Not the least significant of these was the certainty that she was being watched.
She glimpsed him twice, once reflected in a shop window, and the second, confirming time when she suddenly turned in mid-stride and retraced her steps and saw him plunge into a shop doorway.
He was youngish, balding slightly, with a blond moustache. After that she did not see him again. Her previous indifference to her surroundings must have made him careless till he learnt his lesson.
But she knew he was still there.
She told Janet about him at their next Wednesday meeting, and immediately wished she hadnt.
You dont believe me! she said.
Yes, of course I do, girl. I mean, I believe you believe you. But listen, in your state youll get ideas I mean, well, take me, good old solid-state-nerve-circuit me. After Alans death, the police asked a lot of questions and some guys from his department came round and I began to feel pretty persecuted I tell you! So I went down there and gave them a row. Christ, they must have wondered what had hit them! Anyway, I must have got a lot of tension out of my system cos I went away feeling really good. Only thing was, as time went by, I stopped feeling good and started feeling really stupid! Now the very memory of it makes me blush. What I mean is, if insensitive old me can get neurotic
Then its not surprising that little me whos halfway there to start with should be positively paranoiac, is that what you mean?
Janet was taken aback by the vehemence of the response.
No, Im sorry, girl, thats not what I mean
Trudi, suddenly enjoying her insurgency, said briskly, By the way, I may have got a job.
What?
Mr Ashburton rang this morning. Despite what you said about him, hes really been most helpful. He wants to see me. Something about the case. But he also said he had a client who might be able to use a typist with good linguistic skills.
Well done, girl. But you be careful. Dont be taken advantage of. Top rates, luncheon vouchers, ask for the lot.
Janet was seeking to re-establish her ascendancy and Trudi found she didnt mind too much. Like many a colonial state in the past, she suspected she was in danger of making emotional demands for an independence she did not yet have the resources to support.
Well see, she said, gathering her things together.
Hold on, girl. Its early yet! protested Janet in alarm. Ill give you a lift home, shall I?
Trudi laughed and said, Im not walking out in a huff, Jan. Its just that Ive got this appointment with Mr Ashburton, remember? Ill tell you all about it next week.
She rose and left swiftly. Her appointment was not in fact for another hour, but she felt an irresistible urge to get out of the restaurant and be by herself.
As she left, she had a sense of eyes focused upon her. She didnt think they were just Janets.
3
First the bad news, said Mr Ashburton. Harold Brightshaw is dead.
Who?
Mr Brightshaw of Six Mile Farm, Grindleford, the witness in the accident case. I told you he had a stroke shortly afterwards. He never recovered, poor chap.
Im sorry. Does it make a difference? asked Trudi.
Oh yes. He made a statement but now he cant be cross-questioned on it. Its my information that the police will be charging the tanker driver with one of the lesser offences, driving without due care and attention perhaps. That wont help us, even if hes found guilty.
Even if? exclaimed Trudi. Surely theres no defence!
Theres always a defence, said Ashburton drily. Mud on the road left by Mr Brightshaws tractor a hint there that Mr Brightshaws statement might be a little biased. And theyll use the post-mortem findings too, Ive no doubt.
What findings? And I thought that the fire
She didnt finish.
Ashburton said gently, Yes, I know. Beyond recognition; but an internal examination was still possible. Would you like some more coffee, Mrs Adamson?
No thanks. Go on, said Trudi.
Two things then. There was a fairly high alcohol level in the blood stream, just about on the legal limit. And there were present in the coronary arteries, let me see, atheromas, lesions in the arterial wall. In a phrase, coronary arteriosclerosis which eventually could lead to your husband having a heart attack.
But Trent died of his injuries, not a heart attack! protested Trudi indignantly.
No one will contest that. What the defence will be looking for is some way of suggesting that there was contributory negligence on your husbands part. If for instance a sudden spasm of pain caused him to stop unexpectedly or a sudden dizziness, say, leaving his car not parked safely on the verge, but slewed across the road
Because he was drunk, you mean, or sick? I never saw Trent drunk in his life! As for being ill, he was always in the best of health. Surely Mr Brightshaws statement doesnt say his car was slewed across the road?
