“Well, he can’t, Eva. You know who’s coming.”
“I told him you couldn’t see him. He said he thought he knew you.”
“Well, who is he, Eva?”
“He’s a big gangly man, a little bit drunk. He says his name is Adam Trask.”
Although Kate made no movement or sound Eva knew something had struck home. The fingers of Kate’s right hand slowly curled around the palm while the left hand crept like a lean cat toward the edge of the desk. Kate sat still as though she held her breath. Eva was jittery. Her mind went to the box in her dresser drawer where her hypodermic needle lay.
Kate said at last, “Sit over there in that big chair, Eva. Just sit still a minute.” When the girl did not move Kate whipped one word at her. “Sit!” Eva cringed and went to the big chair.
“Don’t pick your nails,” said Kate.
Eva’s hands separated, and each one clung to an arm of the chair.
Kate stared straight ahead at the green glass shades of her desk lamp. Then she moved so suddenly that Eva jumped and her lips quivered. Kate opened the desk drawer and took out a folded paper. “Here! Go to your room and fix yourself up. Don’t take it all—no, I won’t trust you.” Kate tapped the paper and tore it in two; a little white powder spilled before she folded the ends and passed one to Eva. “Now hurry up! When you come downstairs, tell Ralph I want him in the hall close enough to hear the bell but not the voices. Watch him to see he doesn’t creep up. If he hears the bell—no, tell him—no, let him do it his own way. After that bring Mr. Adam Trask to me.”
“Will you be all right, Miss Kate?”
Kate looked at her until she turned away. Kate called after her, “You can have the other half as soon as he goes. Now hurry up.”
After the door had closed Kate opened the right-hand drawer of her desk and took out a revolver with a short barrel. She swung the cylinder sideways and looked at the cartridges, snapped it shut and put it on her desk, and laid a sheet of paper over it. She turned off one of the lights and settled back in her chair. She clasped her hands on the desk in front of her.
When the knock came on the door she called, “Come in,” hardly moving her lips.
Eva’s eyes were wet, and she was relaxed. “Here he is,” she said and closed the door behind Adam.
He glanced quickly about before he saw Kate sitting so quietly behind the desk. He stared at her, and then he moved slowly toward her.
Her hands unclasped and her right hand moved toward the paper. Her eyes, cold and expressionless, remained on his eyes.
Adam saw her hair, her scar, her lips, her creping throat, her arms and shoulders and flat breasts. He sighed deeply.
Kate’s hand shook a little. She said, “What do you want?”
Adam sat down in the straight chair beside the desk. He wanted to shout with relief, but he said, “Nothing now. I just wanted to see you. Sam Hamilton told me you were here.”
The moment he sat down the shake went out of her hand. “Hadn’t you heard before?”
“No,” he said. “I hadn’t heard. It made me a little crazy at first, but now I’m all right.”
Kate relaxed and her mouth smiled and her little teeth showed, the long canines sharp and white. She said, “You frightened me.”
“Why?”
“Well, I didn’t know what you’d do.”
“Neither did I,” said Adam, and he continued to stare at her as though she were not alive.
“I expected you for a long time, and when you didn’t come I guess I forgot you.”
“I didn’t forget you,” he said. “But now I can.”
“What do you mean?”
He laughed pleasantly. “Now I see you, I mean. You know, I guess it was Samuel said I’d never seen you, and it’s true. I remember your face but I had never seen it. Now I can forget it.”
Her lips closed and straightened and her wide-set eyes narrowed with cruelty. “You think you can?”
“I know I can.”
She changed her manner. “Maybe you won’t have to,” she said. “If you feel all right about everything, maybe we could get together.”
“I don’t think so,” said Adam.
“You were such a fool,” she said. “Like a child. You didn’t know what things to do with yourself. I can teach you now. You seem to be a man.”
“You have taught me,” he said. “It was a pretty sharp lesson.”
“Would you like a drink?”
“Yes,” he said.
“I can smell your breath—you’ve been drinking rum.” She got up and went to a cabinet for a bottle and two glasses, and when she turned back she noticed that he was looking at her fattened ankles. Her quick rage did not change the little smile on her lips.
She carried the bottle to the round table in the middle of the room and filled the two small glasses with rum. “Come, sit over here,” she said. “It’s more comfortable.” As he moved to a big chair she saw that his eyes were on her protruding stomach. She handed him a glass, sat down, and folded her hands across her middle.
He sat holding his glass, and she said, “Drink it. It’s very good rum.” He smiled at her, a smile she had never seen. She said, “When Eva told me you were here I thought at first I would have you thrown out.”
“I would have come back,” he said. “I had to see you—not that I mistrusted Samuel, but just to prove it to myself.”
“Drink your rum,” she said.
He glanced at her glass.
“You don’t think I’d poison you—” She stopped and was angry that she had said it.
Smiling, he still gazed at her glass. Her anger came through to her face. She picked up her glass and touched her lips to it. “Liquor makes me sick,” she said. “I never drink it. It poisons me.” She shut her mouth tight and her sharp teeth bit down on her lower lip.
Adam continued to smile at her.
Her rage was rising beyond her control. She tossed the rum down her throat and coughed, and her eyes watered and she wiped her tears away with the back of her hand. “You don’t trust me very much,” she said.
“No, I don’t.” He raised his glass and drank his rum, then got up and filled both glasses.
“I will not drink any more,” she said in panic.
“You don’t have to,” Adam said. “I’ll just finish this and go along.”
The biting alcohol burned in her throat and she felt the stirring in her that frightened her. “I’m not afraid of you or anyone else,” she said, and she drank off her second glass.
“You haven’t any reason to be afraid of me,” said Adam. “You can forget me now. But you said you had already.” He felt gloriously warm and safe, better than he had for many years. “I came up to Sam Hamilton’s funeral,” he said. “That was a fine man. I’ll miss him. Do you remember, Cathy, he helped you with the twins?”
In Kate the liquor raged. She fought and the strain of the fight showed on her face.
“What’s the matter?” Adam asked.
“I told you it poisoned me. I told you it made me sick.”
“I couldn’t take the chance,” he calmly said. “You shot me once. I don’t know what else you’ve done.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve heard some scandal,” he said. “Just dirty scandal.”
For the moment she had forgotten her will-fight against the cruising alcohol, and now she had lost the battle. The redness was up in her brain and her fear was gone and in its place was cruelty without caution. She snatched the bottle and filled her glass.
Adam had to get up to pour his own. A feeling completely foreign to him had arisen. He was enjoying what he saw in her. He liked to see her struggling. He felt good about punishing her, but he was also watchful. “Now I must be careful,” he told himself. “Don’t talk, don’t talk.”
He said aloud, “Sam Hamilton has been a good friend to me all the years. I’ll miss him.”
She had spilled some rum, and it moistened the corners of her mouth. “I hated him,” she said. “I would have killed him if I could.”
“Why? He was kind to us.”
“He looked—he looked into me.”
“Why not? He looked into me too, and he helped me.”
“I hate him,” she said. “I’m glad he’s dead.”
“Might have been good if I had looked into you,” Adam said.
Her lip curled. “You are a fool,” she said. “I don’t hate you. You’re just a weak fool.”