Ice - Anna Kavan [5]
I stayed with them for a few days. She kept out of my way. I never saw her unless he was there too. The fine hot weather went on. She wore short, thin, very simple dresses that left her shoulders and arms bare, no stockings, a child's sandals. In the sunshine her hair dazzled. I knew I would not be able to forget how she looked. I noted a marked change in her, a much increased confidence. She smiled more often, and once in the garden I heard her singing. When the man called her name she came running. It was the first time I had seen her happy. Only when she spoke to me she still showed some constraint. Towards the end of my visit he asked whether I had talked to her alone. I told him I had not. He said: 'Do have a word with her before you go. She worries about the past; she's afraid she made you unhappy.' So he knew. She must have told him all there was to tell. It was not much, certainly. But I would not discuss what had happened with him and said something evasive. Tactfully, he changed the subject: but returned to it later on. 'I wish you would set her mind at rest. I shall make an opportunity for you to speak to her privately.' I did not see how he was going to do this, as the next day was the last I would spend with them. I was leaving in the late afternoon.
That morning was the hottest there had been. Thunder was in the air. Even at breakfast time the heat was oppressive. To my surprise, they proposed an outing. I was not to leave without having seen one of the local beauty spots. A hill was mentioned, from which there was a celebrated view: I had heard the name. When I referred to my departure I was told it was only a short drive, and that we should be back in plenty of time for me to pack my bag. I saw that they were determined on the arrangement, and agreed.
We took a picnic lunch to eat near the ruins of an old fort, dating from a remote period when there had been fear of invasion. The road ended deep in the woods. We left the car and continued on foot. In the steadily increasing heat, I refused to hurry, dropped behind, and when I saw the end of the trees, sat down in the shade. He came back, pulled me to my feet. 'Come along! You'll see that it's worth the climb.' His enthusiasm urged me up a steep sunny slope to the summit, where I duly admired the view. Still unsatisfied, he insisted that I must see it from the top of the ruin. He seemed in a queer state, excitable, almost feverish. In the dusty dark, I followed him up steps cut inside the tower wall, his massive figure blocking out the light so that I could see nothing and might have broken my neck where a step was missing. There was no parapet at the top, we stood among heaps of rubble, nothing between us and the drop to the ground, while he swung his arm, pointing out different items in the extensive view. 'This tower has been a landmark for centuries. You can see the whole range of hills from here. The sea's over there. That's the cathedral spire. The blue line beyond is the estuary.'
I was more interested in closer details: piles of stones, coils of wire, concrete blocks, and other materials for dealing with the coming emergency. Hoping to see something that would provide a clue to the nature of the expected crisis, I went nearer the edge, looked down at the unprotected drop at my feet.
'Take care!' he warned, laughing. 'You could easily slip here, or lose your balance. The perfect spot for a murder, I always think.' His laugh sounded so peculiar that I turned to look at him. He came up to me, saying: 'Suppose I give you a little push . . . like this—' I stepped back just in time, but missed my footing and stumbled, staggering on to a crumbling, precarious ledge lower down. His laughing face hung over me, black against the hot sky. 'The fall would have been an accident, wouldn't it? No witnesses. Only my word for what happened. Look how unsteady you are on your feet. Heights seem to affect you.' When we got down to the bottom again I was sweating,