| |||||
|
V
The eggs were in the frying-pan. Vera, toasting bread, thought to herself:
‘Why did I make a hysterical fool of myself? That was a mistake. Keep
calm, my girl, keep calm.’
After all, she’d always prided herself on her level-headedness!
‘Miss Claythorne was wonderful—kept her head—started off swimming
after Cyril at once.’
Why think of that now? All that was over—over…Cyril had disappeared
long before she got near the rock. She had felt the current take her, sweep-
ing her out to sea. She had let herself go with it—swimming quietly, float-
ing—till the boat arrived at last…
They had praised her courage and her sang-froid…
But not Hugo. Hugo had just—looked at her…
God, how it hurt, even now, to think of Hugo…
Where was he? What was he doing? Was he engaged—married?
Emily Brent said sharply:
‘Vera, that toast is burning.’
‘Oh sorry, Miss Brent, so it is. How stupid of me.’
Emily Brent lifted out the last egg from the sizzling fat.
Vera, putting a fresh piece of bread on the toasting fork, said curiously:
‘You’re wonderfully calm, Miss Brent.’
Emily Brent said, pressing her lips together:
‘I was brought up to keep my head and never to make a fuss.’
Vera thought mechanically:
‘Repressed as a child…That accounts for a lot…’
She said:
‘Aren’t you afraid?’
She paused and then added:
‘Or don’t you mind dying?’
Dying! It was as though a sharp little gimlet had run into the solid con-
gealed mess of Emily Brent’s brain. Dying? But she wasn’t going to die! The
others would die—yes—but not she, Emily Brent. This girl didn’t under-
stand! Emily wasn’t afraid, naturally—none of the Brents were afraid. All
her people were Service people. They faced death unflinchingly. They led
upright lives just as she, Emily Brent, had led an upright life…She had
never done anything to be ashamed of…And so, naturally, she wasn’t going
to die…
‘The Lord is mindful of his own.’ ‘Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by
night; nor for the arrow that flieth by day…’ It was daylight now—there was
no terror. ‘We shall none of us leave this island.’ Who had said that? General
Macarthur, of course, whose cousin had married Elsie MacPherson. He
hadn’t seemed to care. He had seemed—actually—to welcome the idea!
Wicked! Almost impious to feel that way. Some people thought so little of
death that they actually took their own lives. Beatrice Taylor…Last night
she had dreamed of Beatrice—dreamt that she was outside pressing her
face against the window and moaning, asking to be let in. But Emily Brent
hadn’t wanted to let her in. Because, if she did, something terrible would
happen…
Emily came to herself with a start. That girl was looking at her very
strangely. She said in a brisk voice:
‘Everything’s ready, isn’t it? We’ll take the breakfast in.’
|
|||||
- 发表评论
-
- 最新评论 进入详细评论页>>