No, but it doesnt say it wasnt.
But the truck driver
Hitherto I gather his memory of things has been vague. It would not surprise me, however, if now it began to sharpen up, said Mr Ashburton. I fear that our hopes of a good out-of-court settlement are fading, Mrs Adamson. Im sorry.
Its not right, Mr Ashburton, said Trudi angrily. Its not just the money, though I could do with it, but its just not right that people should be able to get away with this sort of thing. What can we do to stop them?
Not much, Im afraid. Evidence of your husbands excellent state of health could be useful. Perhaps his last doctor could help there. Why dont you contact him and get a certificate of some kind? Now, on a happier note, as I told you on the phone, one of my clients, Mr Stanley Usher, a man of many interests, mentioned to me the other day that hed taken over a small export business and felt in need of some bilingual secretarial help. I mentioned your name to him. It would be part-time and it wouldnt make your fortune, but if youre interested
Yes, I am, said Trudi firmly.
Good. Heres the address. Mr Usher will be there now. Its just a short walk. Down past the cathedral, turn left down the hill, then left again and there you are.
He handed Trudi a business card. On it was printed in bright red letters CLASS-GLASS with the address underneath in blue and Stanley Usher: Director at the bottom in a flowing black script.
The building she arrived at was under multi-commercial occupancy. Class-Glass was on the first floor. She knocked at the door. A voice called, Enter. She turned the handle, stepped inside and stopped dead.
It was like being in a funfair Hall of Mirrors except that here there was no distortion. There was however a fragmentation almost as disturbing from the mirrors which covered every inch of the walls. They came in all shapes and sizes and they all had pictures and words printed on them, some advertising old drinks which had disappeared years ago, others referring to new and up-to-date products.
Mrs Adamson? Come in, have a seat. Dont worry, youll soon get used to the mirrors, unless you hate the sight of yourself!
Mrs Adamson? Come in, have a seat. Dont worry, youll soon get used to the mirrors, unless you hate the sight of yourself!
Stanley Usher was a tall dark man with a spare lean frame and a rather cadaverous face. She put his age at about forty. He was expensively suited in traditional charcoal-grey worsted and the only touch of colour about him came from the two rings he wore on his left hand, one a ruby, the other an emerald. His voice had a slight under-accent which might have been Australian.
Trudi sat on a hard office chair on one side of a typists desk which carried a gleaming new electronic typewriter, the sight of which filled her with dismay. She was definitely pre-microchip. Usher sat on the typists swivel chair opposite her. The only other furniture in the room was a filing cabinet.
Let me explain the set-up, Mrs Adamson, said Usher. This job might be owt or nowt, as they say in these parts. Probably the latter. These are hard times. Little businesses are going down like ninepins. What I do is buy them as they tumble, and their prices tumble too, of course! Then I use my own cash and know-how to see if anything can be retrieved from the wreck. If it cant, tough. I usually make as much as I put in. You follow me?
I think so, said Trudi.
Great. Class-Glass exports mirrors, these kind of mirrors, ornamental advertising. Only it didnt. Export many, I mean. So it failed, I bought it. Now Im using my know-how and continental contacts to see if theres any life in the corpse, right? What I need is someone who can deal with the mail, in and out. Ive got a smattering of Frog and I can buy a drink in Kraut, but thats it. So what I want is this. You come in on Mondays and Thursdays. Open the mail. Translate it. Deal with anything you can deal with. Leave a note and translation with anything you cant. Ill be in from time to time. Youll find letters from me to be translated into the appropriate language, typed, dispatched. OK?
OK. But
Lets say forty pounds for the two days, see how we go from there? Ill get Ashburton to deal with the payment and any paperwork. Lets see how we go, then even if this folds, there may be something else. Right! Now, let me show you round, not that theres much to show except for these bloody mirrors!
And what did he show you? enquired Janet. Trudi, feeling she had been rather rough on her friend, and also having a favour to ask, had phoned her that same evening.
Nothing much. Theres a tiny washroom. A storeroom full of all kinds of mirrors. A filing cabinet, almost empty. And that damned typewriter. I noticed an instruction book in the desk drawer, thank God. Ill need to spend my first couple of days learning how it works!
