Incarnate (50 page)

It was an address in W. 1: Guilda Kent’s address. Stuart stared bewildered at it. ”
Danny
had this, you say?” he said, and when the inspector nodded curtly, “This is her London address?”

“Form your own judgment. We’ve checked it. of course.”

“Am I likely to find her there, do you think?”

The inspector seemed to lose interest. “Find out for yourself.”

On his way out Stuart asked the desk sergeant where the address was.

He rode the train to Oxford Circus and hoped the address would be genuine and Guilda would be there. Undoubtedly he was being paranoid because he felt he deserved to be punished. Even if there were no proof, he was responsible for Danny’s breakdown, his instincts told him that he was—that his letter had been. He couldn’t even recall why he’d sent the letters, except that memories of Guilda’s project wouldn’t leave him alone. He was beginning to wonder anxiously what effect the other letters might have had.

Crowds were still converging on the January sales. In Wardour Street, dragons and spaceships had taken over most of the posters for forthcoming films. Soon the film distributors gave way to cinemas, their frontage papered with stills of women wearing only round censorious black patches that seemed to invite you to peel them off. How could Guilda live somewhere like this? Most of the neon signs were already lit, as if to bring on the night early, and even more of them said “Love” than “Sex.” He was ready to head back to Oxford Street; Danny’s fantasy seemed obvious enough—he had been obsessed with Guilda. But there on the far side of a crossroads was St. Quentin’s Court, and now he could see an open door bearing the number Danny had written down.

He made his way across the junction, willing her to be there so that he wouldn’t have to wait all the way to Norfolk. When he reached the pavement and stepped into the court, he saw that there was no open door after all. at least where he had thought he’d seen one, and no doors that bore the number Hackett had given him. He prowled round the court, in case he’d misread the inspector’s handwriting or the policeman had made a mistake. Staircases led up beyond the open doors; cards on which women’s names were written, barely legibly, were tacked above doorbells. He’d been wondering if a name could have started Danny’s fantasy, but none of the names was Guilda. He was making for the street when he saw the mark on the wall.

It looked very like a leaning 8, or infinity rising. Of course, that was what he must have seen, and a shadow had made that patch of wall look like a door. Perhaps it had to Danny too. A lorry was laboring along the street as Stuart came abreast of the mark. As the shadow of the lorry crept over the wall he saw how the illusion had worked, for now the mark appeared to be a number on an open door. Not only that: the door seemed to open on a staircase that led up to another door, which was opening. He could even see the figure that was opening it, if he let his imagination loose, but of course none of that was there; he knew it was only a blank wall without turning his head to look. All the same, he felt easier once he was out of the court, for sharing Danny’s illusion had made him wonder momentarily about his own mind. He shook off that doubt and headed toward Oxford Street looking for a taxi. The sooner he was in Norfolk and talking to Guilda, the happier he would be.

52

A
KNOCK
at the door woke Freda, who struggled out
of
bed at once. It must be time to go to Joyce’s. She’d wanted to be ready but had overslept instead. She stumbled to the door and called “just a minute” as she grabbed the dress ing gown Doreen had lent her. She was tying the cord when she heard the rattle and thump of the breakfast tray as it was set down on the landing.

She stepped back instinctively, shivering to think that she had almost opened the door. So they weren’t letting her go downstairs for breakfast now. She waited until the soft footsteps were well on their way down before she took in the tray. She was tempted to go to the stairs and see who had brought it, but it wasn’t only the thought of seeing that daunted her, it was the idea of watching the head bob down, and down, and down… . She lifted the tray shakily and kicked the door shut behind her.

She ate quickly, though there was so much of it. and put the tray out at once for fear that if she kept it in her room the owner of the soft footsteps would come in for it. How could she be frightened of anything so banal? But it was the banality that frightened her, the way Sage’s creatures were becoming part of the everyday life of the house. Thank God she had Sage’s promise that she was going to Joyce’s. Once she was out of the house she would be able to think what to do.

She washed and dressed, and then she waited. It seemed for hours but there was no way of telling; her watch had stopped days ago, the little gold watch Timothy had given her, which had kept time ever since. It must be late morning, to judge by the light through the curtains. A few specks of dust caught fire in the beam of sunlight that slipped through the crack between, the curtains, and she felt as if everything were as slow as the dust was moving.

