The Secret House of Death Read Online Free PDF Page B

adventure at the least likely time and in the least likely place. She drew her stiff red fingers out of the woollen gloves and, turning towards Susan, raised an interrogatory eyebrow. Susan didn’t respond and it amused her to see Doris’s greedy anticipation gradually give way to chagrin until, like a battery in need of recharging from some source of power, she attached herself to the radiator and said sulkily, ‘All right for some. I’ve been frozen all day.’
    Then Louise said it. Afterwards Susan often thought that if her neighbour had kept silent or merely made some harmless rejoinder, the whole ensuing tragedy would have taken a different course or perhaps have been altogether averted. In spite of her determination not to be involved, she would have accepted Louise’s invitation for that night out of weakness and pity. She would have learned and understood and been in a position to defend.
    But Louise, fumbling with her coat and hesitating whether to pocket Susan’s handkerchief or leave it on the chair arm, turned those watery glass bead eyes on Doris and said, ‘I’ll have my central beating next winter. They’re soon going to put it in.’ A tiny spark of enthusiasm brought colour into her cheeks. ‘I expect you’ve seen the man here.’
    Doris’s always active eyebrows jerked as if she had a tic and almost disappeared into her fringe.
    â€˜I’ll just see you to the door,’ Susan said coldly. Rage bit off the christian name she had meant to use and which would have softened the dismissal. That Louise should come here and cry about her love affair, then persist in employing the blind she had used to deceive everyone, filled her with choking anger. The dishonesty and the duplicity were past bearing.
    Louise tripped as she crossed the hall and Susan didn’t put out a hand to steady her. The metal heel left a pit and a long gash in the parquet Susan and her cleaner, Mrs Dring, kept so carefully polished. Illogically, this wanton damage was more maddening than Louise’s slyness and her lack of control. At the front door she stopped and whispered:
    â€˜You’ll come tonight?’
    â€˜I’m afraid I can’t leave Paul.’
    â€˜Come tomorrow then, for coffee,’ Louise pleaded. ‘Come as soon as you’ve taken Paul to school.’
    Susan sighed. It was on the tip of her tongue to say she would never come, that the Norths and their problems were nothing to her. Bob would be away for once, so like a child, Louise wanted Susan’s shoulder to cry on. Didn’t it occur to her that Susan was always alone, that Julian had gone away for good? It was all Julian’s fault. If he had been here, he wouldn’t have allowed her to be the Norths’ mediator and counsellor, but then if he had been here none of this confiding would have begun. It was only because she had been deserted and divorced that the Norths thought her a suitable adviser. Her experiences qualified her; she might be supposed to understand the motives of wife and husband; her knowledge gave her the edge over the priest and the devout unworldly friends.
    â€˜Louise . . .’ she said helplessly, opening the door and letting the chill damp air wash over her hot face.
    â€˜Please, Susan. I know it’s ugly and beastly, but I can’t help it. Please say you’ll come.’
    â€˜I’ll come at eleven,’ Susan said. She could no longer resist that look of agonised supplication. Still exasperated but almost resigned, she followed Louise outside to call the boys in for their tea.
    Louise’s heels tap-tapped away into the side entrance. Her shoes had pointed toes, curled and wrinkled at the tips where her own toes were too short to reach. In her long floppy coat and those absurd over-large shoes, she reminded Susan of a little girl dressing up in her mother’s clothes.
    For a moment Susan let her gaze travel over the