she did.”
“What happened?”
Stephen drew a deep breath. They were back again. Facing once more that intangible menace. He said: “The Luxembourg happened.”
They were both silent, seeing, they both knew, the same thing. The blue cyanosed face of a once lovely woman.
Staring at a dead woman, and then looking up to meet each other's eyes...
Stephen said: “Forget it, Sandra, for God's sake, let us forget it!”
“It's no use forgetting. We're not going to be allowed to forget.”
There was a pause. Then Sandra said: “What are we going to do?”
“What you said to me just now. Face things - together. Go to this horrible party whatever the reason for it may be.”
“You don't believe what George Barton said about Iris?”
“No. Do you?”
“It could be true. But even if it is, it's not the real reason.”
“What do you think the real reason is?”
“I don't know, Stephen. But I'm afraid.”
“Of George Barton?”
“Yes, I think he - knows.”
Stephen said sharply: “Knows what?”
She turned her head slowly until her eyes met his.
She said in a whisper: “We mustn't be afraid. We must have courage - all the courage in the world. You're going to be a great man, Stephen - a man all the world needs - and nothing shall interfere with that. I'm your wife and I love you.”
“What do you think this party is, Sandra?”
“I think it's a trap.”
He said slowly, “And we walk into it?”
“We can't afford to show we know it's a trap.”
“No, that's true.”
Suddenly Sandra threw back her head and laughed. She said: “Do your worst, Rosemary. You won't win.”
He gripped her shoulder. “Be quiet, Sandra, Rosemary's dead.”
“Is she? Sometimes - she feels very much alive...”
Sparkling Cyanide
Chapter 3
Half-way across the Park, Iris said:
“Do you mind if I don't come back with you, George? I feel like a walk. I thought I'd go up over Friar's Hill and come down through the wood. I've had an awful headache all day.”
“My poor child. Do go. I won't come with you - I'm expecting a fellow along sometime this afternoon and I'm not quite sure when he'll turn up.”
“Right. Good-bye till tea-time.”
She turned abruptly and made off at right angles to where a belt of larches showed on the hillside.
When she came out on the brow of the hill she drew a deep breath. It was one of those close humid days common in October. A dank moisture coated the leaves of the trees and the grey cloud hung very low overhead promising yet more rain shortly. There was not really much more air up here on the hill than there had been in the valley, but Iris felt nevertheless as though she could breathe more freely.
“Oh, not the hatred - if true. I meant your use of the word 'us.' My question referred to you personally.”
“Oh, I see... I think they like me quite well in a negative sort of way. I think it's us as a family living next door that they mind about. We weren't particular friends of theirs - they were Rosemary's friends.”
“Yes,” said Anthony, “as you say they were Rosemary's friends - not that I should imagine Sandra Farraday and Rosemary were ever bosom friends, eh?”
“No,” said Iris, and she looked faintly apprehensive as Anthony smoked peacefully.
Presently he said: “Do you know what strikes me most about the Farradays?”
“What?”
“Just that - that they are the Farradays. I always think of them like that - not as Stephen and Sandra, two individuals linked by the State and the Established Church - but as a definite dual entity - the Farradays. That is rarer than you would think. They are two people with a common aim, a common way of life, identical hopes and fears and beliefs. And the odd part of it is that they are actually very dissimilar in character. Stephen, I should say, is a man of wide intellectual scope, extremely sensitive to opinion from outside, horribly diffident about himself and somewhat lacking in moral courage. Sandra, on the other hand,
“What happened?”
Stephen drew a deep breath. They were back again. Facing once more that intangible menace. He said: “The Luxembourg happened.”
They were both silent, seeing, they both knew, the same thing. The blue cyanosed face of a once lovely woman.
Staring at a dead woman, and then looking up to meet each other's eyes...
Stephen said: “Forget it, Sandra, for God's sake, let us forget it!”
“It's no use forgetting. We're not going to be allowed to forget.”
There was a pause. Then Sandra said: “What are we going to do?”
“What you said to me just now. Face things - together. Go to this horrible party whatever the reason for it may be.”
“You don't believe what George Barton said about Iris?”
“No. Do you?”
“It could be true. But even if it is, it's not the real reason.”
“What do you think the real reason is?”
“I don't know, Stephen. But I'm afraid.”
“Of George Barton?”
“Yes, I think he - knows.”
Stephen said sharply: “Knows what?”
She turned her head slowly until her eyes met his.
She said in a whisper: “We mustn't be afraid. We must have courage - all the courage in the world. You're going to be a great man, Stephen - a man all the world needs - and nothing shall interfere with that. I'm your wife and I love you.”
“What do you think this party is, Sandra?”
“I think it's a trap.”
He said slowly, “And we walk into it?”
“We can't afford to show we know it's a trap.”
“No, that's true.”
Suddenly Sandra threw back her head and laughed. She said: “Do your worst, Rosemary. You won't win.”
He gripped her shoulder. “Be quiet, Sandra, Rosemary's dead.”
“Is she? Sometimes - she feels very much alive...”
Sparkling Cyanide
Chapter 3
Half-way across the Park, Iris said:
“Do you mind if I don't come back with you, George? I feel like a walk. I thought I'd go up over Friar's Hill and come down through the wood. I've had an awful headache all day.”
“My poor child. Do go. I won't come with you - I'm expecting a fellow along sometime this afternoon and I'm not quite sure when he'll turn up.”
“Right. Good-bye till tea-time.”
She turned abruptly and made off at right angles to where a belt of larches showed on the hillside.
When she came out on the brow of the hill she drew a deep breath. It was one of those close humid days common in October. A dank moisture coated the leaves of the trees and the grey cloud hung very low overhead promising yet more rain shortly. There was not really much more air up here on the hill than there had been in the valley, but Iris felt nevertheless as though she could breathe more freely.
“Oh, not the hatred - if true. I meant your use of the word 'us.' My question referred to you personally.”
“Oh, I see... I think they like me quite well in a negative sort of way. I think it's us as a family living next door that they mind about. We weren't particular friends of theirs - they were Rosemary's friends.”
“Yes,” said Anthony, “as you say they were Rosemary's friends - not that I should imagine Sandra Farraday and Rosemary were ever bosom friends, eh?”
“No,” said Iris, and she looked faintly apprehensive as Anthony smoked peacefully.
Presently he said: “Do you know what strikes me most about the Farradays?”
“What?”
“Just that - that they are the Farradays. I always think of them like that - not as Stephen and Sandra, two individuals linked by the State and the Established Church - but as a definite dual entity - the Farradays. That is rarer than you would think. They are two people with a common aim, a common way of life, identical hopes and fears and beliefs. And the odd part of it is that they are actually very dissimilar in character. Stephen, I should say, is a man of wide intellectual scope, extremely sensitive to opinion from outside, horribly diffident about himself and somewhat lacking in moral courage. Sandra, on the other hand,
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