Read Online 1951 - In a Vain Shadow by James Hadley Chase - Free Book Online

didn’t know if he knew her. If he did, he was almost certain to tell her he had seen me up at her window, and she would make enough of that to tum Sarek against me.
    I heard a crunching sound below me and glanced down.
    He had opened the gate and was coming up the short drive, still looking at me, a puzzled frown on his thin, gaunt face.
    He was a tall, grey-haired man, with a long, bony nose that looked as if it enjoyed poking itself into other people’s business. I suspended operations, hung on to the top rung of the ladder and looked down at him. By now he was standing at the foot of the ladder, peering shortsightedly up at me. I was right about him being the vicar. I spotted his dog collar.
    I got in the first word.
    ‘Did you want to see Mrs. Sarek? I’m afraid she’s away.’
    ‘What are you doing up there, young man?’
    ‘Cleaning the window.’
    ‘You were opening it just now. I saw you.’
    ‘That’s right. I’m going to clean the inside. Mrs. Sarek asked me to do the windows.’
    ‘It looked to me as if you were forcing the window open.’
    The kind of meddler who didn’t miss anything.
    I gave him my wide boy scout smile.
    ‘Well, I was. The wood’s swollen by the rain and I didn’t want to climb down and go upstairs and open it from the inside. Did you think I was a burglar?’
    He looked surprised and a little embarrassed, and gave one of those rich, juicy laughs clergymen cultivate.
    ‘Well, I wouldn’t say that. But I haven’t seen you before, and you’re up there at the window . . .’
    I climbed down the ladder and faced him, still with the wide, friendly smile.
    ‘I haven’t been here long. I’m Mr. Sarek’s chauffeur. He and Mrs. Sarek are having a week in Paris. I’ve been left to look after the chickens.’
    I could see he was still uncertain of me, but his suspicions were receding.
    ‘I was about to make myself a cup of tea. Maybe you’ll join me?’
    The lingering suspicion vanished, and his face brightened.
    I had offered him the thing he had come for: the universal bond between clergymen and parishioners. I couldn’t be a burglar if I was going to give him tea.
    ‘Now, that’s very kind of you...’
    I led into the dining room and sat him down. I could have strangled him and shoved him down the old well at the back of the house, but I had to be on the right side of him. I didn’t know how well he knew her, and what he would tell her.
    While I waited for the water to boil, he talked. He unfolded, the story of his narrow, dreary life with tender and loving detail. He told me about his early struggles in South Africa about his ill health, what his bishop said, what the wife of his bishop said, and of course, what he said himself.
    He had a quiet soft voice that was as unstoppable as the Niagara Falls. I gave him his tea and sat on the edge of the table, and waited for him to stop. I didn’t listen to a quarter of what he said, but it didn’t matter because he didn’t seem to expect me to say anything. It was the most devastating and persistent monologue I have ever encountered, and as dull and boring as anything I have ever had to listen to. He sat there from half past two to twenty minutes to five, talking ceaselessly about himself.
    I could have stopped him, but only if I had been rude, and I wasn’t taking any chances of him complaining about me. So I had to sit there and take it. Nothing would have pleased me more than to smash the teapot over his flat, sleek head: nothing less would have been adequate.
    Finally I could stand it no longer.
    ‘Sorry to interrupt you, but I’ll have to feed the chickens The light’s going.’
    He paused in mid-stride, his mouth hanging open, then looked blankly out of the window.
    ‘Bless my soul, is it as late as that?’
    He had been so engrossed with the sound of his own voice he had completely lost count of time.
    ‘Well, I must be getting along. My wife will be wondering where I’ve got to.’
    I got him to the door before