“I’d better go and see her,” Lissa said almost wearily. “Where is she?”
“In her room. I shouldn’t go yet, she’s quiet. When she sees Roger, she’ll blow up again.” Fischer had as much time for Belle Shawn as he would have for a dog with rabies, if his manner were any guide. “David’s in the library.” He stopped by an open door. “I won’t come with you, if you don’t mind. I could use some sleep myself.”
“You go and rest,” Lissa said.
Fischer was obviously so tired that he could have gone to sleep on his feet.
As he went upstairs with Lissa, Roger glanced at her, wondering how much of the brightness of her eyes was due to over-exhaustion. It was hard to believe that she, too, hadn’t slept, but if this household were as she had said, and Fischer had confirmed this, how could she have done so? Yet she had shown no sign of fatigue on the journey, had been bright-eyed when she had come to Sergeant Al’s office. Perpetual youth? Roger found himself scowling at his own strange fancy and stranger mood.
Now they were on a spacious landing, oil paintings, mostly portraits, on the walls, the floors highly polished, skin rugs showing up darkly against the fight brown of the wood. Lissa went straight to a door on the left, the farthest from the staircase, opened it and went straight in. As she glanced back, her look said:
“Wait, Roger.”
He waited.
She walked across a carpeted room, and he could see the books which rose from floor to ceiling along one wall. The late afternoon sun came in at a window where the blind wasn’t drawn properly; apart from that, it was shadowy.
“Hallo, David,” she said.
Shawn didn’t speak.
“How are you?”
Shawn still didn’t speak, and the dislike Roger had felt for him came back, but he fought against it. Shawn was living in two different kinds of hell, he had never seen him except under dreadful pressure.
“I’ve brought Roger West,” Lissa announced. He’s outside.”
“Should I care?” Shawn asked. His voice was still husky, but very tired, as if finding any words was a physical effort.
“He saw Ricky last night,” said Lissa.
Even without seeing Shawn’s face, Roger sensed the tension which had clutched the man. A chair creaked. Roger moved forward, knowing that Shawn was coming towards the door. As he reached the doorway, Shawn was halfway from the window. Lissa stood against the window, and the shaft of sunlight caught her right hand and the side of her face. Shawn’s face, against the light, looked dark and full of shadows, but his eyes burned. His hands were clenched by his side. He stopped moving, just stared.
Then, from across the landing, there came a scream.
20
SCREAMING BELLE
SHAWN moved convulsively, as if someone had stabbed a knife into his back. The scream came again, as a door burst open and a woman ran across the landing into the room. Now she was screaming all the time. Roger spun round. Belle Shawn was beating her hands against her breasts, her mouth was open as if it were locked that way. She wore a simple white dress buttoned down the front, the top button unfastened, and her fair hair was braided and drawn back from her forehead. In spite of the way her mouth, stretched back, she still appeared beautiful — tall, full-breasted, with the figure of a Juno and the wildness of the demons in her eyes.
“Why don’t you stay with me?” she screamed at Shawn. “I can’t bear to be alone, you ought to stay with me. You don’t care, that’s the truth, you don’t care about me. You don’t care about Ricky. You’re a devil, that’s the truth of it, a cold, heartless devil. Why don’t you stay with me?”
“But, Belle, you said —”
“I asked you not to leave me alone, I can’t stand it! And all you care about is running after her. Why don’t you go away with her? Why don’t you? That would be better than tormenting me, torturing me!”
“Belle,” Shawn said, “you asked me to leave you alone for an hour.”
“Answer my question! Why don’t you go away with her? Do you think I don’t know what’s going on? In my own house, under my own nose. Think I don’t know where you’ve been all the afternoon. In her bed, that’s where you’ve been. You left me alone, just when I need you most. You went to her.”
“That’s not true,” Shawn said in a dead voice. “You know that’s not true.”
“You can’t fool me. I know. I’ve known for months. I could stay behind, but she had to come to England with you. You pretended it was work, all you wanted was to have that wanton with you. I won’t have her in the house any longer. I won’t have her!”
“You’re not yourself,” Shawn said. “Lissa’s a good friend to us both. She—”
“Friend!” Belle screeched. “She’s your mistress, the whore, I won’t have her in the house another minute.” She turned, looked as if she would fly at Lissa, beat at her, drive her out of the house by force. “Get out, get out, get out!”
Lissa stood without moving.
Shawn stretched out his long arm, and his fingers closed round his wife’s wrist. She stopped, as if she knew that she had no hope of getting free.
“Be quiet,” Shawn said, and his voice became stronger. “It’s not true and you know it. Don’t go on like this Belle. I won’t have it any more.”
“Send that whore away!”
“Belle, will you listen —”
She struck at him savagely, and he backed away and freed her wrist. She pushed again and he lost his footing and went staggering back.
Belle flung herself at Lissa.
Roger would rather have been a thousand miles away, but he couldn’t just look on. The first time he had seen Belle Shawn, she had tried to push past him, and he had felled and stunned her. Now he thrust her to one side and stepped in front of Lissa, whose face was cold and set as an alabaster statue. Belle steadied, turned to fly at the new adversary, might have done so if Roger had not said:
“I saw your son last night, Mrs Shawn.”
Belle stopped absolutely still. Her arms fell by her side and at once the passion drained out of her cheeks and eyes. He had never seen anyone emptied of everything as she was then; he could not have stopped her more effectively if he had struck her. She stood quite still, legs a little apart, hands limp by her side. After a moment, the blankness of surprise faded from her eyes, but she didn’t speak.
“Ricky’s all right,” Roger went on quietly. “I saw him and talked to him.” Nothing would make him tell the Shawns about the plaster over the boy’s mouth. “He told me they hadn’t hurt him, and I could see that for myself.”
His back was turned on Shawn, his only concern then was Belle. Then a hand crashed on to his shoulder, fingers gripped him like claws. Shawn spun him round, and glared into his eyes.
His lips hardly moved.
“Don’t lie!”
Roger said: To hell with you.” He doubled his right fist and drove it into Shawn’s stomach, with all his weight behind it. The sudden surge of fury blinded him to what Shawn might do. Damn Shawn, damn this hysteria which made mockery of distress. Shawn staggered back, his eyes losing their fire as astonishment caught him, stumbling against a chair.
“I saw the boy, and he’s all right,” Roger said harshly. “If you had only behaved like a father instead of a mad bull, you might have had him back by now. Tell us what messages you get, help us find the kidnappers, instead of getting in our way.” Shawn, still dazed, gave no answer, and Roger turned on Belle. “You’re just as bad — in fact you’re worse, you stop your husband from doing what he should. You’re flagellating yourself with unnecessary horror. Lissa was driving with me all the afternoon. She’s tried to help you both, and you’ve made it an ordeal for her. If she had any sense, she would leave you to manage for yourself.”