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David leaned over and put his fingers gently on either side of her face. “Believe there are reasons, Sarah. Reasons for everything.”

  She turned her head convulsively and the warm soft skin of her cheek pressed upon his hand.

  “Will you?” said David.

  “If I could …” said Sarah. “If I could …” But she was quieted.

  Somebody tapped on the door and, without waiting, opened it.

  “My dear Sarah,” said Grandfather. “Ah, David. How is she, my little girl?”

  Chapter 8

  David choked off anger and disappointment. He smiled at Sarah and gently he took his hands away. “Sarah is fine,” he said encouragingly.

  “Not too upset?” purred Grandfather, advancing in his spry step. “They tell me you were not hurt too badly, dearie. Is it true?”

  “Not too badly, Grandfather.” Sarah swallowed all her agitation. For this old man she could exercise control.

  “There now.” Grandfather sat down upon the edge of the bed. “Such big bandages,” said he. “Edgar says your arms will soon heal, soon heal.”

  “I’m sure they will, Grandfather.” The tears dried on Sarah’s face but she couldn’t see very well through the blur they’d made of her glasses. Behind the old man’s back, David wandered in the room. Grandfather’s cooing voice went on and the girl seemed to have crept within some shelter where she was calm. David was not calm. He was suspicious. Just as he might have been able to talk to her, along came the old man. He heard her say, as she seemed always to be saying, “You are so good, Grandfather.” He wanted to make faces, and motion to her behind the old man’s back. But she did not look his way. She couldn’t see. And how could he, with only gestures, break into the place where she felt safe, to tell her that this old man, who was to her a refuge, might be her enemy?

  But there was Edgar at the door, with Mrs. Monteeth again.

  “Too many people,” Edgar said. “Entirely too much company.” His little eyes hunted on David’s face. “I want the patient quiet. With only the nurse, please. She must not talk anymore.”

  Grandfather said childingly, “Now, I can comfort this child, Edgar. You know that.” The old man peered around. “You don’t want David? Eh, Sarah?”

  “No,” she said. “No.”

  Fox said petulantly, “Then he should go.”

  Edgar warned, “No scene. His heart …” Edgar’s hand pulled steadily.

  “So long,” said David. He kept anger out of his voice. But it was stubborn.

  Sarah said faintly, “Goodbye.”

  “So long,” he insisted. “See you later.”

  He saw her teeth tear at her lower lip and he thought, A pity to tear it. Then the mouth surrendered. “So long,” it said.

  Mrs. Monteeth was establishing herself in the room. David thought, Well, they can’t murder the girl in front of a witness. He let Edgar’s pull swing him away.

  Edgar, half out the door as if he would like to pursue David, warned over his shoulder, “You mustn’t talk too long. For either of your sakes.”

  “Now, I do want to visit with Sarah a little bit,” said Grandfather plaintively. “May I not? We will talk about old times, perhaps.”

  Edgar’s eyes flickered He said, “Not too long. Mrs. Monteeth, watch out for Sarah.” Then he left the room.

  He hurried, hunting David.

  David was in the big room, hands in his pockets, staring at the carpet.

  “Well? Is Sarah going to marry you?” said Edgar. “Or didn’t you ask?” His little eyes were anxious and suspicious.

  David shrugged. “I don’t discourage easily.”

  Edgar’s face changed and became nervous and desperate. “Listen Wakeley, why don’t you go away from here? All you do is upset her. She’s miserable enough … If you care anything …”

  “I know what upsets her. I don’t happen to believe in junk like Jonahs and jinxes.”

  “Sarah does.”

  “Then Sarah must learn better.”

  “Who are you to say?” Edgar was getting angry. “You think it’s smart to be stubborn. Did it ever occur to you …?” Edgar licked his lip.

  “What?”

  “You might be bad luck for Sarah?”

  “What do you mean by that?” David’s gaze bored into the doctor’s eyes and they evaded.

  “I’m trying … I’m trying to keep things on an even keel in this house,” said Edgar in a high nervous voice. “I’m responsible for Mr. Fox’s health and for Sarah’s and I’ve got to have cooperation. If you’d just realize you’re making a nuisance of yourself. Let me … let me handle this. You don’t know what you are doing. I’m telling you, it’s best for everyone if you go away.”

