They climbed slowly, step by step, the woman still clutching her husband.
Upstairs a quick glance showed that the plan of the house was simple. At the front was the main bedroom and, opposite it, the bathroom, with a separate lavatory next door. To the rear were two smaller bedrooms. With the gun he motioned them into the bigger of the two back bedrooms. There was a single bed and, stripping back the counterpane, he saw that it was made up.
He said to the man: “Tear the sheets into strips.”
The man took them in his gnarled hands and made an ineffectual attempt to rip the cotton. But the top hem was too strong for him.
Theo said impatiently: “We need scissors. Where are they?”
It was the woman who spoke: “In the front room. On my dressing table.”
“Please fetch them.”
She tottered stiffly out and was back in a few seconds with a pair of nail scissors. They were small but adequate. But it would waste precious minutes if he left the task to the old man’s trembling hands.
He said harshly: “Stand back, both of you, side by side, against the wall.”
They obeyed, and he faced them with the bed between them, the gun placed close to his right hand. Then he began tearing up the sheets. The noise seemed unusually loud. He seemed to be ripping apart the air, the very fabric of the house. When he had finished he said to the woman: “Come and lie on the bed.”
She glanced at her husband as if asking for his permission and he gave a quick nod.
“Do what he says, dear.”
She had some difficulty in getting on to the bed and Theo had to lift her. Her body was extraordinarily light and his hand under her thigh swung her upwards so quickly that she was in danger of being propelled over the bed on to the floor. After taking off her shoes, he bound her ankles strongly together, then tied her hands behind her back.
He said: “Are you all right?”
She gave a little nod. The bed was narrow and he wondered if there would be room for the man beside her, but the husband, sensing what was in his mind, said quickly: “Don’t part us. Don’t make me go next door. Don’t shoot me.”
Theo said impatiently: “I’m not going to shoot you. The gun isn’t even loaded.” The lie was safe enough now. The gun had served its purpose.
He said curtly: “Lie down beside her.”
There was room, but only just. He tied the man’s hands behind his back, then bound his ankles and, with a final strip of the cotton, bound their legs together. They lay both on their right sides, fitted closely together. He couldn’t believe that their arms were comfortable, wrenched as they were behind their backs, but had not dared to tie them in front of the body in case the man used his teeth to break free.
He said: “Where are the keys to the garage and the car?”
The man whispered: “In the bureau in the sitting-room. The top drawer, on the right.”
He left them. The keys were easily found. Then he went back to the bedroom. “I’ll need a large suitcase. Have you one?”
It was the woman who answered: “Under the bed.”
He dragged it out. It was large but light, made only of cardboard reinforced at the corners. He wondered whether the remnants of torn sheet were worth taking. While he was hesitating, holding them in his hand, the man said: “Please don’t gag us. We won’t call out, I promise. Please don’t gag us. My wife won’t be able to breathe.”
Theo said: “I’ll have to notify someone that you’re tied up here. I can’t do that for at least twelve hours, but I will do it. Are you expecting anyone?”
The man, not looking at him, said: “Mrs. Collins, our home help, will be here at half past seven tomorrow. She comes early because she has another morning job after us.”
“Has she a key?”
“Yes, she always has a key.”
“No one else is expected? No member of the family, for example?”
“We have no family. We had a daughter but she died.”
“But you’re sure Mrs. Collins will be here at half past seven?”
“Yes, she’s very reliable. She’ll be here.”
He parted the curtains of light flowered cotton and looked out into the darkness. All he could see was a stretch of garden and behind it the black outline of a hill. They could call out all night but it was unlikely that their frail voices would be heard. All the same, he would leave the television on as loudly as possible.
He said: “I won’t gag you. I’ll leave the television on loudly so that no one will hear you. Don’t waste energy trying to shout. But you’ll be released when Mrs. Collins comes tomorrow. Try to rest, to sleep. I’m sorry I have to do this. You’ll get your car back eventually.”
Even as he spoke it seemed a ridiculous and dishonest promise to make. He said: “Is there anything you want?”
The woman said feebly: “Water.”
The single word reminded him of his own thirst. It seemed extraordinary that, after the long hours of craving water, he could have forgotten his need even for a moment. He went into the bathroom, and taking a tooth mug, not even bothering to rinse it, gulped down cold water until his stomach could hold no more. Then he refilled the mug and went back to the bedroom. He raised the woman’s head on his arm and put the mug to her lips. She drank thirstily. The water spilled down the side of her face and on to the thin cardigan. The purple veins at the side of her forehead throbbed as if they would burst and the sinews of the thin neck were taut as cords. After she had finished he took a piece of linen and wiped her mouth. Then he refilled the glass and helped the husband to drink. He felt a strange reluctance to leave them. An unwelcome and malignant guest, he could find no appropriate words of farewell.
At the door he turned and said: “I’m sorry I had to do this. Try to get some sleep. Mrs. Collins will be here in the morning.”
He wondered whether he was reassuring them or himself. At least, he thought, they are together. He added: “Are you reasonably comfortable?” The silliness of the question struck him even as he asked it. Comfortable? How could they be comfortable, trussed up like animals on a bed so narrow that any movement might cause them to fall off. The woman whispered something which his ears couldn’t catch but which her husband seemed to understand. Stiffly he raised his head and looked straight at Theo who saw in the faded eyes a plea for understanding, for pity. He said: “She wants to go to the toilet.” Theo almost laughed aloud. He was an eight-year-old again hearing his mother’s impatient voice. “You should have thought of that before we started out.” What did they expect him to say? “You should have thought of that before I tied you up”? One of them should have thought of it. It was too late now. He had wasted too much time on them already. He thought of Julian and Miriam waiting in desperate anxiety in the shadow of the trees, ears strained for the approach of every car, pictured their disappointment as each one swept past. And there was so much still to be done: the car to be checked, the stores collected. It would take him minutes to untie these tight multiple knots and he hadn’t minutes to spare. She would have to lie there in her own mess until Mrs. Collins arrived in the morning.
But he knew he couldn’t do it. Trussed and helpless as she was, stinking with fear, lying in rigid embarrassment, unable to meet his eyes, there was one indignity which he couldn’t inflict on her. His fingers began scrabbling at the taut cotton. It was even more difficult than he had expected and in the end he took the nail scissors and cut her loose, freeing her ankles and hands, trying not to notice the weals on her wrists. Getting her off the bed wasn’t easy; her brittle body, which had seemed as light as a bird, was now set in the rigor of terror. It was nearly a minute before she could begin her slow shuffle to the lavatory with his arm around her waist supporting her.