A Demon in My View by Ruth Rendell Read Free Book Online Page B

said, surprised.
    The hopeful light in the other man’s eyes seemed to die. And yet why should he care one way or the other? Perhaps, on the other hand, that was the answer he had wanted, for now he held out his hand, smiling with a kind of forced bonhomie, and said ingratiatingly:
    “Then, since I am going there myself, let me have the pleasure of taking your letter.”
    “Thanks,” Anthony said. “That’s nice of you.”
    Arthur Johnson took the letter and, without another word, left the house, closing the front door silently and with painstaking care behind him.

6
————
    The dustmen’s strike had ended, Arthur read in his paper, on the last Monday of September. Two days later, on the first Wednesday of October, he heard the crashing of lids, the creak of machinery, and the (to his way of thinking) lunatic ripostes of the men, that told him Trinity Road was at last being cleared of refuse. He might have saved himself the trouble of writing to the local authority. Still, such complaints kept them on their toes; they had replied promptly enough. The brown envelope was marked: London Borough of Kenbourne and addressed to A. Johnson Esq., 2/142 Trinity Road, London W15 6HD. Arthur put it in his pocket. The rest of the post, a shoe shop advertising circular for Li-li Chan and a mauve-grey envelope, postmarked Bristol, for Anthony Johnson, he arranged in their appropriate positions on the hall table.
    They were all out but for himself. From the phone call he had overheard, Arthur knew Anthony Johnson would be going off to college or whatever it was today, but he was relieved to have had assurance made doubly sure by the sight of the “other” Johnson, viewed from his living room window, departing at five past nine for the tube station. Not that it was of much practical assistance to him, as he too must go to work in ten minutes; it was simply comforting to know the man went out sometimes. It was a beginning.
    He went back upstairs and slit the letter open with one of Auntie Gracie’s silver fruit knives.
London Borough of Kenbourne. Department of Social Services
. Well, he’d have expected to hear from the sanitary inspector but you never could tell thesedays.
Dear Sir, in reply to your letter of the 28th inst., requesting information as to the availability of work in children’s play centres within the Borough, we have to inform you that such centres would come under the auspices of the Inner London Education Authority and are not our …
    Arthur realised what had happened and he was appalled. That he—he out of the two of them—should be the one to open a letter in error! It would have mattered so much less if it had been someone else’s letter, that giggly little Chinese piece, for instance, or that drunk, Dean. Obviously the letter must be returned. Arthur was so shaken by what he had done that he couldn’t bring himself to write the necessary note of apology on the spot. Besides, it would make him late for work. It was nearly a quarter past nine. He put the envelope and its contents into his empty briefcase and set off.
    The demolition men were at work and Auntie Gracie’s living room—brown lincrusta, marble fireplace, pink linoleum—all exposed to the public view. There on the ochre-coloured wallpaper was the paler rectangle marking where the sideboard had stood, the sideboard into whose drawer he had shut the mouse. His first killing. Auntie Gracie had died in that room, and from it he had gone out to make death … Why think of all that now? He felt sick. He unlocked the gates and let himself into his office, wishing there was some way of insulating the place from the sounds of hammer blows and falling masonry, but by the time Barry lounged in at a quarter to ten, he was already composing the first draft of a note to Anthony Johnson.
    Fortunately, there was very little correspondence for Grainger’s that day, the books were in apple-pie order and well up to date. Arthur found the task before