  “I’m sure it would be best for someone,” said David, “but not necessarily Sarah.”

  “Yes. Sarah,” said Edgar. “Believe me.” But his concentration broke. His head lifted. His ears seemed to prick up. He said, “Malvina?”

  She was entering the house, stripping gloves off her hands. “May I see you a minute, Edgar?” she said coaxingly, mysteriously.

  David said, “Excuse me,” but Edgar didn’t hear it. Malvina seemed to pay no attention either as he went by them, out of the house.

  “Now, then,” said Grandfather, “tears, Sarah? Why were you crying?”

  “I feel so bad about David’s work lost …”

  “Work? But he can’t have done much in one morning.”

  “All his notes, Grandfather. He must have been collecting them for months.”

  “Is that so?” said Grandfather. “Months, really? Well now, surely David doesn’t blame you, does he? David is fond of you, I think.” She looked as if she’d cry. “And you are fond of David, Sarah?”

  Her head rolled. “I don’t dare be fond of anyone.”

  “Not fond of me?” he said archly.

  “Only you. I don’t bring you bad luck, do I, Grandfather?”

  “My dear little Sarah. I have outgrown bad luck, I think. I am ancient and invulnerable.” Fox glanced at Mrs. Monteeth, who had placed herself in a chair and produced some knitting. She looked patient and immovable and quite detached. “But we mustn’t speak about dreadful things, fire and loss and bad luck,” said Grandfather, “when it makes you unhappy. Tell me, Sarah, do you remember England?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you remember when your mother first brought you to see me? What a little girl you were then, eh?”

  “I remember.” Her head turned on the pillow. Her lashes had come down. More than half her thought was on David, still. Grandfather’s voice went on.

  “Do you remember going to the theatre to see my dear old Lupino and me?”

  “Not very well,” she said. “I must have been too small.”

  “You didn’t go many times.”

  “Only once, I think.”

  “Well, you were small. What would my dear old Lupino think, I wonder, if he could see me as I am? Here on this fabulous western edge of the world.”

  “If he hadn’t died you wouldn’t have come here, Grandfather,” she murmured.

  “No, that’s true, dearie. True. Do you remember a week end in the country?”

  “Will I ever forget it?” Sarah said wearily.

  The old man peered shrewdly at her. She seemed breathless.

  “The awful business,” Sarah’s eyes popped open, “don’t you remember? About the arrow?”

  “Oh, my poor Sarah, fancy your being able to remember that. Are you thirsty, dearie? I see your lips are very dry. Mrs. Monteeth, please fetch a glass of my cider. Sarah would like that.”

  “Doctor told me to stay, sir.” Mrs. Monteeth looked lost.

  “Go, ask the doctor, then,” said Grandfather, as if this were obviously the only reasonable course, and Mrs. Monteeth accepted it, rose, and went.

  “The arrow. Yes,” sighed Grandfather, now that they were alone. “And dear Lupino, so brave about it. So uncomplaining. Wasn’t he?” He peered at the girl.

 
; “He wasn’t so …”

  “Eh? Sarah?”

  “Oh, I suppose he was brave.”

  “I often wish he were alive,” sighed Grandfather. “Don’t you, dearie? And have him here with me.”

  “I’m just as glad he isn’t here with you,” she said. “I know how you loved him, Grandfather. But to me he was … not so lovable.”

  “No?”

  “No. He was cruel, I thought.”

  “Cruel, dearie? How was that?”

  “I don’t suppose he ever told …”

  “But my dear Sarah, what was this?”

  “Sorry …”

  “Ah, now you remember my heart,” Grandfather said, “but I’ll tell you something, Sarah.” He lowered his voice. “When you are ancient,” he confided, “you do not receive a shock as people imagine. No. Too much has happened to you already. Too many friends dead, too many wars, too many shocking things. When you are old, it is all just more of the same.”

  “I suppose that must be true,” she said.

  “Then tell me. In what way was Lupino cruel?” He smiled at her with his dimples appearing in his craggy old cheeks. His teeth were not good, what few he had.

  “I never told,” Sarah said, “but I think of it. I can’t forgive him.”

