Read Online Out Of The Past by Patricia Wentworth - Free Book Online
Authors: Patricia Wentworth
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Pippa? Do you want to tell me?”
The blue eyes were full of angry tears.
“I’ve got to tell someone, or I shall blow up! Spontaneous combustion! People used to believe in it like anything! You just go up in smoke—poof! And all that’s left of you is a horrid smell of burning and some amusing tales about your having been carried off by the devil!”
“Pippa!”
There was another vigorous toss of the head.
“And you needn’t think I’m joking, because I’m not! It’s that swine Alan, and—”
Carmona broke in.
“He’s blackmailing you—”
She found that she wasn’t surprised—that nothing Alan did could surprise her. She had a deep sense of shame.
Pippa said,
“If Bill knew, he would kill him! But if Bill knew, then it would kill me, so what is the good of that? There just isn’t a thing I can do about it, and Alan knows it!”
Carmona sat down on the bed beside her.
“Do you want to tell me?”
“I’ve always told you things, haven’t I?”
“Sometimes people tell you things, and then they wish they hadn’t.”
Pippa shook her head.
“I shan’t do that. You make me feel safe.” She looked piteously at Carmona. “You know, that’s why I married Bill—I always did feel safe with him. People like that aren’t awfully exciting, so you go off and have a bit of fun with somebody else, but somewhere inside you deep down you know perfectly well that you can’t do without them.”
“Yes, I know. The bother is you might go too far and not be able to get back. Is that what Alan is holding over you?”
Pippa nodded.
“I went off for a week-end with Cyril Maynard. Bill said people were talking. We had a row and I thought I’d give them something to talk about. I didn’t care what I did. You don’t, you know, when you’re angry—you only want to score the other person off. Bill had to be away that week-end—some stupid manoeuvres or something—and I went off with Cyril. I hadn’t ever done anything like that before—I swear I hadn’t— but I just didn’t care. We went to Trenton, and we had dinner on the way and danced afterwards, so we didn’t get down there till late. I don’t know why Alan was there, but he was. We didn’t see him, but he saw us arrive, and he went and looked in the hotel register and saw that we were down as Mr. and Mrs. Cyril Smith. And afterwards he saw Cyril go into my room.”
“Oh, Pippa!”
There was a violent shake of the head.
“No—no—it isn’t what you think! The minute he came in I knew I couldn’t do it. I’d been getting cold feet all the evening, and the way Cyril looked at me was the end. I felt as if I should kill him if he touched me, and I told him to get out. First he pretended to think I was joking, and then he got really frightfully angry, and in the end it turned into the most ghastly sort of melodrama. Because I got hold of the bell-pull—it was one of those old-fashioned places where they have a thing like a long woolly rope hanging down from the ceiling—and I said I would pull it and scream the place down if he didn’t go away at once. So he went, and I bolted the door. And I got up frightfully early and had a taxi to the station.”
Carmona felt a good deal of relief.
“Why don’t you just tell Bill and have done with it? He would believe you, wouldn’t he?”
“Oh, yes, he’d believe me. It’s not that. It’s just—Carmona, I couldn’t tell him! I really couldn’t! It would hurt him— dreadfully, and he would never, never, never think quite the same way about me again. He doesn’t dance, but he knows I adore it, and he likes me to have fun, and go about, and do the things I want to. And he thinks he can trust me. If he thought he couldn’t—”
Carmona was silent for a moment. Then she said,
“You had better tell him, you know.”
“I’d rather die! And that isn’t just a way of talking—I mean it. I’m not a good person—I never have been, and I probably never shall be. But Bill
The blue eyes were full of angry tears.
“I’ve got to tell someone, or I shall blow up! Spontaneous combustion! People used to believe in it like anything! You just go up in smoke—poof! And all that’s left of you is a horrid smell of burning and some amusing tales about your having been carried off by the devil!”
“Pippa!”
There was another vigorous toss of the head.
“And you needn’t think I’m joking, because I’m not! It’s that swine Alan, and—”
Carmona broke in.
“He’s blackmailing you—”
She found that she wasn’t surprised—that nothing Alan did could surprise her. She had a deep sense of shame.
Pippa said,
“If Bill knew, he would kill him! But if Bill knew, then it would kill me, so what is the good of that? There just isn’t a thing I can do about it, and Alan knows it!”
Carmona sat down on the bed beside her.
“Do you want to tell me?”
“I’ve always told you things, haven’t I?”
“Sometimes people tell you things, and then they wish they hadn’t.”
Pippa shook her head.
“I shan’t do that. You make me feel safe.” She looked piteously at Carmona. “You know, that’s why I married Bill—I always did feel safe with him. People like that aren’t awfully exciting, so you go off and have a bit of fun with somebody else, but somewhere inside you deep down you know perfectly well that you can’t do without them.”
“Yes, I know. The bother is you might go too far and not be able to get back. Is that what Alan is holding over you?”
Pippa nodded.
“I went off for a week-end with Cyril Maynard. Bill said people were talking. We had a row and I thought I’d give them something to talk about. I didn’t care what I did. You don’t, you know, when you’re angry—you only want to score the other person off. Bill had to be away that week-end—some stupid manoeuvres or something—and I went off with Cyril. I hadn’t ever done anything like that before—I swear I hadn’t— but I just didn’t care. We went to Trenton, and we had dinner on the way and danced afterwards, so we didn’t get down there till late. I don’t know why Alan was there, but he was. We didn’t see him, but he saw us arrive, and he went and looked in the hotel register and saw that we were down as Mr. and Mrs. Cyril Smith. And afterwards he saw Cyril go into my room.”
“Oh, Pippa!”
There was a violent shake of the head.
“No—no—it isn’t what you think! The minute he came in I knew I couldn’t do it. I’d been getting cold feet all the evening, and the way Cyril looked at me was the end. I felt as if I should kill him if he touched me, and I told him to get out. First he pretended to think I was joking, and then he got really frightfully angry, and in the end it turned into the most ghastly sort of melodrama. Because I got hold of the bell-pull—it was one of those old-fashioned places where they have a thing like a long woolly rope hanging down from the ceiling—and I said I would pull it and scream the place down if he didn’t go away at once. So he went, and I bolted the door. And I got up frightfully early and had a taxi to the station.”
Carmona felt a good deal of relief.
“Why don’t you just tell Bill and have done with it? He would believe you, wouldn’t he?”
“Oh, yes, he’d believe me. It’s not that. It’s just—Carmona, I couldn’t tell him! I really couldn’t! It would hurt him— dreadfully, and he would never, never, never think quite the same way about me again. He doesn’t dance, but he knows I adore it, and he likes me to have fun, and go about, and do the things I want to. And he thinks he can trust me. If he thought he couldn’t—”
Carmona was silent for a moment. Then she said,
“You had better tell him, you know.”
“I’d rather die! And that isn’t just a way of talking—I mean it. I’m not a good person—I never have been, and I probably never shall be. But Bill
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