a small low-bulbed bedlamp.
“Oh, please,” he said, “please help me. Don’t kill me, I beg you not to kill me. I’ll go on my knees to you. I know I’ve done wrong, I did a terrible thing. I didn’t make an error of judgment.I sacked Hugo because he wanted too much for the staff, he wanted more money for everyone and I couldn’t let them have it. I wanted my new car and my holidays. I had to have my villa—so beautiful, my villa, my gardens. Ah, God, I know I was greedy but I’ve borne the guilt of it for months, every day—on my conscience—the guilt of it….” They turned, two white faces, implacable, merciless. They rose and came towards him, scrambling across their bed. “Have pity on me,” he screamed. “Don’t kill me. I’ll give you everything I’ve got, I’ll give you a million …”
But they had seized him with their hands and it was too late. She had told him it was too late.
“In our house!” she said.
“Don’t,” said Hugo. “That’s what Lady Macbeth said. What does it matter whether it was in our house or not?”
“I wish I’d never invited him.”
“Well, it was your idea. You said let’s have him here because he’s a widower and lonely. I didn’t want him. It was ghastly the way he insisted on talking about firing me when we wanted to keep off the subject at any price. I was utterly fed up when he had to stay the night.”
“What do we do now?” said Elizabeth.
“Get the police, I should think, or a doctor. It’s stopped raining. I’ll get dressed and go.”
“But you’re not well! You kept throwing up.”
“I’m O.K. now. I drank too much brandy. It was such a strain all of it, nobody knowing what to talk about. God, what a business! He was all right when you went into his room just now, wasn’t he?”
“Half asleep, I thought. I was going to apologise for all the racket you were making but he seemed nearly asleep. Did you get any of that he was trying to say when he came in here? I didn’t.”
“No, it was just gibberish. We couldn’t have done anything for him, darling. We did try to catch him before he fell.”
“I know.”
“He had a bad heart.”
“In more ways than one, poor old man,” said Elizabeth, and she laid a blanket gently over Duncan, though he was past feeling heat or cold or guilt or fear or anything any more.
You Can’t Be Too Careful
Della Galway went out with a man for the first (and almost the last) time on her nineteenth birthday. He parked his car, and as they were going into the restaurant she asked him if he had locked all the doors and the boot. When he turned back and said, yes, he’d better do that, she asked him why he didn’t have a burglar-proof locking device on the steering wheel.
Her parents had brought her up to be cautious. When she left that happy home in that safe little provincial town, she took her parents’ notions with her to London. At first she could only afford the rent of a single room. It upset her that the other tenants often came in late at night and left the front door on the latch. Although her room was at the top of the house and she had nothing worth stealing, she lay in bed sweating with fear. At work it was just the same. Nobody bothered about security measures. Della was always the last to leave, and sometimes she went back two or three times to check that all the office doors and the outer door were shut.
The personnel officer suggested she see a psychiatrist.
Della was very ambitious. She had an economics degree and a business studies diploma, and had come out top at the end of her secretarial course. She knew a psychiatrist would find something wrong with her—they had to earn their money like everyone else—and long sessions of treatment would follow which wouldn’t help her towards her goal, that of becoming the company’s first woman director. They always held that sort of thing against you.
“That won’t be necessary,” she said in her brisk way. “It
“Oh, please,” he said, “please help me. Don’t kill me, I beg you not to kill me. I’ll go on my knees to you. I know I’ve done wrong, I did a terrible thing. I didn’t make an error of judgment.I sacked Hugo because he wanted too much for the staff, he wanted more money for everyone and I couldn’t let them have it. I wanted my new car and my holidays. I had to have my villa—so beautiful, my villa, my gardens. Ah, God, I know I was greedy but I’ve borne the guilt of it for months, every day—on my conscience—the guilt of it….” They turned, two white faces, implacable, merciless. They rose and came towards him, scrambling across their bed. “Have pity on me,” he screamed. “Don’t kill me. I’ll give you everything I’ve got, I’ll give you a million …”
But they had seized him with their hands and it was too late. She had told him it was too late.
“In our house!” she said.
“Don’t,” said Hugo. “That’s what Lady Macbeth said. What does it matter whether it was in our house or not?”
“I wish I’d never invited him.”
“Well, it was your idea. You said let’s have him here because he’s a widower and lonely. I didn’t want him. It was ghastly the way he insisted on talking about firing me when we wanted to keep off the subject at any price. I was utterly fed up when he had to stay the night.”
“What do we do now?” said Elizabeth.
“Get the police, I should think, or a doctor. It’s stopped raining. I’ll get dressed and go.”
“But you’re not well! You kept throwing up.”
“I’m O.K. now. I drank too much brandy. It was such a strain all of it, nobody knowing what to talk about. God, what a business! He was all right when you went into his room just now, wasn’t he?”
“Half asleep, I thought. I was going to apologise for all the racket you were making but he seemed nearly asleep. Did you get any of that he was trying to say when he came in here? I didn’t.”
“No, it was just gibberish. We couldn’t have done anything for him, darling. We did try to catch him before he fell.”
“I know.”
“He had a bad heart.”
“In more ways than one, poor old man,” said Elizabeth, and she laid a blanket gently over Duncan, though he was past feeling heat or cold or guilt or fear or anything any more.
You Can’t Be Too Careful
Della Galway went out with a man for the first (and almost the last) time on her nineteenth birthday. He parked his car, and as they were going into the restaurant she asked him if he had locked all the doors and the boot. When he turned back and said, yes, he’d better do that, she asked him why he didn’t have a burglar-proof locking device on the steering wheel.
Her parents had brought her up to be cautious. When she left that happy home in that safe little provincial town, she took her parents’ notions with her to London. At first she could only afford the rent of a single room. It upset her that the other tenants often came in late at night and left the front door on the latch. Although her room was at the top of the house and she had nothing worth stealing, she lay in bed sweating with fear. At work it was just the same. Nobody bothered about security measures. Della was always the last to leave, and sometimes she went back two or three times to check that all the office doors and the outer door were shut.
The personnel officer suggested she see a psychiatrist.
Della was very ambitious. She had an economics degree and a business studies diploma, and had come out top at the end of her secretarial course. She knew a psychiatrist would find something wrong with her—they had to earn their money like everyone else—and long sessions of treatment would follow which wouldn’t help her towards her goal, that of becoming the company’s first woman director. They always held that sort of thing against you.
“That won’t be necessary,” she said in her brisk way. “It
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