Chapter FIFTEEN

I

After Alan's phone call, Sandra packed Brian off to the Lifeboys and Tracy to the Guides. They hadn't been interested in such organizations back in London, but since they'd started school in Eastvale and discovered that many of the other children were members, they decided it would be a good way to make friends. Tracy was still quite happy with it, but Brian was already chafing at the bit. He complained that he didn't like drill, and that he liked the leader, who spat as he shouted, even less. Sandra, having been a loner as a child, thought the whole network of Scouts, Cubs, Brownies and the rest rather silly, but she would never say anything about that in front of the children.

When they had finally gone, she took a deep breath and looked around the living room, wondering what to do first. Though she managed to be a fairly efficient housewife, she wasn't an obsessive cleaner. Alan also helped out on the weekends, taking on jobs she didn't like, such as Hoovering the staircase and cleaning the bathroom.

It was seven o'clock. She didn't know when Alan would be back; he'd said he was questioning a suspect. Sandra was trying to decide between doing some darkroom work or settling down with the biography of Alfred Hitchcock she had taken out of Eastvale Library that morning, when there was a knock at the door.

Puzzled, she went to answer it, expecting perhaps Selena Harcourt wanting to borrow a cup of sugar. But it was Robin Allott from the Camera Club.

"You told us you were willing to lend out your slide projector, remember?" he said, standing in the doorway.

"Oh, of course, Robin," Sandra said. "I'm so sorry, it slipped my mind. I must have looked quite unwelcoming for a moment. Please come in."

"I hope I've not called at an inconvenient time."

"Not at all. I've just sent the children off and I was wondering what to do."

"Yes, I saw them," Robin said, smiling. "Lifeboys and Guides. It reminds me of my own childhood."

He wiped his feet carefully on the doormat and Sandra hung up his navy-blue raincoat in the hall closet, then directed him into the front room, which he admired politely. He unslung his old, heavy Pentax from his shoulder and put it on the table by the front window.

"Silly habit," he said. "But I always carry it with me. You never know."

Sandra laughed. "That's the sign of a true professional. Do sit down, Robin. Can I get you a drink?"

"Yes, please, if it's no trouble."

"None at all. Gin or scotch? I'm afraid that's all we've got."

"Quite all right. Scotch'll do fine."

"Water? Ice?"

"No, just as it comes, for me, please."

Sandra poured his drink, mixed herself a gin and slimline tonic, then sat in the armchair opposite him. He seemed more shy than he usually did in The Mile Post, as if he was embarrassed to be alone with her in the house, so Sandra broke the ice and asked him if he'd done anything interesting over the weekend.

Robin shook his head. "Not really. I did take a ride to the coast on Sunday, but it clouded over there, so I couldn't get any good shots."

"What about the evenings?" Sandra asked. "Don't you go to clubs or concerts?"

"No, I don't do much of that. Oh. I drop in at the local for the odd jar, but that's about all."

"That's not much of a social life, is it? What about girlfriends? Surely there must be someone?"

"Not really," Robin answered, looking down into his drink. "Since my divorce I've been, well, a bit of a hermit, really. It wouldn't feel right going out with anybody else so soon."

"It's not as if you're a widower, you know," Sandra argued. "When you get divorced it's all right to go out and have fun if you feel like it. Was it mutual?"

Robin nodded hastily, and Sandra sensed that he felt uncomfortable with the subject. "Anyway," she said, "you'll get over it. Don't worry. I'll just nip upstairs and fetch the projector."

"Would you like me to help?" Robin offered awkwardly. "I mean, it must be heavy."

"No, not at all," Sandra said, waving him back onto the sofa. "They're all made of light plastic these days."

Robin was gazing at the books on the shelves by the fireplace when Sandra came back down with the slide projector.

"Here it is," she said. "It's easy to work. Do you know how?"

"I'm not sure," Robin said. "Outside of cameras I'm not very mechanically minded. Look," he went on, "I've got those slides back, the ones I took at the Camera Club. Would you like to see them? You can show me how to set up the machine."

"Why not?"

Sandra set up the projector on the table at the far end of the room and fetched the screen from upstairs. She then drew the curtains and placed it in front of the window. Finally, she showed Robin how to switch on the power and fit the slides he gave her into the circular tray.

"It's automatic," she explained. "Once you've got it all set up you just press this button when you want to move onto the next slide. Or this one if you want to go back. And this is how you focus." She showed him the controls.

Robin nodded. "Excuse me," he said. "I think I would like some ice and water with my whiskey after all."

Sandra moved forward to take his glass.

"No, it's all right," he said. "I can get it myself. You set up the show." And he went into the kitchen.

Sandra adjusted the height of the projector and turned off the light. Robin came back with his whiskey as the first slide zoomed into focus.

It really was quite remarkable. The model was sitting with her legs tucked under her, gazing away from the camera. The lines drew the eye right into the composition and Robin had obviously used one of the 81-series filters to bring out the warm flesh tones. What was especially odd about the whole thing was that the model didn't seem to be posing; she looked as if she were staring into space thinking of a distant memory.

"It's excellent," Sandra remarked over the hum of the projector. "I really didn't think a modelling session like that would work out well on slides, but it's really amazing. Beautiful."

She heard the ice tinkling in Robin's glass. "Thank you," he said in a far-off voice. "Yes, they did work out well. She's not as beautiful as you, though."

Something in the way he said it sent a shiver of fear up Sandra's spine, and she froze for a moment before turning slowly to look at him. It was too dark to see anything except his silhouette, but in the light that escaped from the edges of the lens, she could see the sharp blade of one of her kitchen knives glinting.

Robin was on his feet, quite close to her. She could hear him breathing quickly. She backed away and found herself between the projector and the screen. The projection of the nude model distorted as it wrapped around her figure like an avant-garde dress design, and she froze again as a transformed Robin moved closer.