The Fallen Curtain by Ruth Rendell Page B

coshed, and they were all nervous. Except Della. She didn’t even mention it to me, and she must have known.”
    “So she didn’t think Chris was a burglar?”
    “Of course she didn’t.” Rosamund started to cry. “She saw a man—my man. She couldn’t get one of her own. Every time I tried to talk about him she went all cold and standoffish. She heard us come in last night and she understood and—and it sent her over the edge. It drove her crazy. I’d heard they wanted her to see a psychiatrist at work, and now I know why.”
    The policeman shivered a little, in spite of his long experience. Fear of burglars he could understand, but this…. “She’ll see one now,” he said, and then he sent the weeping girl home to her mother.

The Double
     

    Strange dishevelled women who had the air of witches sat round the table in Mrs Cleasant’s drawing room. One of them, a notable medium, seemed to be making some sort of divination with a pack of Tarot cards. Later on, when it got dark, they would go on to table-turning. The aim was to raise up the spirit of Mr Cleasant, one year dead, and also perhaps, Peter thought with anger and disgust, to frighten Lisa out of her wits.
    “Where are you going?” said Mrs Cleasant when Lisa came back with her coat on.
    Peter answered for her. “I’m taking her for a walk in Holland Park, and then we’ll have a meal somewhere.”
    “Holland Park?” said the medium. If a corpse could have spoken it would have had a voice like hers. “Take care, be watchful. That place has a reputation.”
    The witch women looked at her expectantly, but the medium had returned to her Tarot and was eyeing the Empress, which she had brought within an inch or two of her long nose. Peter was sickened by the lot of them. Six months to go, he thought, and he’d take her out of this—this coven.
    It was a Sunday afternoon in spring, and the air in the park was fresh and clean, almost like country air. Peter drew in great gulps of it, cleansing himself of the atmosphere of that drawing room. He wished Lisa would unwind, be less nervous and strung-up. The hand he wasn’t holding kept going up to the charm she wore on a chain round her neck or straying out to knock on wood as they passed a fence.
    Suddenly she said, “What did that woman mean about the park’s reputation?”
    “Some occult rubbish. How should I know? I hate that sort of thing.”
    “So do I,” she said, “but I’m afraid of it.”
    “When we’re married you’ll never have to have any more todo with it. I’ll see to that. God, I wish we could get married now or you’d come and live with me till we can.”
    “I can’t marry you till I’m eighteen without Mummy’s permission, and if I go and live with you they’ll make me a ward of court.”
    “Surely not, Lisa.”
    “Anyway, there’s only six months to wait. It’s hard for me too. Don’t you think I’d rather live with you than with Mummy?”
    The childish rejoinder made him smile. “Come on, try and look a bit more cheerful. I want to take your photograph. If I can’t have you, I’ll have your picture.” They had reached a sunny open space where he sat her on a log and told her to smile. He got the camera out of its case. “Don’t look at those people, darling. Look at me.”
    It was a pity the man and the girl had chosen that moment to sit down on the wooden seat.
    “Lisa!” he said sharply, and then he wished he hadn’t, for her face crumpled with distress. He went up to her. “What’s the matter now, Lisa?”
    “Look at that girl,” she said.
    “All right. What about her?”
    “She’s exactly like me. She’s my double.”
    “Nonsense. What makes you say that? Her hair’s the same colour and you’re about the same build, but apart from that, there’s no resemblance. She’s years older than you and she’s…”
    “Peter, you must see it! She might be my twin. Look, the man with her has noticed. He looked at me and said something to her and