To Fear a Painted Devil by Ruth Rendell Read Free Book Online Page B

dictionary.
Briller
. To shine, to glow, emit a radiance. The verb perfectly expressed his own mental state. He was glowing with satisfaction and anticipation.
Edouard brille
, he said to himself, chuckling aloud. ‘I’ve promised to pass the stuff on to some people.’
    ‘What people?’
    ‘The gorgeous Mrs. Selby, if you must know. I met her last night and she was all over me. Insisted I go to her party tonight.’ Now you couldn’t say things like that to a wife. ‘She wouldn’t take No for an answer,’ he said.
    Freda sat down.
    ‘You’re kidding. You don’t know Tamsin.’
    ‘Tamsin! That’s all right, that is. Since when have you and her been so pally?’
    ‘And what about me? Where do I come in?’
    ‘Now, look, Free, I’m counting on you to sit in with Cheryl.’
    The tears welled into her eyes. After all that hadhappened, all the love, the promises, the wonderful evenings. Of course it wasn’t his fault. It was Tamsin’s party. But to ask Edward!
    There’s no need to get into a tiz. She said I could bring a friend. I don’t know about Cheryl, though.’
    ‘Mrs. Saxton’ll sit,’ Freda said eagerly. ‘She’s always offering.’ Seeing his face still doubtful, his eyes already returning to the French primer, she burst out miserably, Ted, I want to go to the party! I’ve got a right. I’ve got more right than you.’
    Hysteria in Freda was something new. He closed the book.
    ‘What are you talking about?’ She was his twin and he could feel the pull of her mind, almost read her thoughts. A terrible unease visited him and he thought of the previous night, the woman’s eyes staring past him towards the pond, her sudden unexplained coldness when he had said who he was.
    ‘Freda!’
    It all came out then and Edward listened, angry and afraid. The happy mood had gone sour on him.

5
    S trings of little coloured bulbs festooned the willow trees. As soon as it grew dusk they would be switched on to glow red, orange, green and cold blue against the dark foliage of the oaks in the Millers’ garden next door.
    Tamsin had shut the food and drink in the dining room away from the wasps. Although she had only seen two throughout the whole day she closed the double windows to be on the safe side. The room was tidy, and apart from the food, bare. Functional, Patrick called it. Now, cleaned by him while Tamsin hovered helplessly in the background, it met even his exacting requirements.
    ‘It is, after all, a
dining
room, not a glory hole,’ he had remarked in a chill voice to the vacuum cleaner. To his wife be said nothing, but his look meant Please don’t interfere with my arrangements. When the toolswere put away and the dusters carefully washed, he had taken the dog to Sherwood Forest, smug, silent with his private joy.
    It was too late not to bother with a show of loving obedience. Tamsin dressed, wishing she had something bright and gay, but all her clothes were subdued—to please Patrick. Then she went into the dining room and helped herself to whisky, pouring straight into a tumbler almost as if it was the last drink she would ever have. Nobody had wished her a happy birthday yet but she had had plenty of cards. Defiantly she took them from the sideboard drawer and arranged them on top of the radiator. There were about a dozen of them, facetious ones showing dishevelled housewives amid piles of crocks; conventional ones (a family of Dartmoor ponies); one whose picture had a secret significance, whose message meant something special to her and to its sender. It was unsigned but Tamsin knew who had sent it. She screwed it up quickly for the sight of it with its cool presumption only deepened her misery.
    ‘Many happy returns of the day, Tamsin,’ she said shakily, raising her glass. She sighed and the cards fluttered. Somehow she would have liked to break the glass, hurl it absurdly against Patrick’s white wall, because she had come to an end. A new life was beginning. The drink was a symbol