She waited. The bar of sunlight thinned, went out. All at once her room seemed much darker and colder. They were going to leave her up here, they weren’t going to take her to Joyce. This was certainly not first thing in the morning. Sage must have deduced her plan after all.

She went to the curtains in case she was wrong about the time of day. Perhaps the sun had only gone behind a cloud. She peered through the crack, then she turned away, shaking. She couldn’t even see the sky now, the walls and their ranks of cramped windows had grown so high.

She mustn’t think that. She was making the walls more real—that was a vital insight. The sun had been shining into her room, after all; she must believe it had, believe the walls weren’t real enough to block it out. She could believe that when she kept her back to the window, though the effort of believing made her shake.

Perhaps it was her fear of the multiplying floors that made them real, too. None of this might have made sense to her if she had thought about it, but her mind was so tired that it did. Couldn’t she go down if she suppressed her fear, hurry down to the front door and out of the house? She was growing sure that nobody would come to take her down.

She snatched her overcoat from the hanger in the wardrobe and stuffed her fists into the sleeves as she hurried to the stairwell. She closed her eyes while she told herself that there would be no more flights than there ought to be, and then she looked. There didn’t seem to be as many as last night, there mustn’t be. She started down at once.

The smell of newness came to meet her, and so did the silence. Now she was descending a flight that oughtn’t to exist, and her footsteps might have been the only sound in the world. Though they and their echoes were intensely clear, they seemed tiny as a small child’s, and as halting. How could she not believe in the stairs on which she was walking? She heard her footsteps echoing through all that silence, losing’ themselves among the empty rooms, and now she dared not look into the stairwell. She could walk forever, she would never get out of the house by herself. “Doreen,” she cried, and fled upstairs while her legs could still carry her.

She heard her voice dwindling through the floors as she called again from the landing outside her room. Could Doreen hear her all the way up here? Suppose someone else could, someone nearer? Suppose not all the new rooms were still empty? She listened to the silence down there, then slammed her door and held it shut. It was a long time before she felt able to move away and sit on the chair by the bed.

She was praying that her heartbeat would slow down and let her hear if anyone was on the stairs, when Doreen came in. “Put on the fire for heaven’s sake, Freddy,” she cried when she saw Freda in her overcoat. “Did you think we’d forgotten you?”

Freda heaved herself to her feet. “I didn’t know what to think.”

“You poor thing, have you been sitting up here all by yourself worrying about your friend Joyce? Well, you can stop worrying. Come on, I’ll take you down.”

They meant to let her go after all. She’d had too much time to brood, to invent reasons to be suspicious and fearful. She took Doreen’s arm as they made for the stairs. “You won’t need your coat,” Doreen said.

Surely the weather hadn’t changed that much. “I’ll keep it on for now.”

“Are you sure you feel up to this, Freddy?”

“I’m fine. Just a bit exhausted.” Freda was suddenly afraid that Doreen’s concern would rob her of her last chance to escape. She hurried them both to the stairs, went down blindly, clinging to Doreen’s arm, and they seemed to be downstairs far sooner than she feared. She made to wait by the front door as Doreen headed for the parlor, until Doreen turned back to her. “Come on, Freddy,” she said.

Freda wished she could stay by the front door, but she mustn’t behave suspiciously now. Doreen must want to tell Sage they were going to Joyce’s, and Freda had only to say good-bye innocently to him. She followed Doreen into the hot, cluttered, stuffy room.

At least, she followed as far as the doorway, where she found that she couldn’t go in. Sage and Rosie were in there, but so was someone else; she could see a hand resting on the arm of the chair that stood with its back to her. The thought of seeing one of Sage’s creatures accepted as just another guest was more than she could bear She backed away but her legs were so shaky that Doreen caught her before she had taken two steps. “Lean on me Freddy, you’ll be all right,” Doreen promised, and the woman in the chair stood up and turned round. It was Joyce.

