The thin tune began again.
Tom, Tom the piper’s son-
She sat up.
“The terror induced by forests and darkness,” said a mocking voice from somewhere over her head, “was called by the Ancients, Panic fear, or the fear of the great god Pan. It is interesting to observe that modern progress has not altogether succeeded in banishing it from ill-disciplined minds.”
Dian gazed upwards. Her eyes were growing accustomed to the night, and in the branches of the tree above her she caught the pale gleam of silver.
“What do you want to behave like an idiot for?”
“Advertisement, chiefly. One must be different. I am always different. That is why, my dear young lady, I am the pursued and not the pursuer. You may say it is a cheap way of producing an effect, and so it is; but it is good enough for gin-soaked minds. On such as you, if you will pardon my saying so, subtlety would be wasted.”
“I wish you would come down.”
“Possibly. But I prefer to be looked up to.”
“You can’t stay there all night. Think how silly you would look in the morning.”
“Ah! but by comparison with yourself I shall retain an almost bandbox perfection of appearance. My costume is better suited than yours to acrobatic exercise in a wood at midnight.”
“Well, what are you doing it for, anyway?”
“To please myself-which is the only reason you would admit for doing anything.”
“Then you can sit up there and do it all alone. I’m going home.”
“Your shoes aren’t very suitable for a long walk-but if it amuses you, go home by all means.”
“Why should I have to walk?”
“Because I have the ignition keys of both cars in my pocket. A simple precaution, my dear Watson. Nor do I think it will be very much good to try to send a message by your companion. He is plunged in the arms of Morpheus-an ancient and powerful god, though not so ancient as Pan.”
“I hate you,” said Dian.
“Then you are on the high road to loving me-which is only natural. We needs must love the highest when we see it. Can you see me?”
“Not very well. I could see you better if you came down.”
“And love me better, perhaps?”
“Perhaps.”
“Then I am safer where I am. Your lovers have a knack of coming to bad ends. There was young Carmichael -”
“I couldn’t help that. He drank too much. He was an idiot.”
“And Arthur Barrington-”
“I told him it wasn’t any good.”
“Not a bit of good. But he tried, all the same, and blew his brains out. Not that they were very good brains, but they were all the brains he had. And Victor Dean-”
“The little rotter! That wasn’t anything to do with me.”
“Wasn’t it?”
“Why, he fell down a staircase, didn’t he?”
“So he did. But why?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea.”
“Haven’t you? I thought you might have. Why did you send Victor Dean about his business?”
“Because he was a silly little bore and just like all the rest.”
“You like them to be different?”
“I like everything to be different.”
“And when you find them different, you try to make them all alike. Do you know anybody who is different?”
“Yes; you’re different.”
“Only so long as I stay on my branch, Circe. If I come down to your level, I should be just like all the rest.”
“Come down and try.”
“I know when I am well off. You had better come up to me.”
“You know I can’t.”
“Of course you can’t. You can only go down and down.”
“Are you trying to insult me?”
“Yes, but it’s very difficult.”
“Come down, Harlequin-I want you here.”
“That’s a new experience for you, isn’t it? To want what you can’t get. You ought to be grateful to me.”
“I always want what I can’t get.”
“What do you want?”
“Life-thrills-”
“Well, you’re getting them now. Tell me all about Victor Dean.”
“Why do you want to know about him?”
“That’s a secret.”
“If I tell you, will you come down?”
“Perhaps.”
“What a funny thing to want to know about.”
“I’m famous for being funny. How did you pick him up?”
“We all went out one night to some frightful sort of suburban dancing place. We thought it would be such a scream.”
“And was it?”
“No, it was rather dull really. But he was there, and he fell for me and I thought he was rather a pet. That’s all.”
“A simple story in words of one syllable. How long was he your pet?”
“Oh, about six months. But he was terribly, terribly boring. And such a prig. Imagine it, Harlequin darling. He got all cross and wanted bread and cheese and kisses. Are you laughing?”
“Hilariously.”
“He wasn’t any fun. He was all wet.”
“My child, you are telling this story very badly. You made him drink and it upset his little tummy. You made him play high, and he said he couldn’t afford it. And you tried to make him take drugs and he didn’t like it. Anything else?”
“He was a little beast, Harlequin, really he was. He was out for what he could get.”
“Aren’t you?”
“Me?” Dian was really surprised. “I’m terribly generous. I gave him everything he wanted. I’m like that when I’m fond of anybody.”
“He took what he could get but didn’t spend it like a gentleman?”
“That’s it. Do you know, he actually called himself a gentleman. Wouldn’t that make you laugh? Like the middle ages, isn’t it? Ladies and Gentlemen. He said we needn’t think he wasn’t a gentleman because he worked in an office. Too mirth-making, Harlequin, darling, wasn’t it?”
She rocked herself backwards and forwards in amusement.
“Harlequin! Listen! I’ll tell you something funny. One night Tod Milligan came in and I told him: ‘This is Victor Dean, and he’s a gentleman, and he works for Pym’s Publicity.’ Tod said: ‘Oh, you’re the chap, are you?’ and looked too utterly murderous. And afterwards he asked me, just like you, how I got hold of Victor. That’s queer. Did Tod send you out here to ask me?”
“No. No one ever sends me. I go where I like.”
“Well, then, why do you all want to know about Victor Dean?”
“Too mystery-making, isn’t it? What did Milligan say to Dean?”
“Nothing much, but he told me to string him along. And afterwards, quite suddenly, he told me to give him the push.”
“And you did as you were told, like a good girl?”
“I was fed up with Victor, anyhow. And it doesn’t do to get wrong with Tod.”
“No-he might cut off supplies, mightn’t he? Where does he get it from?”
“Coke, do you mean? I don’t know.”
“No, I suppose you don’t. And you can’t get him to tell you, either. Not with all your charms, Circe.”
“Oh, Tod! he doesn’t give anything away. He’s a dirty swine. I loathe him. I’d do anything to get away from Tod. But he knows too much. And besides, he’s got the stuff. Lots of people have tried to chuck Tod, but they always go back again-on Fridays and Saturdays.”
“That’s when he hands it out, is it?”
“Mostly. But-” she began to laugh again-“you weren’t there tonight, were you? It was too amusing. He’d run short, or something. There was a hellish row. And that septic woman Babs Woodley was screaming all over the place. She scratched him. I do hope he gets blood-poisoning. He promised it would be there tomorrow, but he looked the most perfect idiot, with blood running down his chin. She said she’d shoot him. It was too marvellous.”
“Rabelaisian, no doubt.”
“Fortunately I’d got enough, so I gave her enough to keep her quiet, and then we thought we’d have a race. I won-at least, I should have, if it hadn’t been for you. How did you happen along?”