The following day, Friday, he spent the entire time in the warmth with Bessie, who was beginning to recover from her cold. A deliciously idle day in front of the fire, defying the rain pattering against the windows.
Saturday arrived with no break in the weather and no sign of Bessie and Patrick setting foot outside. At around five o’clock, Brian turned up with an invitation to a bridge party. Bessie, still in the grip of a stubborn migraine, declined politely but told her fiancé there was no reason he shouldn’t go. Patrick declared gallantly that there was no chance he would leave her alone a second time. A perfectly reasonable attitude at the time, but one that he would come to regret later. In fact, what would happen later would turn out to be of special importance: an evening during which Brian would distinguish himself in a particularly sinister manner.
17
That same Saturday at around eleven o’clock, Bessie and Patrick were still awake. The Blounts’ house was shuddering under the assault of the wind and a fire was roaring in the lounge. Patrick was savouring a whisky, trying to look interested in what his fiancé was saying. After a number of circumlocutions, she had succeeded in steering the conversation to a subject which was obviously still troubling her: Dr. Mike Matthews. At great length he learnt that behind the elegant exterior and warm smile lurked a completely different person and that, beneath the veneer of civility, was an insufferably complacent individual, a frightful egoist full of good counsel which cost him nothing, an individual as vain as a peacock, a quibbler for detail, and who knew what other target of opprobrium.
Her animosity towards her ex-fiancé seemed to Patrick to have clouded her judgment, but having no desire to pick a fight, he rapidly lost interest in the subject.
‘… and it won’t be long before Sarah finds that out for herself, if she hasn’t already.’
Patrick nodded, yawned discreetly and sneaked a glance at his watch, which showed half past eleven. He pricked up his ears suddenly and looked at Bessie.
‘Didn’t you hear anything?’
‘Yes. I’ll take a look.’ She went to the window and pulled back the curtains. ‘There’s someone… but who?… Francis and Paula!’ Exchanging an enquiring glance with her fiancé, she went to the door.
While quickly serving himself another whisky, Patrick told himself that such a late and unexpected visit could only be bringing bad news. He was not mistaken.
The pale faces of their two visitors showed anxiety and confusion. After Bessie had taken their coats and ushered them to the warmth of the fireside, Francis began to speak:
‘We fear the worst.’
He looked insistently at Patrick whilst he lit a cigarette and continued:
‘It’s about Brian.’
Patrick, after hearing the alarming words and looking at Paula and her husband in turn, muttered:
‘Don’t tell me he’s made another prophecy?’
Paula nodded and Francis continued:
‘A prophecy of misfortune and maybe even… death.’
For long seconds the only sound was the howling of the wind.
Patrick, who couldn’t stop looking at Paula’s anguished eyes, trembled at the thought that came into his head.
‘Against… her?’ he asked hesitantly, pointing a trembling finger at Paula.
‘No, against Sarah,’ replied Francis tersely. ‘Here’s what he said verbatim less than half an hour ago: “There’s misfortune in store for you, Sarah, great misfortune … You are in danger.” After that he ran a limp hand across his brow and continued in a fading voice, like a litany: “A misfortune, a great misfortune, a truly great misfortune.”’
‘Patrick,’ intervened Paula, ‘you’ve got to help us. You have to do something.’
‘That’s why we’ve come here to alert you,’ declared Francis, ‘not simply as a friend but above all as a detective.’
Patrick chewed his lip pensively. He studied his visitors, then asked them under what circumstances Brian had made his prediction.
‘We started to pay bridge shortly before eight o’clock,’ said Paula. ‘I say “we,” although I wasn’t playing, merely watching, because… well, that doesn’t really matter. Brian was playing with Sarah against Francis and Dr. Meadows. Everything went smoothly at the beginning, but little by little the atmosphere changed. Sarah had been nervous from the start with brusque and hasty gestures. She dropped her cards a couple of times when she was trying to pick them up.’
‘She’s always like that,’ said Francis, shrugging his shoulders. ‘That’s nothing unusual.’
‘Maybe, but tonight she appeared particularly agitated. In fact, it was Brian’s attitude, in my opinion, which cast a chill on the proceedings. He was perky at the beginning, much more talkative than usual, but as the evening wore on we heard less and less from him and he became paler and paler.’
‘It’s true,’ agreed Francis. ‘He looked out of sorts.’
‘It wasn’t just him,’ continued Paula, irritated by her husband’s constant interruptions. ‘There was Meadows as well. But in his case, it was more the lay of the cards which upset him… At the beginning he was only too pleased to have you as partner, Francis. But he changed his mind after that, because you have to admit, you weren’t at the top of—.’
‘What does that matter,’ snapped Francis. ‘Patrick’s not interested in all those little details.’
‘Very well,’ she replied in resignation. ‘The game ended at half past ten or thereabouts, by which time Brian had a disturbing expression on his face. That happens quite often, but in this case he’d seemed so happy at the start.’
‘Stick to the facts, Paula.’
‘We all went out into the hall. Sarah went to accompany Meadows. Brian started up the stairs, more slowly than usual, stopping still at the seventh or eighth step. His behaviour had attracted our attention. He turned around just as slowly and gave Sarah a strange look, piercing yet at the same time distant. He was very pale and as motionless as a statue. His thin figure was back-lit against the stairs, but his eyes, strangely enough, gleamed in the darkness. At least, that’s what it looked like to me… Then he solemnly pointed a trembling index finger in Sarah’s direction. And that was when he… when he….’
Paula was unable to continue. It was useless. But Bessie and Patrick had understood and had no trouble imagining the scene.
‘And afterwards?’ asked Patrick, breaking the silence. ‘How did Sarah react?’
The question seemed to upset Paula, who let her husband take her place. Francis seemed equally embarrassed.
‘In fact,’ he began, ‘I had the distinct impression that Paula and I were the most frightened. Sarah had changed colour, of course. As for Meadows, he rushed towards her and gave Brian a wrathful look accompanied by an ostentatious shrug of the shoulders. He didn’t say anything, but he looked daggers. Thereupon, Brian went up to his room. Paula and I went into the salon and Meadows and Sarah went out. A few moments later we heard a door slam and the doctor’s car drive furiously away. Sarah came back in and crossed the hall without a word or even a look at us. As if we were responsible for Brian’s words.’
‘I have to say,’ added Paula, ‘that she’s hardly spoken to us at all recently. Nor to anyone else either, by the way.’