  “Forgive Lupino? But Sarah, my dearie, surely it was for him to forgive you.”

  “I never meant to hurt him with the arrow,” Sarah said. “He was grown up. He should have known that. But one day …”

  “Go on.”

  “Why, we were ready to sail for home. We went to say goodbye. He took me alone. He opened his shirt, Grandfather, and he made me look at that horrible scar and touch it. And he said to me, ‘See your pretty work, young Sarah? Don’t ever forget your work that you did.’ Grandfather, it frightened me so. I dreamed of it. Even now, when I am unhappy, sometimes in a nightmare I can see the shape of the awful scar. To me it is the shape of a sin. But it wasn’t my sin.” Sarah said, “Oh, I’m sorry, Grandfather. I can’t help thinking he was wicked and cruel to do such a thing to so small a child. I know you loved him. But that … that wasn’t kind.”

  “No.” Grandfather rose and drifted around the room. “Dear old chap, he was sometimes impulsive. Loved drama, you see. Oh, he grew older and wiser. He learned it was better to be kind. Yet I remember that the wound was painful and he was brave.”

  “Yes,” said Sarah faintly. “I suppose so.”

  “Your David is brave,” murmured Grandfather.

  “He is not my … David doesn’t believe in ghosts or jinxes.”

  “I think you are right,” said Grandfather. “Or surely he wouldn’t have come here after what happened to his car. It was a warning.”

  “Oh?” she said. “Yes?” And shrank on the bed.

  “Rolled down the hill of itself,” said Grandfather. “What an odd thing. I like the scent in this green bottle, Sarah. Of course no one blames David for what happened to the woman.”

  “A woman?”

  The old man was quite placid, touching the things on her dressing table. “Although she died,” he said. “A terrible thing. Ah well, so many terrible things all over the world, happening every day. Poor woman, she was just somebody on the sidewalk. We can’t grieve for everyone, dearie. Or we should never have done. Old people know that.”

  “David’s … car …”

  Grandfather drew near the bed again. “Why, it was,” he said. “Such a pretty bright new one he has now, eh? Do you know he is sifting the ashes, dearie, to find if there is anything left of his? What a task! What a persistent, what a very stubborn young man he is, eh?”

  Sarah clung to the outer shell of her calm for the old man’s sake. She had a feeling of desperation. His voice kept oh but she heard no more that he was saying. “Grandfather,” she broke in at last.

  “Sarah?”

  “Before Mrs. Monteeth comes back … There is something … You have often said I should go back to Japan.”

  “I have said so, Sarah. I do sometimes think you got your ghosts there and there you must shake them off.”

  “Some day, Grandfather,” she said strongly, “you’ll find that I’ve gone. I won’t be here. I want you to know and understand and not worry.”

  “Will you run away, Sarah?” She nodded. “With David?” he asked her.

  “No, no, no. When I run away it’ll be where he can’t find me.”

  “I am glad you told me,” he said solemnly. “I will understand. But it can’t be soon, Sarah.” He touched the bandage on her arm.

  “Yes, it can,” Sarah said resolutely. “Just as soon as I can possibly drive my car with these arms.”

  Grandfather pursed his lips. Mrs. Monteeth came bustling in.

  “You know I must.” Sarah’s voice was sad. “The risk is too much.… If any more trouble came to him I couldn’t live.…”

  “Perhaps it is the wisest thing,” the old man answered. “Poor Sarah, I know you are not happy.”

  Mrs. Monteeth rattled a glass sipper into the drink of cider and held it for her to sip. “I can hold it,” Sarah said fiercely and she made her fingers pull around the glass to test the quality of the pain in her wrist that the moving muscles cost her.

  “Now, rest,” said Grandfather, “and I, too must be alone and rest. The arms must soon heal, eh? Mrs. Monteeth will watch over you,” he beamed, “and let no one near.”

  “Thank you for everything, Grandfather,” said Sarah and held her eyes tearless until he was gone.

  Grandfather trotted down the corridor past his own and Malvina’s bedroom doors. He peered into the big room and began to cross its emptiness. He saw Malvina and Edgar together out on the sea terrace beyond the dining room, a space from behind whose glass wind shelter the whole cove lay sparkling under the eye.

