The Saint Zita Society by Ruth Rendell Read Free Book Online Page A

Peers’ Entrance where Henry had to have his photograph taken to go on a pass and then go through the scrutiny like at Heathrow. Lord Studley shared an office with a minister of state who was in charge of Southern Hemisphere Development, a man whose driver Henry knew and now talked to about the Saint Zita Society which Robert unfortunately couldn’t join owing to his not being a resident of Hexam Place. Lord Studley had gone off somewhere to fetch a file he wanted Henry to take back to number 11 and in his absence Henry kept up a busy conversation with Robert to deter Huguette from making an indiscreet remark or kissing his cheek or something.
    Things went from bad to worse when the phone rang, the Southern Hemisphere Development minister answered and Henry heard him say, ‘Oh, Oceane, how are you?…Fine, thanks … Clifford just popped out for a minute. I’m sure he won’t be long.’
    Don’t make me speak to her, Henry prayed silently. Huguette was mouthing, ‘Leave me out of it,’ when her father came back. He took the receiver with a sigh and, while handing the file to Henry, said, ‘Come back for Miss Studley at two thirty, will you?’ Henry fled. He had got out of that by the skin of his teeth, a useful if old-fashioned phrase he had picked up which seemed applicable to much of his life these days.
    The Beemer left on the residents’ parking outside number 11, he went down the area steps and into the house by the basement door. Why not pop out to the Dugong for a glass of their alcohol-free wine and a ploughman’s and take the file upstairs when he came back? He didn’t even bother to put the passage light on but opened the door to his bedsit. The light was on in there all right and Lady Studley was sitting on his bed, smoking a cigarette.
    ‘Oh, Henry darling, didn’t I time it absolutely right? I’ve been here just two minutes waiting for you. Do say you haven’t got to go back for my naughty girl.’
    ‘Not till half two,’ said Henry in a gloomy tone.
    T he voice said, ‘How can I help you?’ and Dex knew he had struck lucky. His god was not always so responsive. He could try number after number and only get that woman saying they were not recognisable or else a high-pitched ringing tone. But this time he got that pleasant gentle voice wanting to help him.
    ‘Make the sun shine, please,’ he said.
    There was no answer. There never was and Dex didn’t expect it. With the ways of gods he was acquainted since early childhood and knew they moved in mysterious ways. His first foster-mother had taken him to her church at every possible opportunity and between visits taught him how topray at home. She explained that his prayers weren’t always answered because he was often bad. God liked prayers but only answered those of good people. He must have got a lot better because Peach quite often did what he asked, stopped the rain, made the sun shine, got him a job. His voice never said yes, he would do it, or no, not this time, but in his mysterious dark way he did whatever it was or else he didn’t.
    This time he did it, he made the sun shine, and Dex set off for Hexam Place with the big cloth bag in which he carried his small gardening tools. The large ones Dr Jefferson let him keep in the area cupboard at number 3. It was late in the year for mowing the lawns at number 3 and number 5 but Dex thought it dry enough to attempt it. He called Peach for help as he was walking down the Buckingham Palace Road because a bunch of evil spirits passed him, all of them young, all of them blank-faced and one with red hair. They laughed at him and clutched each other and he was afraid. Instead of answering, Peach made a brrr-brrr sound that went on and on. Dex stopped it, though he disliked doing this because it seemed rude. But perhaps Peach knew what the trouble was because the evil spirits didn’t touch him but ran away over Ebury Bridge. The sun was strong now, shining brightly out of a deep blue