'That's not the way to do it, you know,' said Calvin. 'Allow me. What we need is a sharp knife.' He disappeared to the kitchen and came back bearing a large carving-knife.

'This will do the trick,' he said. 'But wait, let's put some newspaper down on the floor, shall we? That's right. Now just keep quite still. Here, hold on to this chair.'

Annette sat rigid and kneeling beside her Calvin took the petrified limb in one hand. He began to drive the knife deeply in at one end of the plaster.

'Don't cut into my flesh!' said Annette.

'Don't worry,' said Calvin. He drew the knife firmly along the length of her leg. Then he put his fingers into the fissure and pulled. The plaster began to crack apart. Annette pulled too. In a moment, very white and putty-like, her leg was revealed.

'Oh, good! Oh, thank you!' cried Annette. She jumped to her feet, but immediately uttered a cry of pain and sat down again on the floor.

'Better take it easy,' said Calvin. 'You'll need a stick for a day or two. Here, let me ma.s.sage you. That will restore the circulation.'

He sat down and began to ma.s.sage her, moulding the flesh with strong firm movements. Between his hands, from the thigh to the ankle, Annette felt her leg slowly coming back to life.

'Now move it a bit,' said Calvin. 'Good, now try standing up again.'

Annette stood up and took a step or two. Calvin had gone over to the window and was drawing back the curtains. The daylight flooded in. It was a pale sunless day with a very white light. Annette flinched from the light, and then hobbled over towards the window. Together they looked out. The garden was full of workmen who had gathered there to drink cups of tea. They stared curiously at Annette and Calvin.

'How extraordinary!' said Calvin. 'I wondered what the noise was!' He looked with a kind of delight upon the chaotic scene.

'Mr Blick,' said Annette, 'did you come here to bring me a message from Mr Fox?'

'A message?' said Calvin. 'No. That person is out of the country anyway, he's gone to America.'

'Oh!' said Annette. She had not thought of this possibility. 'When will he be back?'

'I've no idea,' said Calvin. 'In a few months maybe. One never knows.'

Annette's face became stony with pain and with the effort to conceal it. In that case there was no future. 'Why did you come then?' she asked.

'I came to fetch the coat,' said Calvin cheerfully. He indicated Mischa's velvet jacket.

Annette clutched it more closely about her. 'I won't give it to you,' she said.

'You will, in fact,' said Calvin, 'or would you rather that I took it by force?' His tone was cheerful and conversational.

'I won't give it to you,' Annette repeated.

Calvin turned slightly towards her. He took the sleeve of the coat lightly between a finger and thumb.

'Come now, Annette,' he said. The men in the garden were still watching them with interest.

Slowly Annette took off the coat. She threw it on the floor and kicked it. Then she walked away from the window. Calvin picked the coat up and dusted off the white plaster which was adhering to it. He prepared to go.

'Don't take on,' he said to Annette. 'The notion that one can liberate another soul from captivity is an illusion of the very young.'

'Go to blazes,' said Annette.

It was a few hours later. Annette stepped out of the house in Campden Hill Square and pulled the door to softly behind her. She was holding a small package in her hand. She was glad that she had managed to slip in without meeting Rosa. She had no wish to repeat the uneasy interview of a few days ago. She had tiptoed up to her room. Everything there had been made neat and tidy again. There were even flowers upon the dressing-table. The jewels which had been on show, folded carefully in their velvet cloth, had been put into the top drawer together with the rest of the collection. Annette had poured them all into the leather bag in which she kept them when she travelled; and with this wrapped in a large handkerchief she had stolen from the house.

Limping heavily, she returned to the taxi which she had instructed to wait for her on the other side of the square.

'Where to now, miss?' said the taxi-driver.

'Lambeth Bridge,' said Annette. It was a warm and windy afternoon, and the taxi rattled away through a gale of blowing branches and white clouds. Blossoming trees greeted it from either side as it sped towards the river. Usually Annette enjoyed riding in a taxi. It made her feel as if she were taking part in a conspiracy. But today both fantasy and reality were darkened by the blackness of her mood. She lay back, and taking her leg on to the seat beside her began to rub it vigorously, imitating Calvin's movements. This made her leg, if anything, more painful, but it eased her heart.

They came to the river. Annette paid the taxi-driver and limped on to the bridge. She had chosen Lambeth Bridge because she thought it would be the least frequented of the bridges in central London; and in fact there were very few people about. The tide was in and the Thames was rushing beneath her, adorned with tiny waves and crests of white. She walked to the centre of the bridge, and took the leather bag out of her pocket. She looked down. It was a long way to the water. She felt suddenly rather faint, and had to hold on to the parapet, grating her wrists upon the stone. She wondered whether, if she threw the bag as it was, it mightn't perhaps float on the water. She decided she had better throw the jewels in one by one, or else strew them broadcast.