She looked nervous but determined to keep smiling “Freda, how are you? I’m sorry I was so curt on the phone. I couldn’t talk to anyone just then, you understand But thank you for changing my mind. Thank you for sending—” She glanced at Sage, a little uneasily. “Thank you for sending this gentleman to me.”

So that was what Sage had meant by a visit. He’d known all along what Freda planned. She tried to struggle free of Doreen’s ushering, but Doreen went on leading her to a chair and sitting her down—seemed not even to notice her reluctance. “What did he tell you, Joyce?” Freda said desperately.

“He didn’t tell me, he showed me.” Joyce’s eyes brightened, too intensely. “The morgue say they’ve got Geoffrey but
they
can’t show me. I know which I believe.”

Sage and Doreen and Rosie were watching, and Freda felt as if they were stealing her breath. “I want to talk to Joyce by herself.”

“Of course.” Sage beckoned the women out with him “Now she is here you may talk to her all you wish.”

As soon as the door closed, she leaned forward to whisper. “Joyce, what do you think is going on here?”

Joyce was unbuttoning her cardigan and mopping her forehead. “Really, Freda, I think you should know more about that than I do.”

“You’re right. I’ve seen how it works. I started out feeling as you must be feeling now, but I’ve seen too much of it. It isn’t real, Joyce. I don’t know what it is, but it isn’t real.”

“Oh, Freda, don’t say that. They told me you were depressed. I know you must have doubts sometimes, we all do, but try and buck up. Just think of Doreen and her friend. You brought their loved ones back when they thought they had lost them forever. If that isn’t real, you tell me what is.”

So Doreen and Rosie were openly discussing their companions now. “Have you seen them?”

“Not yet.” She gave Freda a long pleading look. “You know who I want to see.”

Freda couldn’t break through her faith. “Are you too hot, Joyce?” she said with sudden desperate cunning, and prayed that the idea hadn’t occurred to her too late. “Let’s go for a walk. Just down to the canal. That’ll cheer me up if anything does.”

“Better not just now, dear. They said you need to rest.”

“I need to go out. I haven’t been out for days.” Freda struggled to keep her voice neutral. “I know what I need, Joyce—fresh air. Come on and then we can talk.”

“All right.” Joyce lifted her coat from the back of a chair. “I don’t suppose a short walk can hurt. I’ll just tell him we’re going.”

“No, don’t do that, don’t disturb him.” Freda swallowed her panic. “Good heavens, Joyce, I don’t have to ask permission to go for a walk.”

“Of course you don’t.” But she laid her coat over the chair. “I’d just feel easier if they know where we are, just in case you’re taken ill. I won’t be a moment.”

“Wait, Joyce, listen to me,” Freda whispered. “Never mind the walk. We wouldn’t have got far, they wouldn’t have let me. Do something for me, I’m begging you. They can’t stop you, they won’t dare. Go straight to the police and tell them I’m being kept here against my will. They’ll have to come. Do it for me, for pity’s sake.”

Joyce gazed at her until Freda’s head began to swim with the breath she was holding. Joyce was biting her lip and looked near to tears. At last she said, “Oh, you poor thing, you
do
need rest. Never mind me. I can wait until you’re fit again.”

Freda let out her breath, which sounded more like a scream. Joyce was making for the hall, and Freda’s cry sent her running. Freda listened to her murmuring to the others, murmuring with a concern that was more stifling than the room, then suddenly she was on her feet and tiptoeing quickly to the door. Her legs were trembling, but if she didn’t do it now, she never would.

Sage and the women were by the stairs talking about her. With all the force of her painfully held breath, she willed them not to turn as she dodged stealthily into the hall and ran toward the front door. But Harry and another man were in her way, their faces too pink, their eyes and wide smiles unnaturally bright and fixed. They would have looked unreal as window dummies, except that they stretched out their hands to her. She staggered, making a sound too outraged to be a scream.

The women gathered around her at once, murmuring, “Come on, dear, come and sit down,” while Sage looked patient and untroubled. All of them seemed to take the presence of the men for granted. Freda wrenched herself out of the women’s hands and stumbled up the stairs. “I won’t do it!” she cried. “You won’t make me, now or ever. I’ll die first. I’ll starve myself.” With that she dragged herself upstairs.