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420
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William Sansom
Saturday off. This her employer instantly refused. Then still speak-
ing aloud she presented her reasons, insisted — and at last, the blood
beginning to throb in her forehead, handed in her notice! . . . This
must have suddenly frightened her, bringing her back abruptly to
the room — and she stopped talking. She laid the magazine down,
looked round the room. Still that feeling of invisible fog - perhaps
there was indeed mist; the furniture looked more than usually sta-
tionary. She tapped with her finger on the magazine. It sounded
loud, too loud. Her mind returned to the murderer, she ceased tap-
ping and looked quickly at the shut door. The memory of those
murders must have lain at the back of her mind throughout the
past minutes, gently elevating her with the compounding uncon-
scious excitement that news sometimes brings, the sensation that
somewhere something has happened, revitalizing life. But now she
suddenly shivered. Those murders had happened in Victoria, the
neighbouring district, only in fact — she counted — five, six streets
away.
The curtains began to move. Her eyes were round and at them
in the first flickering moment. This time they not only shuddered,
but seemed to eddy, and then to belly out. A coldness grasped and
held the ventricles of her heart. And the curtains, the whole length
of the rounded blue curtains moved towards her across the carpet.
Something was pushing them. They travelled out towards her, then
the ends rose sailing, sailed wide, opened to reveal nothing but the
night, the empty balcony - then as suddenly collapsed and receded
back to where they had hung motionless before. She let out the
deep breath that whitening she had held all that time. Only, then,
a breath of wind again; a curious swell on the compressed summer
air. And now again the curtains hung still. She gulped sickly, crum-
pled and decided to shut the window - better not to risk that sort
of fright again, one never knew what one's heart might do. But,
just then, she hardly liked to approach those curtains. As the at-
mosphere of a nightmare cannot be shaken off for some minutes
after waking, so those curtains held for a while their ambience of
dread. Clara lay still. In a few minutes those fears quietened, but
now forgetting the sense of fright she made no attempt to leave the
bed, it was too comfortable, she would read again for a little. She
turned over and picked up her magazine. Then a short while later,
stretching, she half-turned to the curtains again. They were wide
open. A man was standing exactly in the centre, outlined against
Various Temptations
421
the night outside, holding the curtains apart with his two hands.
Ron Raikes, five foot nine, grey eyes, thin brown hair, brown
sports jacket, black hat, stood on the balcony holding the curtains
aside looking in at this girl twisted round in her white-sheeted bed.
He held the curtains slightly behind him, he knew the street to be
dark, he felt safe. He wanted to breathe deeply after the short climb
of the painter's ladder — but instead held it, above all kept quite
still. The girl was staring straight at him, terrified, stuck in the pose
of an actress suddenly revealed on her bedroom stage in its flood
of light; in a moment she would scream. But something here was
unusual, some quality lacking from the scene he had expected —
and he concentrated, even in that moment when he knew himself
to be in danger, letting some self-assured side of his mind wander
and wonder what could be wrong.
He thought hard, screwing up his eyes to concentrate against the
other unsteady excitements aching in his head - he knew how he
had got here, he remembered the dull disconsolate hours waiting
round the station, following two girls without result, then walking
away from the lighted crowds into these darker streets and sud-
denly seeing a glimpse of this girl through the lighted window. Then
that curious, unreasoned idea had crept over him. He had seen the
ladder, measured the distance, then scoffed at himself for risking
such an escapade. Anyone might have seen him . . . and then what,
arrest for house-breaking, burglary? He had turned, walked away.
Then walked back. That extraordinary excitement rose and held
him. He had gritted his teeth, told himself not to be such a fool, to
go home. Tomorrow would be fresh, a fine day to spend. But then
the next hours of the restless night exhibited themselves, sounding
their emptiness - so that it had seemed too early to give in and
admit the day worthless. A sensation then of ability, of dexterous
clever power had taken him - he had loitered nearer the ladder,
looking up and down the street. The lamps were dull, the street
empty. Once a car came slurring past, changed gear, accelerated off
petulantly into the night, away to nowhere. The sound emphasized
the quiet, the protection of that deserted hour. He had put a hand
on the ladder. It was then the same as any simple choice — taking a
drink or not taking a drink. The one action might lead to some
detrimental end - to more drinks, a night out, a headache in the
morning - and would thus be best avoided; but the other, that
422.
William Sansom
action of taking, was pleasant and easy and the moral forehead
argued that after all it could do no harm? So, quickly, telling him-
self that he would climb down again in a second, this man Raikes
had prised himself above the lashed night-plank and had run up
the ladder. On the balcony he had paused by the curtains, breath-
less, now exhilarated in his ability, agile and alert as an animal —
and had heard the sound of the girl turning in bed and the flick of
her magazine page. A moment later the curtains had moved, nim-
bly he had stepped aside. A wind. He had looked down at the street
— the wind populated the kerbs with dangerous movement. He
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