Read Online Wexford 14 - The Veiled One by Ruth Rendell - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ruth Rendell
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living room - hearing the voice of Beatrice Cenci, Antigone, Nora Helmer and now Lady Audley - falter and fall silent. He went into the room and immediately she was rushing to him and in his arms.
Over her shoulder he saw the small satirical smile on Dora’s face. He hugged Sheila and as she relaxed, distanced her with his arms stretched and said, ‘Are you OK?’
‘Well, I don’t know,’ she giggled. ‘Not really. I’m not really OK. I’m in an awful mess. And Mother’s being very sniffy. Mother’s being horrible, actually.’
Her rueful smile showed him this was only half-meant. Foolish this was, he knew it every time, but when he looked at her like this he could never help admiring afresh the beautiful, fair, sensitive face that would with luck defy time, the long, pale, soft hair, the eyes as clear as a child’s and as blue, but not a child’s. There was no wedding ring on her left hand, but often she wore no rings, just as she nearly always kept her fancy clothes for public or publicity appearances. The jeans she wore were shabby compared with Burden’s. She had on a blue sweater of a similar shade and a string of wooden beads.
‘Now you’re home, darling,’ said Dora, ‘we can all have a drink. I’m sure I need it. In fact . . .’ she looked from one to the other with a certain tact, with a knowledge that they might care for two minutes alone together, ‘. . . I’ll get it.’
Sheila fell back into the chair she had jumped out of.
‘Aren’t you going to ask me why? Why, why, why everything?’
‘No.’
‘You have a blind faith in the rightness of everything I do?’
‘You know I don’t.’ He was tempted to say of the husband she had left, ‘I liked Andrew,’ but he didn’t say it. “What are we talking about, anyway? Which of your sensational acts?’
‘Oh, Pop, I had to cut the wire. It wasn’t done hysterically or without thinking or for publicity or in defiance or any thing. I had to do it. I’ve been psyching myself up to it for ever so long. People take notice of what I do, you see. I don’t just mean me, I mean anyone in my position. They kind of say, “If Sheila Wexford does it there must be some meaning to it, there must be a point if a famous person like her does it”.
‘What happened?’ He was genuinely curious.
‘I bought a pair of wire-cutters in a DIY place in Covent Garden. There were ten of us, all members of PANDA - Players Anti-Nuclear Direct Action - only I was the only well-known one. We went to a place in Northamptonshire called Lossington and we went in three cars, mine and two others. It’s an RAF station where they have obsolete bombers. The importance of the place doesn’t matter, you see, it’s the gesture . . .’
‘Of course I see,’ he said a little impatiently.
‘There was this bleak plain with a couple of concrete huts and some hangars and grass all round and mud and a wire fence gone rusty - miles of it, and high enough not to lose tennis balls if you were playing inside. Well, we all stood up against the wire and each of us cut a bit and a great flap of wire came down, then we went to the nearest town and the police station and walked in and told them what we’d done and . . .’
Dora came in with their drinks on a tray - beer for Wexford, wine for herself and her daughter. Having heard the last words, she said, ‘You might have given a little more thought to your father.’
‘Oh, Pop, the first idea was for us to cut the wire at RAF Myringford, but I stood out against that because of you, because it was on your patch. I did think of you. But I had to do it, I had to — can’t you understand?’
His temper for an instant got the better of him. ‘You’re not Antigone, however much you may have played her. You’re not Bunyan. Don’t keep saying you had to do it. Do you really believe your cutting the wire round an obsolete bomber
Over her shoulder he saw the small satirical smile on Dora’s face. He hugged Sheila and as she relaxed, distanced her with his arms stretched and said, ‘Are you OK?’
‘Well, I don’t know,’ she giggled. ‘Not really. I’m not really OK. I’m in an awful mess. And Mother’s being very sniffy. Mother’s being horrible, actually.’
Her rueful smile showed him this was only half-meant. Foolish this was, he knew it every time, but when he looked at her like this he could never help admiring afresh the beautiful, fair, sensitive face that would with luck defy time, the long, pale, soft hair, the eyes as clear as a child’s and as blue, but not a child’s. There was no wedding ring on her left hand, but often she wore no rings, just as she nearly always kept her fancy clothes for public or publicity appearances. The jeans she wore were shabby compared with Burden’s. She had on a blue sweater of a similar shade and a string of wooden beads.
‘Now you’re home, darling,’ said Dora, ‘we can all have a drink. I’m sure I need it. In fact . . .’ she looked from one to the other with a certain tact, with a knowledge that they might care for two minutes alone together, ‘. . . I’ll get it.’
Sheila fell back into the chair she had jumped out of.
‘Aren’t you going to ask me why? Why, why, why everything?’
‘No.’
‘You have a blind faith in the rightness of everything I do?’
‘You know I don’t.’ He was tempted to say of the husband she had left, ‘I liked Andrew,’ but he didn’t say it. “What are we talking about, anyway? Which of your sensational acts?’
‘Oh, Pop, I had to cut the wire. It wasn’t done hysterically or without thinking or for publicity or in defiance or any thing. I had to do it. I’ve been psyching myself up to it for ever so long. People take notice of what I do, you see. I don’t just mean me, I mean anyone in my position. They kind of say, “If Sheila Wexford does it there must be some meaning to it, there must be a point if a famous person like her does it”.
‘What happened?’ He was genuinely curious.
‘I bought a pair of wire-cutters in a DIY place in Covent Garden. There were ten of us, all members of PANDA - Players Anti-Nuclear Direct Action - only I was the only well-known one. We went to a place in Northamptonshire called Lossington and we went in three cars, mine and two others. It’s an RAF station where they have obsolete bombers. The importance of the place doesn’t matter, you see, it’s the gesture . . .’
‘Of course I see,’ he said a little impatiently.
‘There was this bleak plain with a couple of concrete huts and some hangars and grass all round and mud and a wire fence gone rusty - miles of it, and high enough not to lose tennis balls if you were playing inside. Well, we all stood up against the wire and each of us cut a bit and a great flap of wire came down, then we went to the nearest town and the police station and walked in and told them what we’d done and . . .’
Dora came in with their drinks on a tray - beer for Wexford, wine for herself and her daughter. Having heard the last words, she said, ‘You might have given a little more thought to your father.’
‘Oh, Pop, the first idea was for us to cut the wire at RAF Myringford, but I stood out against that because of you, because it was on your patch. I did think of you. But I had to do it, I had to — can’t you understand?’
His temper for an instant got the better of him. ‘You’re not Antigone, however much you may have played her. You’re not Bunyan. Don’t keep saying you had to do it. Do you really believe your cutting the wire round an obsolete bomber
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