The Unbaited Trap

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CHAPTER ONE li K THE ROOF ; John Emmerson brought his speed down to twenty as he neared the bottom of the Avenue. Although it was only six o'clock on the November evening, there was already a tendency to frost, and he knew from experience the road would be wet near Handley's Place. There was a spring somewhere up on one of his fields and nothing could be done about it. Twice last year he had skidded on the same spot, and around this time of the year, and he didn't want this to happen tonight, not with his new acquisition only a week old. He'd had a Rover car for years, changing it every so often, but this last change had brought with it a thrill, and he had long since felt that thrills were things that happened to other men, and youths. Yes, thrills were the prerogative of youth. But the Rover 2000 had stirred something in him. It was a small stir, but nevertheless, because such emotional happenings were rare, it loomed as something large. The effect of the car on him was, he imagined, like that caused by a few pep pills. As he turned into Lime Avenue his headlights picked up the line of trees. Stiff and stark, they marched into the distance, their blackness shades darker than the night sky. A short way up the road a headlight crossed his own and he swerved to the right, and as he did so he tooted his horn twice, and received the same reply from the other car. Later tonight the driver of that car would be coming to dinner, and this time 3

next year his only daughter would be his own daughter-in-law. His house was on the opposite side of the road, number 74, The Gables', and was quite a way from number 7, 'Syracuse', since each house stood in about quarter of an acre of land. He had lived in Lime Avenue ten years, moving here when he became senior partner of the firm. It was in a way the insignia of his success; and no little success, he having bought out Ratcliff, Arnold & Baker. Now to all intents and purposes he was Ratcliff, Arnold & Baker, the leading solicitors of the town. And that state would continue, he supposed, until Arnold Ransome bought him out. The junior partner, Boyd, did not come into it at this stage-junior partners had long, long roads to travel. He turned into his drive, made the S-bend, and came to his front door. Ann had forgotten to put the light on. She was careful about lights, economical about silly little things, and wildly extravagant about things that cost a great deal of money. But in just under two hours' time she would have the house ablaze to greet the Family Wilcox. Her dear friend, May, her future daughter-in-law Valerie, and the scion of the local Bench, James; dinner-at-eight, the same old routine, the same old crowd. He went under the glass-covered porch and inserted his latch-key in the heavy oak front door, and before he turned to close it he switched on the lobby lights, when he passed into the hall he again switched on the lights. The burnt orange shades of the wall lights warmed the white walls. He could stand the white walls at night, but in the daytime 4

\ their starkness chilled him. About two years ago Ann had taken this craze for the stripped look; the lounge had become white, the dining-room a pale French grey; the staircase and landing white; her bedroom pale lilac and white. He had checked the attack on his own room, but he had done it gently, as he did everything when dealing with Ann, or anyone else for that matter, but particularly when dealing with his wife. And so his room was left to its overall greenness, and it was the only place in his home that didn't cause his eyes to blink and water. He went into the cloakroom and hung up his coat and hat, and having washed his hands he bent his tall, heavy body towards the mirror, and, moistening a finger, rubbed it over the hair at each side of his ears. Then he stared at himself, as was his habit. The blue eyes that looked back at him looked slightly washed out and weary. He now drew his ringer and thumb down his long nose, then nipped its point before dropping his index finger to the bristle on his upper lip, which he daily prevented from becoming a moustache. But the movement of his finger was like that of a man stroking his moustache. These were private actions, almost unconscious, indulged in daily over the years until now he neither saw nor felt himself doing them any more. The only way he would have become aware of this habit would have been if he had found himself being observed. It was as if some compassionate part of him looked kindly at the whole, like a mother giving praise to the runt of her litter. Last of all, he stroked his hair back. It was very thick and grizzled and was the only strong-looking thing about him. He now tugged at his waistcoat and went into the 5

