Devil By The Sea by Nina Bawden Read Free Book Online

scarves, trying hard to live up to
     Alice’s idea of her as a contemporary potter.
    “Well, yes … or rather, my wife is.” He smiled. It was difficult not to smile at Miss Hubback. Although she was in her thirties,
     she was as clumsy and engaging as a very young girl. Her face was almost quite round and artless as a child’s first drawing.
     Her features, which were small andelegant, rather like those of a china doll, seemed lost in the middle of it. Good will shone out of her like innocence in
     a tired world.
    She said, “I think your wife is lovely, Mr. Bray.”
    “Oh?” Though used to her sudden, bursting confidences, Charles was surprised.
    Her eyes glistened shyly behind her spectacles. “I shouldn’t say that, should I? I mean it was sort of personal, wasn’t it?”
    “I’ve always found you can be as personal as you like, provided what you say is flattering.”
    She gave a high, neighing laugh, “Oh, Mr. Bray, you
are
cynical.” She gazed at him admiringly. “Honestly, I wasn’t being flattering. I know you’ll laugh at me, but that evening
     I came to dinner was the most wonderful experience of my life.”
    “I wouldn’t dream of laughing at you,” he said, “what was so special about the party?”
    She beamed. “It was all so lovely. The way your wife talked about important things, not just small talk. It was like being
     at a university. Your home is lovely, too. I thought the lounge was like something out of
House and Garden”
    “I’m glad you liked it.” And he
was
glad, he told himself. But sorry, too, that she had been taken in by something so second hand.
    He said, “We’d better lock up.”
    “Already? It isn’t quite time….” She looked at him doubtfully.
    “It’s all right. I’ll do it. You run along home early for once.”
    As she fetched her coat, she said, “Isn’t it dreadful? About the poor little girl?”
    “What? Oh … yes.”
    “They were talking about it at the fishmonger’s. I hope they catch him soon. Hanging’s too good for a man like that,” she
     ended savagely.
    He was shocked. “Poor devil. I don’t suppose he’s responsible for his actions.”
    “You’re sorry for
him?”
she cried. “But aren’t you worried? I’m sure poor Mrs. Bray must be. Your lovely, lovely babies.” Her tiny mouth quivered
     sentimentally.
    He said, evading the issue, “My wife is very sensible. She doesn’t worry unnecessarily.”
    When Miss Hubback had gone, clipping on her run-over heels along the cobbled passage that smelt of herring and salt to the
     broad, main street with its bright, light shops, Charles put up his green wooden shutters and locked the heavy iron bars into
     place.
    The exertion made his head swim: he rested, leaning against the counter. Then the dizziness passed and he flexed his muscles
     cautiously, feeling for the pulse in his wrist with tender hypochondria. Reassured, he smiled. It was nothing. Nothing to
     worry about, the doctor had said, just a timely warning that he must take things easily. The plain truth was that we were
     none of us as young as we used to be. But with care, a monthly check-up, there was no reason why he should not make old bones.
     The old heart—the doctor spoke with a blunt, dismissing cheeriness—was a bit coked up like the cylinders of an old car engine.
     They had both smiled at the professional joke and, when the interview was over, shaken hands.
    At first, Charles had been dismayed. Then, as the months passed and his condition grew no worse, he began to treat the doctor’s
     diagnosis with light contempt. Talking with his friends, he frequently led the conversation round to the inefficiency of the
     medical profession. He was delightedwhenever he discovered an instance when they had been proved wrong. He did not worry overmuch about himself. Nevertheless,
     he did not tell Alice about his monthly visits. He did not wish to spare her, but himself: once told, she would be brave on
     his behalf and