Читать книгу Death Makes a Prophet - Ernest Elmore - Страница 17

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Terence was living in a dream. Previous to Denise’s arrival he had always found it extremely difficult to put himself in a state of “non-being”. Now he found it damned hard to get out of. The girl had got him in a flat-spin. Perhaps nothing was more indicative of this than the fact that he suddenly felt utterly disinterested in eating. He no longer had astral visions of cutlets and filleted soles. Instead there was Denise, gently smiling, welcoming him to her bosom with open arms; Denise with her shapely head thrown back inviting his kisses; Denise, in an exquisite evening-frock, waiting to waltz with him; and once, turning his brick-red face even redder, Denise sitting on the edge of her bed in heliotrope pyjamas.

Unfortunately the Blot, in a frantic whirl of activity, more or less monopolised her secretary’s time. Terence, himself, since leaving school, had been forced to help his father in a similar secretarial capacity, with the result that he and Denise practically never saw each other alone.

One evening, however, about a week after Mrs. Hagge-Smith’s descent on Welworth, she and Eustace went into a huddle in the latter’s study over a little matter of ritual. Mrs. Summers, who had already divined which way the wind was blowing, tactfully kept clear of the drawing-room, leaving the young couple to take their coffee alone. The graven images about the room seemed to stare at them expectantly. Even the Eater Up of Souls seemed to pause a moment in his eternal task to cast a priapic eye at them. Terence blew his nose. Denise, without putting sugar in her coffee, stirred it vigorously.

“My sun sign,” said Terence suddenly, “is Taurus the Bull. What’s yours?”

Denise knew this was astrology and not having lived with Mrs. Hagge-Smith for nothing, she answered brightly:

“I’m Capricorn the Goat.”

“I say, that’s marvellous. Taurus and Capricorn are supposed to go awfully well together. In fact they’re almost twin souls. It’s jolly encouraging, isn’t it?”

“Why?”

“Well, you see...I rather want to get on well with you. I feel we’re both a bit lonely, you know. All this occult stuff’s jolly nice if you’re keen on it, but when you’re just a normal sort of person it’s terribly boring. Do you skate?”

“Yes, a bit. Why?”

“I was wondering if you could come skating with me to-morrow. The ice on the Long Pond is supposed to be perfect. Will you come?”

Denise shook her head.

“Impossible, I’m afraid. Mrs. H-S won’t let me off. I’ve just oodles to do at present. I’d love to come, of course.”

There was silence for a space. Terence rose, poked the already blazing fire and, greatly daring, reseated himself next to Denise on the hard wooden-backed sofa. His bare knees gleamed healthily in the firelight. Denise was acutely aware of his nearness. He muttered:

“I say, are you game for a bit of deception? There’s a temple gathering to-morrow night and they’ll all be there, of course. Couldn’t you work up a sort of a headache at the last minute? I’ll manage a sort of a cold, see? It would give us a chance to see more of each other, wouldn’t it?”

“It might,” admitted Denise cautiously.

“I’d ask you to come to the pictures, but as a matter of fact”—his embarrassment was enormous—“I haven’t a bean. Not a bean! Otherwise...”

“Would you be terribly insulted if I offered to...” Denise abandoned the sentence in mid-air.

“You mean, would I let you...?”

“Yes, if you would. I’d love to.”

“I say, that’s awfully decent of you. It is really.”

“I’m glad you’ve got no silly pride.”

“Pride!” snorted Terence. “You can’t afford much pride on a tanner a week.” He jumped up and knocked a small hand-carved Ptah-Seker-Asar off a nearby table, stooped to recover it and, tilting the table as he groped, sent two Gebs, a Taurt, and a Nefer-Temu skidding off the polished surface. Denise went down on her hands and knees to help him recover this galaxy of fallen gods. And it was at that moment when a huge ham-like hand closed over one of hers and squeezed it violently. Denise winced, blushed and then protested. “You’re marvellous,” croaked Terence in a throaty bass. “A real sport. You’re the most wonderful—”

Very gently Denise withdrew her hand.

“Now Terence, if you take me to the pictures to-morrow you must promise to behave. No nonsense, please. Promise.”

“Of course,” declared Terence. “Of course!”