Youll cope, Im sure, said Janet.
For the first time, a certain strain in her friends voice registered with Trudi.
Jan, are you OK? I mean, youre not still annoyed about lunch time?
Of course not. No, youre the one entitled to be annoyed. I know Im too pushy sometimes. No, the thing is, when I got home this afternoon, I found the house had been broken into.
Oh Janet! How awful.
Well, Im trying not to make too big a thing of it; I mean, the place was a bit untidy, but he wasnt one of the dirty ones, thank God. Doesnt seem to have taken anything either, the police reckon he was looking for money. But even so, it shakes you up a bit.
I bet it does. And me rabbiting on about my job. Im sorry.
No. Thats really good news, that cheers me up a lot. I look forward to hearing about your new exciting commercial life next Wednesday.
Yes. Oh by the way, I wondered, well, would you mind going for a drive next week? Down into Derbyshire? I thought we could have a bar lunch, my treat.
Why, yes, of course, said Janet, slightly puzzled. That would be nice.
Lovely. See you next Wednesday then.
The following Wednesday was a bright but chilly December day. Janet picked her up at midday and by one oclock they were tucking into a substantial bar lunch in the small village of Grindleford.
I hope youre not planning an afternoons hiking, said Janet, refilling their glasses from the bottle of hock Trudi had insisted on buying.
No, she assured her.
Good. Now tell me about the House of Usher!
There wasnt much to tell.
I spent my first day, last Thursday that was, working out that damned typewriter. On Monday, Usher showed up. There were a few letters to translate and type. And that was it. Fortunately Id taken a good book along.
And Usher? Did he pounce?
No! He bought me a drink at lunch time though.
Aha! said Janet gleefully. You want to watch him!
I dont think hes interested in me like that, said Trudi slowly.
What other way is there? mocked Janet.
Trudi smiled but didnt answer. This time she didnt need her friend to suggest that she was being neurotic.
After lunch, Trudi surprised Jan by taking charge of navigation, using an os map. Janet followed, with puzzlement which might eventually become protest, the uncertain route laid out for her along a skein of narrow roads, many unclassified. The sun was still bright, but low now in the winter sky, sending long shadows from leafless trees.
Suddenly Trudi said, Stop here!
Janet brought the car to a halt and Trudi was out of it before she could speak. They were on a straight and undulating stretch of narrow road running between thick hedgerows of hawthorn and blackthorn, alongside which marched a spindly line of telegraph poles. About a hundred yards ahead one of the poles looked newer than the rest and there was a long gap in the hedge, repaired with stakes and wire. Beyond the hedge to the left was a ploughed field rising diagonally with the swell of the ground, like the birth of a wave caught with an artists brush.
Trudi walked along the road a little way till she came to an old wooden gate, badly in need of repair, set between two pillars of rough-hewn stone which looked as if they could have been raised there by Druids. She pushed back the gate far enough to let her through and set off across the field, following the rising diagonal.
From time to time she stopped and looked back. The first time she could not see Janets car at all. The second time she could see the line of its roof and Janets face regarding her with what she guessed was bewilderment. And on her third stop, high up the field, she could see the car and also the long line of the road where it continued its arrow-straight run on the far side of the ridge to another distant crest.
A truck coming down there would be able to reach a tremendous speed, she told herself. Downhill, an empty road ahead, foot on the accelerator, and then the exhilaration of the sudden upward swoop apparently into nothingness over the brow of the ridge on which she stood.
And immediately, panic! No longer an empty road but not very far ahead a stationary car leaving only a narrow passage. The foot instinctively hitting the brake pedal, the wheels locking, the tyres starting to skid across the gleaming muddy surface, and suddenly the steering wheel as useless as a broken rudder in a storm-tossed sea.
She looked up to the sky. It was a mistake, the world began to reel, she felt herself in danger of being shaken off into that cold blue emptiness and her atoms, each one printed with her terror and loss, scattered forever through the universe. She closed her eyes and dug her nails deep into her palms till the earth stood still. Then she turned and walked back down to the car. Janets face was full of questions, but when Trudi got in and said, Lets carry on. Over the hill there should be a track to the left, she obeyed silently.