hall again, and he was making for the stairs when he heard his wife's voice coming from the kitchen. After a moment's hesitation he went towards the door and pushed it gently open. His wife was standing at the table. Her hair was done up in a pale blue chiffon scarf, and she was enveloped in a long overall. On his entry she looked up and gave him a thin smile as she said, 'Hello, dear. You're early.' 'Yes, yes. The case was finished much sooner than we expected. I came straight on from Newcastle. My, my! aren't we busy.' He joined his hands together in front of his chest as if he was greeting himself, and smiled his tight smile as he turned towards the woman standing at the stove, 'Well, Mrs. Stringer, something smells good. What are you hashing up for us tonight, eh?' He was always hearty when in the kitchen and speaking to Mrs. Stringer. He felt it was expected of him, a form of appreciation for services' rendered; and it pleased Ann, for she was always saying she didn't know what she would do without Mrs. Stringer. Yet he always felt something of a fool whilst adopting this pose. Mrs. Stringer's conversation always took a staccato form. 'Oh, sir, going to town tonight,' she said. 'Aw, yes. But it's not me. I haven't concocted nothing; all praise to the mistress here. Dead beat she'll be afore eight o'clock. What she should do is have a bath and lie down ... Yes an' I told her.' 'There now. Sensible advice. What about it?' He looked towards his wife, and when she made no rejoinder he stood awkwardly staring at her. She could do this, could Ann, refuse to make comment, She could carry on with what she was doing in a 6

silence that screamed, and it didn't seem to affect her. That was wrong; it affected her all right. He could almost hear her nerves jangling in her body. As he continued to stare at her, he thought she was still good looking; in spite of everything she had kept her looks ... and poise. The latter perhaps owed a lot to her tall thinness, that thinness that had always been able to carry clothes like a fashion plate. And her face, too, had hardly altered since he first met her, except for her mouth, which drooped noticeably at the corners now. But her complexion was still as clear as a young girl's, and she forty-five this year. Poor Ann. He jerked his head on this last thought and the compassion that the words released in him. As he turned away, being unable to find any more small talk with which to fill the void, she said suddenly in her crisp way, 'Just a minute; I'm coming.' As she pulled off her overall Mrs. Stringer took it from her hand, saying comfortingly, That's it, Ma'am. That's it.' He stood aside and held the door open for her, then followed her across the hall into the lounge. A log fire was burning on the new hearth that stood two feet from the ground, its funnel-like chimney protruding into the room like some accoutrement in a farmyard-a corn shute he always likened it to. He supposed this was one of the smartest lounges in the town. It should be, too, for the alterations and furnishings had cost him a staggering sum. The new teak floor glowed dimly along all its thirty-five feet, which took in the dining-room as well. The dividing doors were open and the long dining-table was gleaming with glass and silver. Beyond the table, dull gold velvet 7

curtains shrouded one wall completely, and in the lounge itself the curtains broke the white expanse of wall in three places. If there was an emotion in him strong enough to be called hatred, then he could say he hated this room. He looked towards her as he said now, 'Would you like a drink?' His voice, no longer hearty, had a tentative sound to it. 'No. No thanks.' Her body made a nervous movement. Then sitting down abruptly on a mushroom-coloured couch, she leant her head back and after a moment said, 'Yes, I think I will, after all. Just a small one.' He went into the dining-room and beyond the table, and to what looked like a corner cupboard with a carved counter roughly hewn out of a length of oak standing in front of it. When he opened the door of the cupboard, there was displayed a sparkling array of glasses and bottles. The bottles^ started from floorwards, and the glasses from above'"1 his head, all graded sizes and all standing on their particular shelves. He took down two and placed them on the counter; then lifting up a bottle of sherry, he filled the glasses and carried them down the room to the couch. After handing her a glass, he stood with his back to the fire and again the silence descended on them. With the second sip from his glass, he asked quietly, 'What are we having tonight?' It didn't really matter to him what they had, he wasn't very interested in food-he'd had to learn to eat less and less to keep his bulk down-but she spent a lot of time thinking up menus for her dinners, and again he felt it was expected of him to be interested. 'Oh, nothing elaborate.' She shook her head. 8