date
with that mousetrap of yours, tell her to go find another mouse.
II
Crestways, the Crosbys estate, lurked behind low, bougainvillea-covered walls above
which rose a tall, clipped, Australian pine hedge, and back of this was a galvanized cyclone
fence topped with barbed wire. Heavy wooden gates, with a Judas window set in the right-hand gate, guarded the entrance.
There were about half a dozen similar estates strung along Foothill Boulevard and backing
on to Crystal Lake desert. Each estate was separated from its neighbour by an acre or so of a
no-mans-land of brushwood, wild sage, sand and heat.
I lolled in the pre-war Buick convertible and regarded the wooden gates without much
interest. Apart from the scrolled sign on the wall that declared the name of the house, there
was nothing particularly different about it from all the other millionaire estates in Orchid
City. They all lurked behind impregnable walls. They all had high, wooden gates to keep out
unwelcomed visitors. They all exuded the same awed hush, the same smell of flowers and
well-watered lawns. Although I couldnt see beyond the gates, I knew there would be the
same magnificent swimming-pool, the same aquarium, the same rhododendron walk, the
same sunken rose garden. If you own a million dollars you have to live on the same scale as
the other millionaires or else theyll think you are punk. Thats the way it was, thats the way
it is, and thats the way itll always beif you own a million dollars.
No one seemed to be in a hurry to open the gates, so I dragged myself out of the car and
hung myself on to the end of the bell chain. The bell had been muffled, and rang timorously.
Nothing happened. The sun beat down on me. The temperature hoisted itself up another
knotch. It was too hot even for such a simple exercise as pulling a bell chain. Instead, I
pushed on the gate, which swung creakily open under my touch. I looked at the stretch of
lawn before me that was big enough for tank manoeuvres. The grass hadnt been cut this
month, nor for that matter the month before. Nor had the two long herbaceous borders on
either side of the broad carriageway received any attention this spring, nor for that matter last
autumn either. The daffodils and tulips made brown patterns of untidiness among the dead
heads of the peonies. Shrivelled sweet william plants mingled with unstaked and matted
delphiniums. A fringe of straggling grass disgraced the edges of the lawn. The tarmac
carriageway sprouted weeds. A neglected rose rambler napped hysterically in the lazy breeze
11
LAY HER AMONG THE LILIES
that came off the desert. An unloved, uncared-for garden, and looking at it I seemed to hear
old man Crosby fidgeting in his coffin.
At the far end of the carriageway I could see the house: a two-storey, coquina-built
mansion with a red tile roof, green shutters and an overhanging balcony. Sunblinds screened
the windows. No one moved on the green tile patio. I decided to walk up there rather than
wrestle with the gates to bring in the Buick.
Halfway up the weed-strewn tarmac I came upon one of those arbor things covered with a
flowering vine. Squatting on their heels in the shade were three chinamen shooting craps.
They didnt bother to look up as I paused to stare, just as they hadnt bothered for a long, long
time to look after the garden: three dirty, mindless men, smoking yellow-papered cigarettes
with not a care in the world.
I tramped on.
The next bend in the tarmac brought me to the swimming-pool. There had to be a
swimming-pool, but not necessarily one like this one. There was no water in it, and weeds
grew out of the cracked tile floor. The concrete surround was covered with a brownish,
burned-up moss. The white awning which must have looked pretty smart in its day had come
loose from its moorings and flapped querulously at me.
At right angles to the house was a row of garages, their double doors closed. A little guy in
a pair of dirty flannel trousers, a singlet and a chauffeurs cap sat on an oil drum in the sun,
whittling wood. He looked up to scowl at me.
Anyone at home? I asked, searching for a cigarette and lighting it when I found one.
It took all that time before he worked up enough strength to say: Dont bother me, Jack.
Im busy.
I can see that, I said, blowing smoke at him. Id love to sneak up on you when youre
relaxing.
He spat accurately at a tub of last summers pelargoniums from which no one had bothered
to take cuttings, and went on with his whittling. As far as he was concerned I was now just
part of the uncared-for landscape.
I didnt think I would get anything useful out of him, and besides, it was too hot to bother,
12
LAY HER AMONG THE LILIES
so I went on to the house, climbed the broad steps and leaned my weight on the bell-push.
A funereal hush hung over the house. I had to wait a long time before anyone answered my
ring. I didnt mind waiting. I was now in the shade, and the drowsy, next-year-will-do
atmosphere of the place had a kind of hypnotic influence on me. If I had stayed there much
longer I would have begun whittling wood myself.
The door opened, and what might have passed for a butler looked me over the way you
look someone over whos wakened you up from a nice quiet nap. He was a tall, lean bird,
lantern-jawed, grey-haired, with close-set, yellowish eyes. He wore one of those waspcoloured
vests and black trousers that looked as if he had slept in them, and probably had, no
coat, and his shirt sleeves suggested they wanted to go to the laundry, but just couldnt be
bothered.
Yes? he said distantly, and raised his eyebrows.
Miss Crosby.
I noticed he was holding a lighted cigarette, half-concealed in his cupped hand.
Miss Crosby doesnt receive now, he said, and began to close the door.
Im an old friend. Shell see me, I said, and shifted my foot forward to jam the door.
The names Malloy. Tell her and watch her reaction. Its my bet shell bring out the
champagne.
Miss Crosby is not well, he said in a flat voice, as if he were reading a ham part in a
hammier play. She doesnt receive any more.
Like Miss Otis?
That one went past him without stirring the air.
I will tell her you have called. The door was closing. He didnt notice my foot. It startled
him when he found the door wouldnt shut.
Whos looking after her? I asked, smiling at him.
A bewildered expression came into his eyes. For him life had been so quiet and gentle for
so long he wasnt in training to cope with anything out of the way.
13
LAY HER AMONG THE LILIES
Nurse Gurney.
Then Id like to see Nurse Gurney, I told him, and leaned some of my weight on the door.
No exercise, too much sleep, cigarettes and the run of the cellar had sapped whatever iron
he had had in his muscles. He gave way before my pressure like a sapling tree before a
bulldozer.
I found myself in an over-large hall, facing a broad flight of stairs which led in a wide, half-circular sweep to the upper rooms. On the stairs, halfway up, was a white-clad figure: a