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Authors: Ruth Rendell
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handed her three more pearls. When the tennis ball struck the window he jumped. The sound had been like a pistol shot.
"Now, that's quite enough, Jill," said Mrs. Kershaw sharply. Still holding the saucer full of pearls, she opened the window. "If I've told you once, I've told you fifty times, I don't want any more breakages."
Archery looked at her. She was annoyed, affronted, even slightly outraged. He wondered suddenly if this was how she had looked on that Sunday night long ago when the police had invaded her domain at the coach house. Was she capable of any emotion greater than this, of mere irritation at disturbance of her personal peace?
"You just can't settle to a quiet discussion with children about, can you?" she said.
Within an instant, as if at a cue, the whole family was upon them, Jill truculent and protesting, the boy he had encountered on the drive now demanding tea, and Kershaw himself, vibrant as ever, his little lined face showing a certain dry acuteness.
"Now, you're to come straight out and give me a hand with these dishes, Jill." The saucer was transferred to the mantelpiece and stuck between an Oxfam collecting box and a card inviting Mrs. Kershaw to a coffee morning in aid of Cancer Relief. "I'll say goodbye now, Mr. Archery." She held out her hand. "You've such a long way to go I know you'll want to be on your way." It was almost rude, yet it was queenly. "If we don't meet again before the great daywell, I'll see you in church."
The door closed. Archery remained standing. "What am I to do?" he said simply.
"What did you expect?" Kershaw countered. "Some sort of incontravertible evidence, an alibi that only she can prove?"
"Do you believe her?" Archery cared.
"Ah, that's another matter. I don't care, you see. I don't care one way or the other. It's so easy not to ask, Mr. Archery, just to do nothing and accept."
"But I care," said Archery. "If Charles goes ahead and marries your stepdaughter, I shall have to leave the church. I don't think you realise the sort of place I live in, the sort of people..."
"Aah!" Kershaw wrinkled up his mouth and spread his hands angrily fanwise. "I've no patience with that sort of out-dated rubbish. Who's to know? Everybody round here thinks she's my kid."
"I shall know."
"Why the hell did she have to tell you? Why couldn't she keep her mouth shut?"
"Are you condemning her for her honesty, Kershaw?"
"Yes, by God I am!" Archery winced at the oath and shut his eyes against the light. He saw a red haze. It was only eyelid membrane, but to him it seemed like a lake of blood. "It's discretion, not honesty, that's the best policy. What are you worrying about, anyway? You know damn well she won't marry if you don't want it."
Archery snapped back, "And what sort of a relationship should I have with my son after that?" He controlled himself, softened his voice and his expression. "I shall have to try to find a way. Your wife is so sure?"
"She's never weakened." "Then I shall go back to Kingsmarkham. It's rather a forlorn hope, isn't it?" He added with an absurdity he realised after the words had come, "Thanks for trying to help andand for an excellent tea."
*6*
Yet forasmuch as in all appearance the time of his dissolution draweth near, so fit and prepare him ... against the hour of death. The Visitation of the Sick
The man lay on his back in the middle of the zebra crossing. Inspector Burden, getting out of the police car, had no need to ask where he was or to be taken to the scene of the accident. It was all there before his eyes like a horrible still from a Ministry of Transport warning film, the kind of thing that makes women shudder and turn quickly to the other channel.
An ambulance was waiting, but nobody was making any attempt to move the man. Inexorably and with a kind of indifference the twin yellow beacons went on winking rhythmically. Up-ended, with its blunt nose poking into the crushed head of a bollard, was a white Mini.
"Can't you get
"Now, that's quite enough, Jill," said Mrs. Kershaw sharply. Still holding the saucer full of pearls, she opened the window. "If I've told you once, I've told you fifty times, I don't want any more breakages."
Archery looked at her. She was annoyed, affronted, even slightly outraged. He wondered suddenly if this was how she had looked on that Sunday night long ago when the police had invaded her domain at the coach house. Was she capable of any emotion greater than this, of mere irritation at disturbance of her personal peace?
"You just can't settle to a quiet discussion with children about, can you?" she said.
Within an instant, as if at a cue, the whole family was upon them, Jill truculent and protesting, the boy he had encountered on the drive now demanding tea, and Kershaw himself, vibrant as ever, his little lined face showing a certain dry acuteness.
"Now, you're to come straight out and give me a hand with these dishes, Jill." The saucer was transferred to the mantelpiece and stuck between an Oxfam collecting box and a card inviting Mrs. Kershaw to a coffee morning in aid of Cancer Relief. "I'll say goodbye now, Mr. Archery." She held out her hand. "You've such a long way to go I know you'll want to be on your way." It was almost rude, yet it was queenly. "If we don't meet again before the great daywell, I'll see you in church."
The door closed. Archery remained standing. "What am I to do?" he said simply.
"What did you expect?" Kershaw countered. "Some sort of incontravertible evidence, an alibi that only she can prove?"
"Do you believe her?" Archery cared.
"Ah, that's another matter. I don't care, you see. I don't care one way or the other. It's so easy not to ask, Mr. Archery, just to do nothing and accept."
"But I care," said Archery. "If Charles goes ahead and marries your stepdaughter, I shall have to leave the church. I don't think you realise the sort of place I live in, the sort of people..."
"Aah!" Kershaw wrinkled up his mouth and spread his hands angrily fanwise. "I've no patience with that sort of out-dated rubbish. Who's to know? Everybody round here thinks she's my kid."
"I shall know."
"Why the hell did she have to tell you? Why couldn't she keep her mouth shut?"
"Are you condemning her for her honesty, Kershaw?"
"Yes, by God I am!" Archery winced at the oath and shut his eyes against the light. He saw a red haze. It was only eyelid membrane, but to him it seemed like a lake of blood. "It's discretion, not honesty, that's the best policy. What are you worrying about, anyway? You know damn well she won't marry if you don't want it."
Archery snapped back, "And what sort of a relationship should I have with my son after that?" He controlled himself, softened his voice and his expression. "I shall have to try to find a way. Your wife is so sure?"
"She's never weakened." "Then I shall go back to Kingsmarkham. It's rather a forlorn hope, isn't it?" He added with an absurdity he realised after the words had come, "Thanks for trying to help andand for an excellent tea."
*6*
Yet forasmuch as in all appearance the time of his dissolution draweth near, so fit and prepare him ... against the hour of death. The Visitation of the Sick
The man lay on his back in the middle of the zebra crossing. Inspector Burden, getting out of the police car, had no need to ask where he was or to be taken to the scene of the accident. It was all there before his eyes like a horrible still from a Ministry of Transport warning film, the kind of thing that makes women shudder and turn quickly to the other channel.
An ambulance was waiting, but nobody was making any attempt to move the man. Inexorably and with a kind of indifference the twin yellow beacons went on winking rhythmically. Up-ended, with its blunt nose poking into the crushed head of a bollard, was a white Mini.
"Can't you get
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