God! And truly, what a woman! Then coffee, by all means coffee!” He followed her as she put on one or two table lights, making it brighter but not too bright, and went through the hall to the kitchen recess. She switched on a percolator and then took biscuits from tins – shortbreads from one, chocolate biscuits from another, plain from the third. The coffee pot began to burble and burp, Philip continued to look at her while leaning against the back of a chair. She was discovering that he had a habit of leaning back and hugging his right knee. In this brighter light from a strip of ‘daylight’ fluorescence, and at this angle, he was much better looking than she had realised. He had done something to his hair, ruffled it a little, and it softened his well-cut, rather severe features. His well-shaped lips were much more expressive than she had ever noticed at the office. The expression at both eyes and lips implied a sense of merriment, as if the situation amused him; and perhaps her attitude did, too.
She had never really fitted the permissive, bed-hopping society, and to a man of the world she might seem far too shy; or coy; or timid. He did not come close to her again and she wished he would, how contrary could one be? When the coffee was ready she carried the tray and he brought a plate of biscuits, and placed them next to the tray. They talked lightly and pleasantly enough but something of the sparkle had gone; perhaps because he had taken ‘no’ so quickly. He seemed to relish the shortbreads more than the other kinds, and she went to get some more.
When she came back, he wasn’t there.
Her heart gave a wild lurch, and she opened her lips to cry out – and on the instant he was behind her but this time his hand was on her lips, pressing firmly, hurting a little. And his lips were close to her ear, whispering. “Don’t make a sound until I tell you.” He drew his hand away, but stood very close to her, then he took her wrist and led her to one side of the room and into the bedroom. There he made a loud kissing sound, and, leaving her, sat on the bed and slowly climbed over to the other side.
“Wonderful,” he said. And a moment later: “Oh, darling, why did we wait so long.” Then he was on the other side of the bed and tiptoeing to the window, beckoning her. Bewildered, even angry, she nevertheless went to him, and he took her hand and pointed towards the far end of the lawns.
There was a man, creeping from one set of bushes to another. Now and again he turned round and looked behind him, obviously in fear of being followed. Suddenly, he straightened up and ran towards this block of flats, and his face showed clearly in the lamplight.
It was Paul Taylor; and he looked terrified.
He was crouching as he ran, as if afraid of being seen, and was looking towards this window as if in despairing hope of succour. He was only forty or fifty yards away, his mouth wide open, the light making his eyes seem dark and bright. At thirty yards he straightened up as if emboldened, and slowed down to a walk.
As he did so, men appeared at the sides.
He saw them, and reared up; and then he spun round and began to run at full pelt back whence he had come. But other men appeared from there and from the sides and quite suddenly he was surrounded. He began to shout and fight, and then all the men began to strike him, with short, stubby sticks held in their right hands. Slowly, he sank down in the midst of them but the men still struck and struck, until he disappeared.
Janey felt Philip’s arm about her.
She was cold with horror at what she had seen; and quivering. His arm comforted her. She began to form the words: “It’s horrible,” but his hand closed over her lips again and he whispered: “Don’t make a sound.” She continued to shiver. She did not want to watch but there was a mesmeric fascination about the group of men who drew back now; six, in all. Two moved forward as if at a word of command, and