Voices in a Haunted Room

“It is good that you have found such happiness.”

“In a way,” she said, “it is a sort of challenge.”

“You mean marriage. I suppose it often is.”

“Not in the same way. You and David ... Well, David is quite different from Jonathan, isn’t he? And twins are supposed to be so much alike. But they are opposites. No one could be less like Jonathan than David. What I mean is ... you always know what David is going to do.”

I said rather formally: “One always knows that David will do what he considers to be right.”

“People have different ideas. Right to one might be wrong to another.”

“Oh come ... there are certain standards.”

“I know what you mean. But David is predictable and I think that Jonathan must be the least predictable person on earth.”

“And you prefer unpredictability?”

She lifted a hairbrush and began brushing her hair, smiling secretly at her reflection in the mirror.

“Of course. It makes life an adventure ... a challenge. You will be sure of David.

I shall never be sure of Jonathan.”

“And you want ... to be unsure?”

”I have no help for it. That is Jonathan’s way. David will always be the faithful husband.”

I could not resist saying: “And you think Jonathan will not be . . and you find that challenging ... adventurous?”

She turned to me and nodded slowly; her eyes glittered in the candlelight.

“He will have his little affaires de coeur. He always has and marriage will not stop him. I understand that. They will make him all the more ready to come back to me.”I was astounded and I showed it. “I should have thought you were the last one to ... er ...”

“To be accommodating, to turn a blind eye to a husband’s misdemeanours?”

“Your mother ...”

“Everyone compares me with my mother. I know I’m like her in a way. I am sure she never had to deal with the situation we are discussing. My father is a very moral gentleman.”

“Perhaps your mother would never allow him to be otherwise.”

I knew I ought to take my leave for I had a feeling that there was something dangerous about this conversation.

“My father and Jonathan are poles apart.”

“I am sure they are.”

“And my methods will be quite different from hers. No man of spirit would be so completely subdued as poor dear Papa is. I think he is fond of her in a way. He is a very gallant gentleman and I love him dearly.”

“It is always pleasant to hear of filial affection.”

“You are quite amusing, Claudine ... sometimes so formal. I suppose that is the French in you. Oh yes, I shall know how to manage my life.”

“I am sure you will be very good at it.”

“So ... I shall accept what has to be accepted. I shall countenance the little love affairs. It would only be if there was something greater...”

I felt my heart beginning to beat very fast. For a moment I wondered whether Jonathan had told her of his relationship with me. Surely he could not have done so. But who could say with Jonathan? Hadn’t she herself described him as unpredictable?

“If I thought I had a really serious rival, I could . .” She hesitated and one of the candles spluttered and went out.

There was a brief silence which seemed eerie. I felt uncertain and had a great desire to escape from the room with its elaborate curtained bed, a desire to escape from the visions which kept coining into my mind.

“These candles!” she said. “They are always doing that. I shall cornplain that they do not make them properly now. Never mind. There is enough light.” She put her face close to the mirror and the reflection looked back at me. “What was I saying?” she went on. “If there was someone who was not a light o’ love ... someone important to him, do you know, Claudine, I think I should hate her so much ... that I would be tempted to kill her.”

I shivered.

She said: “It’s a little chilly in here. I’ll ring for the maid and ask her to build up the fire. Well, we are into autumn now.”

“I must go and get dressed.”

“Thank you for the brooch.”

I hurried out, thinking: Is it possible that she knows? Is she warning me? She had said: “I would be tempted to kill her.”

In that moment her reflection had looked wicked, ruthless.

Yes, I said to myself. I believe she would.

I was relieved when they left, although the days seemed empty and colourless.

I went over to see Aunt Sophie, who still mourned Alberic and talked of little else.

She had been deeply shocked by Jessica’s disappearance and talked a good deal about that. Any disaster attracted her; sometimes I felt that, when there was a happy ending, as in the case of Jessica, she lost interest. Although, of course, there was the question of who and why; and this could involve a great deal of unpleasant speculation.