The Saint Zita Society by Ruth Rendell Page A

until my employers return from holiday.’
    His disappointment was plain. ‘Perhaps another time.’
    ‘Perhaps,’ said Rabia, putting Thomas back in his pushchair.
    She was rather annoyed with her father. The more he went on like this the more she would resist. He had arranged one marriage for her and, though she had come to love her husband, no one could say that things had turned out well for her. Very much the reverse. She wouldn’t let him do it again. She was a British citizen, used to British ways, unacceptable as some of them might be. As she began the walk back to Hexam Place, the idea of British ways turned her thoughts to the problem of Lucy and the TV man, not to consider any longer whether to tell Mr Still – that would have such terrible consequences as not to be contemplated – but simply to think about the situation and how differentit would be if Lucy were not herself British-born but a member of a family hailing from Pakistan. Her own, for instance. Why, if any of her female relatives had behaved like that, if not subjected to an honour killing, she would at least have been shut up somewhere and probably beaten. Rabia, gentle and loving with children, generally subservient to male relatives, thought this kind of violence on the whole a good idea.
    T he Saint Zita Society met in the Dugong at lunchtime to discuss the items on a very full agenda. Present – June made a note of the names – were herself, Thea, Montserrat, Jimmy, Henry and Sondra. Apologies were from Richard, Beacon, Rabia and Zinnia. No alcohol was drunk while the business was under discussion.
    June made a very eloquent speech on the revolting evils of packaging up one’s dog’s excrement in a plastic bag and leaving it under a tree. An unsatisfactory letter had come from the council, extolling its own street-cleaning plan and hygiene consciousness. It was unanimously decided that Thea should write again. June thought she should have been asked to write but she said nothing, merely looked sulky. Noise in the street was dismissed as being mostly caused by employers, not employees. Smoking and sitting on doorsteps was raised under Any Other Business along with cats squealing in back gardens at night and pigeons fouling doorsteps. It was unanimously agreed that asking householders to keep their cats in at night would have no effect, besides the fact that no one at the meeting could recall any resident of Hexam Place having a cat. The squealers must have come in from Eaton Square or Sloane Gardens. Much the same applied to pigeons.
    Sondra wanted to know if Thea had meant smoking
while
one was sitting on a doorstep, to which Thea replied, ‘Whatever,’ and had to be told by June that all responses should be addressed to the meeting through the chair. By the time the date had been fixed for the next meeting tempers had run rather high, but everyone calmed down when Henry fetched glasses of wine for all. Montserrat and Jimmy were the last to leave, Montserrat’s thoughts much concerned with the new man she had met in a club two nights before. Ciaran had spent that night and last night with her in her flat at number 7 and seemed keener than any man had for a couple of years. No question of Rohypnol there and no fear of Ciaran O’Hara stealing Lucy’s jewellery. But she was in a dilemma. To tell him about the arrangement she had with Lucy and Rad Sothern or to say nothing? But suppose she said nothing and he happened to see her admitting or letting Rad out by the basement door? It was quite possible he might and then it would be too late to explain about the arrangement and that Rad was Lucy’s lover, not hers. Lucy and Preston would soon be back and Rad would certainly expect to pay a visit in the coming week, if not two visits. What was she to do?
    T hough now twenty-five years old, Henry kept up his childhood fondness for Halloween and all that entailed. He would have liked to knock on doors, offering trick or treat, but feared the