The sun came out from behind a cloud and the small waves far below were glistening as if the surface were already covered with gems. Annette opened the bag and drew a stone out at random. It was the large ruby. For the last time she fingered it with love and pain. It was so light and insubstantial, it was as if the wind would blow it away. With a quick movement she flung it from her. It curled over and disappeared into the air. She did not see it hit the water. She took out another. It was a small but very perfect diamond that a diplomatic acquaintance of her father had given her in Switzerland. Already it was made of light. She threw it far out into the glittering s.p.a.ce above the river and the same air spirit took it and it vanished. Annette was leaning excitedly over the parapet. Her lips were moist with saliva and her eyes were dazzled. She fumbled for another stone. She did not see Jan Lusiewicz until he was standing close beside her.

'What you doing now, Annette?' said Jan.

Annette started and shivered. Jan looked like a figure in a dream. 'I'm throwing my jewels into the river,' she said.

For a moment Jan did not seem to understand. Then a look of amazement and horror came over his face. In a scandalized splutter his English almost left him.

'You not do so!' said Jan. He reached across and imprisoned her right wrist.

'Why not?' said Annette, not resisting him. She had had rather too much fighting in the last few days. 'They're mine! You can throw one or two in if you like.'

'Why you throw them?' asked Jan, holding on.

'Because - ' said Annette. She could not manage this one 'Let go!' she said.

'Not!' said Jan. 'Why you throw jewels when I and my brother starve?'

'You're not starving,' said Annette. 'I'm sure you've got very good jobs. Let go of me or I'll shout for a policeman.'

Jan looked at her. Annette was excited, but she was calm compared with Jan. His face expressed by turns and all together distress, cunning, avarice and sheer astonishment.

'You give me some to throw,' said Jan.

'No!' said Annette. 'You wouldn't throw them, I know!' She felt a desperate need to get the jewels somehow into the river. If they didn't go in something terrible would happen.

They stood together, as if hand in hand, at the centre of the bridge, like a pair of lovers. Annette began to struggle in a surrept.i.tious way, trying to twist her hand out of Jan's grip. As she moved she saw that a policeman was coming towards them along the opposite pavement. His tall peaceable form drew nearer and nearer. Annette relaxed. Jan saw the policeman.

'If you speak to policeman now, or later either,' said Jan, '1 will kill your brother!'

This threat was so unexpected, so terrible, and so terribly uttered that it froze Annette completely, and it did not occur to her until afterwards that it was an absurd menace uttered at random. They stood still, locked together and gazing into each other's eyes. The policeman pa.s.sed on with a slow stride. For a moment they were alone on the bridge.

'Oh, you swine!' said Annette, in a misery of helplessness.

'You give me this now,' said Jan. 'I keep it for you till you are wiser.' He began to twist her wrist. With a gasp Annette let go of the bag, and at once Jan had left her at a run.

Annette looked after him until he disappeared along the Embankment. Then as she turned to leave the bridge she realized that she was still holding one jewel in her left hand. She opened her palm to see what it was. It was the white sapphire.

Twenty.

ROSA was sitting in the drawing-room thinking by turns about Annette, Mischa, and the Artemis. It was two days now since Annette had disappeared completely, and Rosa was feeling extreme remorse. Annette had been so intractable when she had gone to fetch her from John Rainborough's house that she had decided to let her stay there. Rosa had imagined that twenty-four hours of solitude would be enough to cure Annette of her refusal to return to Campden Hill Square. But Annette had dug herself in, and Rosa had had to send Hunter to wait upon her. On the third morning Hunter had arrived to find Annette gone, her bed not slept in, and only the remains of the plaster cast whitening the drawing-room floor. Since then no one had seen or heard of the girl. Rosa resolved to wait another day and then, if she could find out nothing, to telephone Marcia. Rosa did not look forward to this telephone call.

As for the Artemis, the situation of that journal seemed to have improved without having been very much clarified. As a result of Mrs Wingfield's intervention, a number of promises of money existed on paper amounting to nearly sixteen hundred pounds. Of these generous donors only two, Mrs Carrington-Morris and a Mrs Jolovitz, whom Rosa had identified as the lady in the mantilla, had so far paid up. With these monies Rosa had settled the bill of the paper merchant and one or two other items; there remained, however, the larger bill of the printer, to say nothing of debts of honour to various contributors to whom Hunter had unwisely promised fees. And even if the sums guaranteed eventually did materialize, they would only rescue the periodical from its immediate difficulties. What Rosa wanted, and what she had hoped that Mrs Wingfield would offer, was a regular subsidy.

Since the shareholders' meeting Rosa had called twice at Mrs Wingfield's house, but on each occasion Miss Foy had opened the door and announced in a loud voice, 'I'm afraid Mrs Wingfield is indisposed,' after which she had added in a piercing whisper, 'She isn't really, you know!' - and then, with many gestures of frustrated goodwill to Rosa, closed the door.

Between Rosa and her brother, on the subect of the latest turn in the fortunes of the Artemis, there had been a mutual refraining from recrimination. Each had tried to spring a surprise on the other, and each was grateful not to be reproached for it. Concerning the future of the journal, Rosa had not yet been able to bring herself to torment Hunter. She felt that, for the moment, the boy had had enough.

