加勒比海之谜16

II Molly had gone down to the beach. She pulled out one of the old basket chairs, one of the more rickety ones that were seldom used. She sat in it for a while looking at the sea, then suddenly she dropped her head in her hands and burst into tears. She sat there sobbing unrestrainedly for some time. Then she heard a rustle close by her and glanced up sharply to see Mrs. Hillingdon looking down at her. “Hallo, Evelyn, I didn’t hear you. I—I’m sorry.” “What’s the matter, child?” said Evelyn. “Something gone wrong?” She pulled another chair forward and sat down. “Tell me.” “There’s nothing wrong,” said Molly. “Nothing at all.” “Of course there is. You wouldn’t sit and cry here for nothing. Can’t you tell me? Is it—some trouble between you and Tim?” “Oh no.” “I’m glad of that. You always look so happy together.” “Not more than you do,” said Molly. “Tim and I always think how won- derful it is that you and Edward should seem so happy together after be- ing married so many years.” “Oh, that,” said Evelyn. Her voice was sharp as she spoke but Molly hardly noticed. “People bicker so,” she said, “and have such rows. Even if they’re quite fond of each other they still seem to have rows and not to mind a bit whether they have them in public or not.” “Some people like living that way,” said Evelyn. “It doesn’t really mean anything.” “Well, I think it’s horrid,” said Molly. “So do I, really,” said Evelyn. “But to see you and Edward—” “Oh it’s no good, Molly. I can’t let you go on thinking things of that kind. Edward and I—” she paused. “If you want to know the truth, we’ve hardly said a word to each other in private for the last three years.” “What!” Molly stared at her, appalled. “I—I can’t believe it.” “Oh, we both put up quite a good show,” said Evelyn. “We’re neither of us the kind that like having rows in public. And anyway there’s nothing really to have a row about.” “But what went wrong?” asked Molly. “Just the usual.” “What do you mean by the usual? Another—” “Yes, another woman in the case, and I don’t suppose it will be difficult for you to guess who the woman is.” “Do you mean Mrs. Dyson—Lucky?” Evelyn nodded. “I know they always flirt together a lot,” said Molly, “but I thought that was just….” “Just high spirits?” said Evelyn. “Nothing behind it?” “But why—” Molly paused and tried again. “But didn’t you—oh I mean, well I suppose I oughtn’t to ask.” “Ask anything you like,” said Evelyn. “I’m tired of never saying a word, tired of being a well- bred happy wife. Edward just lost his head com- pletely about Lucky. He was stupid enough to come and tell me about it. It made him feel better I suppose. Truthful. Honourable. All that sort of stuff. It didn’t occur to him to think that it wouldn’t make me feel better.” “Did he want to leave you?” Evelyn shook her head. “We’ve got two children, you know,” she said. “Children whom we’re both very fond of. They’re at school in England. We didn’t want to break up the home. And then of course, Lucky didn’t want a divorce either. Greg’s a very rich man. His first wife left a lot of money. So we agreed to live and let live—Edward and Lucky in happy immorality, Greg in blissful ignorance, and Edward and I just good friends.” She spoke with scalding bitterness. “How—how can you bear it?” “One gets used to anything. But sometimes—” “Yes?” said Molly. “Sometimes I’d like to kill that woman.” The passion behind her voice startled Molly. “Don’t let’s talk any more about me,” said Evelyn. “Let’s talk about you. I want to know what’s the matter.” Molly was silent for some moments and then she said, “It’s only—it’s only that I think there’s something wrong about me.” “Wrong? What do you mean?” Molly shook her head unhappily. “I’m frightened,” she said. “I’m terribly frightened.” “Frightened of what?” “Everything,” said Molly. “It’s—growing on me. Voices in the bushes, footsteps—or things that people say. As though someone were watching me all the time, spying on me. Somebody hates me. That’s what I keep feeling. Somebody hates me.” “My dear child.” Evelyn was shocked and startled. “How long has this been going on?” “I don’t know. It came—it started by degrees. And there have been other things too.” “What sort of things?” “There are times,” said Molly slowly, “that I can’t account for, that I can’t remember.” “Do you mean you have blackouts—that sort of thing?” “I suppose so. I mean sometimes it’s—oh, say it’s five o’clock—and I can’t remember anything since about half past one or two.” “Oh my dear, but that’s just that you’ve been asleep. Had a doze.” “No,” said Molly, “it’s not like that at all. Because you see, at the end of the time it’s not as though I’d just dozed off. I’m in a different place. Some- times I’m wearing different clothes and sometimes I seem to have been doing things—even saying things to people, talked to someone, and not re- membering that I’ve done so.” Evelyn looked shocked. “But Molly, my dear, if this is so, then you ought to see a doctor.” “I won’t see a doctor! I don’t want to. I wouldn’t go near a doctor.” Evelyn looked sharply down into her face, then she took the girl’s hand in hers. “You may be frightening yourself for nothing, Molly. You know there are all kinds of nervous disorders that aren’t really serious at all. A doctor would soon reassure you.” “He mightn’t. He might say that there was something really wrong with me.” “Why should there be anything wrong with you?” “Because—” Molly spoke and then was silent “—no reason, I suppose,” she said. “Couldn’t your family—haven’t you any family, any mother or sisters or someone who could come out here?” “I don’t get on with my mother. I never have. I’ve got sisters. They’re married but I suppose—I suppose they could come if I wanted them. But I don’t want them. I don’t want anyone—anyone except Tim.” “Does Tim know about this? Have you told him?” “Not really,” said Molly. “But he’s anxious about me and he watches me. It’s as though he were trying to—to help me or to shield me. But if he does that it means I want shielding, doesn’t it?” “I think a lot of it may be imagination but I still think you ought to see a doctor.” “Old Dr. Graham? He wouldn’t be any good.” “There are other doctors on the island.” “It’s all right, really,” said Molly. “I just—mustn’t think of it. I expect, as you say, it’s all imagination. Good gracious, it’s getting frightfully late. I ought to be on duty now in the dining room. I—I must go back.” She looked sharply and almost offensivel