Emma did not seem especially surprised to see him. She said, 'Oh it's you, Randall, good, and shuffled back to the drawing-room, leaving a trail of Gauloise smoke behind her.

Randall followed. Without Lindsay the room was empty, weird and he read as if for the first time that he had never seen Emma without Lindsay. He had never seen Emma alone.

He laid the roses down on the little table with a gesture of donation. Emma had sat down in her usual chair and was regarding him with a lively yet sombre expression. She said, 'How very sweet of you, my dear. And how especially sweet of you to pity my abandoned state. Would you like some whisky? With my gaiety girl away I haven't had the heart for tea.

Randall was penetrated again by a demoralizing sense of pity. He wondered whether he should drink her whisky or not. He decided that a murderer need not boggle at an error of taste, and set out two glasses. He thought, does she realize that it's the end?

Emma went on chattily, 'I'm a dreadful old malade imaginaire, but I do feel really helpless without someone to look after me. I've been spoilt, of course.

Randall poured out the whisky and brought it to her. As she was just taking another cigarette he produced his lighter and offered her the flame. Their hands touched, and he felt her eyes upon him, dark and inquisitive. Seeing her without Lindsay was somehow obscene, it was seeing her as bare and terrible: pitiable too but terrible. And he thought, she has brought me here, she has drawn me here, witch-like, out of London, it is she who has summoned me.

Emma was watching him. Her frizzy hair had a tangled unkempt appearance as if she were becoming already a neglected old woman. Her skirt was covered with cigarette ash, and an overflowing ash-tray strewed cigarette ends at her feet. But her ferret nose pointed at Randall like a dagger and her mouth narrowed slowly with an irony and humour which were a menacing prelude to a smile.

'I had such a charming postcard this morning, from her I mean, Emma continued. But she uttered the words absently, as one whose attention is elsewhere.

Randall sat staring at her. He had just realized that he had not spoken since he arrived when Emma said, 'Well, Randall, has the cat got your tongue?

Randall had intended to say to her at once: Lindsay is mine. But he found now that he had no words ready with which to make the disclosure. What had happened was not so easily named. He stammered a moment, and then said thickly, 'I had a postcard too. This was pathetic.

Emma, who had been leaning forward to study him, relaxed back in her chair, and said, 'Perhaps you'd put those flowers in water that you so kindly brought. It makes me nervous to see flowers out of water. Doesn't it you?

Randall got up quickly, seized the flowers and went into the kitchen. He sat down on a chair and covered his face. He decided that he was still drunk. It could not be just the effect of Emma, this tongue-tied state of confusion. His recent exercises in violence had evidently not trained him in the technique of destruction required on this occasion. He drank a lot of water and looked at his face in the mirror. He looked stupid. He found a vase and filled it and jammed the roses in. The miserable things were dying already. They were never intended to be more than buds. They probably had no insides. Then he saw Lindsay's coat hanging behind the door.

This gave him a dreadful shock. He stared at it, guessing at meanings before his mind could formulate them. Would Lindsay have gone away without her coat? Yet he had a postcard. But had she really gone away? In this warm weather she might have gone away without her coat, she might have taken her light mackintosh. Then the nightmarish idea occurred to him that Lindsay was somewhere in the flat, hiding. She was somewhere in the flat, waiting to be produced gaily by Emma, like a girl whom an enchanter has changed into a doll. Or waiting, not to be produced. He put the flowers down.

He emerged into the hall and looked about him. The drawing room was closed. He looked quickly into the dining-room, and then cautiously opened the door of Lindsay's bedroom. The room was empty. But there was a clock ticking, and with it a sense of presence. Randall shivered and retreated. He took two paces to Emma's bedroom door and opened it. The big fatal room with the red expanse of the double bed and the ltalian light was quiet as before. There was no Lindsay, no angel poised in the corner. He was taking in its attentive emptiness when he realized that Emma was watching him from the' open door of the drawing-room.

Randall returned Emma's look, closed the door, and went to fetch the roses. When he came back to the drawing-room she was settled again in her chair.

'She isn't here, you know, said Emma softly.

Randall could hardly bear it, that she should have witnessed his doubt. He felt at last a blind rage coming to his aid. He said clumsily, Of course I know!

'Then why were you looking into my bedroom?

'Look, Emma, said Randall. 'I've come to say that it's the end for you and Lindsay, I'm taking Lindsay away with me. He was not quite conscious of the words he used and wondered afterwards if he had really composed a sentence.

'Yes? said Emma, as if expecting more.

Had he made sense? He began to say it again 'I've come to say — but Emma interrupted him. 'But-didn't Lindsay tell you?

'Tell me what? said Randall, spluttering. 'About our agreement.

'What agreement?

'About you.

'Good Christ! said Randall. He got up and stood by his chair. He felt baffled and at bay and vaguely conscious that his scene was being taken from him. He said, 'There can't be any agreement. I mean, it's Lindsay and I who arrange things now, not Lindsay and you. That's certain.

Emma looked at him coolly. 'You don't seem very certain of anything Just now. But don't worry, Randall. It'll be all right.

'You're telling me not to worry? His voice rose.

'You see, when I saw how things were at Grayhallock —“

'What has that got to do with it? God, it you mean you went there to make a survey of my marriage —

'Oh, I wouldn't put it like that, said Emma cosily. 'Now do sit down dear boy, and stop making me nervous. You haven't touched your drink.

Randall stood before her open-mouthed. He thought, this woman has talked to Ann, has talked to Ann about me. She has been all over Grayhallock leaving her snail's traces. She has even got hold of Ann, she has stolen even Grayhallock from me. He said half shouting 'Look, what are you saying? Are you mad or what?

' Never mind, Randall, said Emma, 'and please don't shout. Never mind. One must not play the god in other people's destiny. In any case, one can never do it properly. She spoke in a tone of rather casual disappointment.

'Emma, said Randall, pulling the chair back and banging its two front feet on the ground, 'don't pretend that it's you who have done this. It is I who have done it.

'Yes, yes, said Emma soothingly. 'Don't let's quarrel about it, anyway. Do sit down, my child, and stop being unpleasant to me and spoiling the afternoon.

Randall felt frantic. There was something of whicht he must convince her, of which he must convince himself. There was something which he must not in these moments let her forever steal. He said, 'You're going to lose your, gaiety girl. You won't like that!

Emma just murmured, 'Why, Randall, Randall, I believe you re drunk! Whatever will Lindsay think when I tell her? .

Randall lifted his glass and for a moment intended to hurl it on the ground. The word. agreement' flashed luridly before him like a neon sign. Then he put the glass down with a crash and turned and ran out of the door. He ran out of the flat and into the road and didn't stop running until he reached the corner.

He walked on breathless and found that he was talking to himself aloud and cursing. He was still unsure what had happened, but he knew that he had been defeated. Emma had made it appear that even this had been decided, had been arranged, by her and Lindsay. Even here he was excluded, even here his action was stolen from him. He knew of course that it was only an appearance, a cheap magician's trick. It was not really so. Or was it? How deftly, how cleverly, had not Emma sowed the seeds of doubt in his mind! He would never understand, he would never know the truth, he would never be at peace.