  They were not looking at the view. Malvina was speaking earnestly and Edgar was absorbed.

  Grandfather peered into the garden. Gust Monteeth was out there trying to repair the damage to the plants at the garage end. Grandfather took some keys from the table drawer where the household kept the car keys. He crossed the garden. He peered past the broken fence. No red car was there.

  “Gust, can you go to San Diego for me?” said Grandfather briskly.

  “Yes, sir.” Gust straightened his back.

  “I want you to run down tonight and be on the dock in the morning.”

  “Fresh fish, eh?” Gust grinned. He was used to Fox and these sudden orders. If you gave in and did what the old man said, the old man was not a bad employer. It was a good job, nice place.

  “Yes. Now go to Andy’s and he’ll pack it for you. He knows just what I like. And get along right away, Gust. It’s a long drive. It’s getting late.”

  “What car can I use, sir? The Cadillac ain’t—”

  “Take Dr. Perrott’s,” said Grandfather. “Here are his keys. I’d rather he didn’t leave the house anyhow while Miss Sarah may need him.”

  “I could take Miss Sarah’s Chev—”

  “Now, Gust, do as I say,” said Grandfather petulantly.

  “Yes, sir.”

  When Gust, in fifteen minutes, had changed to a clean shirt and trousers and gone off, nodding to Grandfather’s last instructions, the old man stood on the lower level, the parking apron. No one could see him, here in this pocket. Two cars nudged the hill. Grandfather walked toward one of them. He pushed the glove compartment button. Oh yes, very happily, Sarah’s driving gloves were here and Grandfather’s clever hands were, of course, very small.

  Chapter 9

  David paced Consuelo’s floor. “It’s all very well to say find out. Find out if the fire was set and who set it. Get evidence, you say. But there are experts to do that, Consuelo, and they’re not getting anywhere.”

  “Just so you calm down, Davey.” Consuelo twisted her beads.

  “I’m pretty near too upset to think straight myself,” he confessed. “But that silly girl …”

  “Unfortunate haunted frightened gir
l,” said the old lady. “You shouldn’t expect too much of her, Davey.”

  “I know that.”

  “She’s been alone. Now, I presume, she’s in love with you, which makes it worse.”

  David stopped walking.

  “Don’t pretend to be astounded, either,” said Consuelo. “You’ve guessed she is. So have I. Or why would she lash herself over your troubles?”

  “Oh, Lord,” he said and sat down.

  “I’m glad you’ve lit,” said Consuelo. “This summer matting isn’t built for the wear and tear you’re giving it. Now, while you are pulling yourself together, let me tell you about my telephone call. I talked to London. I remembered who would know what happened to Malvina’s parents, so now I can tell you. Her father shot her mother and then himself when she was fourteen years old.”

  David whistled.

  “Yes, it turned Malvina very cynical. She threw herself away, after that. She didn’t care much for the rules anymore. I suppose it spoiled her. Bent the twig.”

  David said, “She’s an odd girl, Consuelo. Strange mixture. Very calm and bland and very devious, I think. She likes intrigue. She’s twisty.”

  “Twisted,” sighed Consuelo charitably. “Well, I still don’t like her but I suppose I ought to feel sorry for her.”

  “There’s a limit to feeling sorry. If she’s in the business of twisting Sarah I’ll put off being sorry for Malvina.”

  “Davey, are they all in it?”

  “For all I can tell. Who knows?”

  “Snakes,” said Consuelo. “A whole nest of them. Better think, Davey. Pin something down.”

  David batted his crown with his palm. “Now, was the fire set? That’s the first thing. I’d say it was. Too much to believe in an accidental fire on top of all the rest. Who set it, then? I didn’t and when I left the studio, nothing was burning. Malvina didn’t set it. She went with me. Edgar didn’t set any fire unless he used a mighty long fuse. He left, Mrs. Monteeth says, about as soon as I did. And he didn’t go into the studio at all. That leaves Fox. Fox went in there. But Mrs. Monteeth was in there after him and she saw nothing burning. And if she set the fire, I’ll be dumbfounded. The old soul is an automaton.”

  “Somebody could have wound her up?”