As Rosa sat moodily turning these matters over she suddenly heard noises coming from upstairs. Hunter, she knew, had just gone out, so who could it be? The sound, as she listened, seemed to come from Annette's room. Rosa felt a thrill of relief. Annette must have come back! She jumped up and went to the bottom of the stairs and called. There was no answer. She began to mount, and as she went she rehea.r.s.ed her good resolutions. Rosa was well aware that she had never taken the trouble to get to know Annette. Now some of the facts had been thrown in her face. The rest she would study henceforth with the patience which she ought to have displayed from the start. She knocked on the door and then opened it.

Reclining on the bed was Stefan Lusiewicz. Rosa stood there immobilized with astonishment. Then she came slowly into the room and shut the door. Stefan lay like an animated corpse, following her movements with his eyes.

'What do you want, Stefan?' asked Rosa. It was, as it happened, more than two days since she had seen the brothers. After the incident with Jan, Rosa had detected a certain coldness in her reception; but this had almost immediately vanished and everything had seemed to be as usual. She could not interpret Stefan's sudden appearance - but it chilled her blood.

'What is it?' she asked.

'Nothing,' said Stefan. 'Come near, Rosa.'

Rosa stood holding on to the door handle, as if it were a precious link with the outside world. 'Are you all right?' she asked.

'Very fine,' said Stefan. 'I take rest, that is all' He stretched and yawned, changing his position. Then he laughed shortly. 'I know you glad to see me, Rosa,' he said, 'but you not look so. Why you not smile?'

Rosa found herself trying to smile. It was almost impossible. 'You frightened me,' she said. This was terribly true.

'I bring my suit-case, see,' said Stefan. He pointed to a large case in the corner of the room.

Rosa looked at it and trembled. 'What's in that, Stefan?' she asked.

'What does man put in suit-case?' said Stefan. 'Pyjama, toothbrush, towel, vest - all like in English exercise book!' He laughed again.

'Look here,' said Rosa. 'Stop mystifying me, Stefan. What do you want?'

'I want nothing, I say,' said Stefan. 'You not ask Hunter all time what he want. I live here now, I stay here, this room my room. That girl Annette go away. I come. That is all.'

Rosa felt as if the temperature of her body were sinking violently. She tightened her grip on the handle of the door. 'You can't do that. Stefan,' she said. 'Annette is coming back to this room. In any case, this house belongs to Hunter and me.' It was an odd, almost apologetic, way of putting it.

Stefan was not smiling. 'It is big house,' he said. 'There is room for all.'

'Not for you,' said Rosa. 'You know Hunter wouldn't stand it. Anyway, it's impossible for every sort of reason.'

'If someone go,' said Stefan, 'it is Hunter to go, not me.'

'Oh, stop this nonsense!' cried Rosa. 'You must have gone mad. What about Jan? What about your mother?'

'Is nothing now,' said Stefan. His voice seemed suddenly several tones lower.

'What do you mean "is nothing"?' said Rosa. 'Try to speak English!'

'She is dead,' said Stefan. 'I clear her away like old sack. I bury her in the garden.'

'You're mad,' said Rosa.

'She is dead,' said Stefan, 'gaudeamus igitur.'

'I don't believe you,' said Rosa. 'Where is Jan?'

'Jan is gone,' said Stefan. 'Jan is bad man. He go away. Will never come again, never.' He sat up suddenly. 'Now is only you,' he said.

Rosa sat down in a chair. She did not know what to think or what to believe. 'Stefan, tell me the truth,' she said.

'All this is truth,' said Stefan. 'If you not believe, what I can do? Go and look at our room. All is changed, all gone. Never again you see Jan or that old woman. All gone, I tell you, Rosa.' His voice now had the repet.i.tive cadence of a lament.

'What are you going to do?' asked Rosa.

'I tell you hundred times,' said Stefan. 'I stay here. Now you are mother, brother, all. I stay with you.'

Rosa threw up her hands. 'It's not possible,' she said. 'Anyway, I don't understand. I just don't understand.'

Stefan, who had been sitting on the edge of the bed, came near to her and smiled for the first time.

'You soon understand all,' he said. He bent down towards her and his eyes blotted out the room. Without touching her he spoke very close to her face. 'I soon give up factory too.'

'And how will you live?' said Rosa.

'I live with you,' said Stefan. His voice was soft and caressing. 'You give up factory, and we live with your money. You are English lady, you have money, you tell me so yourself.'

'You're mistaken, Stefan,' said Rosa, looking into the cold eyes.

'We see that soon,' said Stefan. Then he laughed. 'Perhaps I joke about this. We see soon.'

A door closed downstairs. 'That's Hunter,' said Rosa.

Stefan stepped back. Then he began to fold himself lazily on to the bed until he was reclining once more. 'Go then,' he said 'and tell Hunter that now I am here.'

Rosa left the room and began to go slowly down the stairs.

Twenty-One.