Brett, I felt pitifully small and vulnerable. I could only think of hitting back at him.
“All right then, we’ll finish,” I heard myself say in a shrill voice. “If that’s the way you want it—goodbye.”
Turning my back on him, I stared out of the win dow, seeing nothing through the mist of my tears. Brett said my name softly. I stayed quite still, not looking round. A moment later he flung out of the room, slam ming the door behind him. I heard his footsteps on the stairs, the street door closing. I heard his car start up and drive away, and it seemed as if Brett had aban doned me, wounded and bleeding.
Opposite, down on the pavement, some people were laughing.
* * * *
Now, in a different room, a different time, we stared at each other and relived the bitterness of that last quarrel. Then, abruptly, Brett walked past me to the door.
“It’s a waste of time trying to argue with you,” he said. “My father tells me you have some idiotic plan to go rushing off to Majorca. What earthly good do you think that will do?”
“I have to go,” I said. “To get at the truth.”
“You know the truth, Gail, only you won’t accept it. Don’t be such a fool. Think of Madeleine and stay here.”
“I am thinking of Madeleine,” I cried. “You don’t imagine I want to leave her at a time like this, for goodness sake. But I must, can’t you see?”
Brett stood in the doorway, looking back at me. His eyes were cold, his mouth set in a hard straight line.
“If you’re really determined to go, Gail,” he said at last, “then I’ll come with you.”
Beside me, Rudi couldn’t have been more astonished than I was myself. Brett didn’t wait for me to answer but walked out into the hall, remarking over his shoulder, “You’d better let me know what you decide.”
Rudi turned to me and said uneasily, “He was telling me, just before you came downstairs, about your plan to go to Majorca. Is it wise, Gail? I don’t see what you can hope to achieve.”
“What can I hope to achieve by doing nothing? At least I shall have done my best. I’m going, Rudi—I’ve made up my mind. Don’t try and argue me out of it, please.”
“Brett means what he says, you know. If you insist on going, he’ll go with you.”
“No, I won’t let him.”
“How can you prevent him? Please, Gail, why don’t you drop the whole idea? I can’t bear to think of you being hurt.”
“I’m hurt already, Rudi. It can’t be any worse than it is now. But I don’t intend to have Brett tagging along. I’ll have to think of some way of stopping him.”
Rudi was frowning. “Why does he want to go with you, Gail?”
“I wish I knew.”
“He was in love with you once. Perhaps he still feels the same way?”
I laughed shakily. “Oh no, it’s not that. Brett doesn’t care about me or Alexis or anyone else—except him self. He’s just angry because that wretched film of his is ruined, and he thinks he’s been made a fool of.”
“Suppose ... suppose I told him you had changed your mind about going? I know he’s got to return to London this evening, and if he thinks you’re not going to Majorca after all, you’ll be able to slip away in the morning without Brett realizing.”
“Oh, Rudi, would you really? I’d be so grateful.”
He smiled ruefully. “You know I’d do anything for you, Gail. I’m dead set against the idea of you going at all, but if you must go, then I’d rather he wasn’t with you.”
* * * *
Caterina, in her typically generous and thoughtful way, had sent Jenny through with a message that I wasn’t to bother about preparing a meal as she would provide something for us. Promptly at seven-thirty her cook, Mary, appeared with a laden cart—a roast chicken and all the trimmings and a lemon mousse for dessert. But in spite of the excellent food, dinner was an uncomfortable meal for me.
Madeleine was there; she always came down to the dining room in the evening unless she was
Learning to Kill: Stories