cb.damnationgame-第28部分

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　　He　found　her　that　afternoon；　loitering　in　the　vicinity　of　the　dovecote。　She　was　wrapped　up　in　a　fur　coat　that　looked　as　if　it　had　been　bought　at　a　thrift　shop；　it　was　several　sizes　too　big　for　her；　and　moth…eaten。　As　it　was；　she　seemed　overdressed。　The　weather　was　warm　even　if　the　wind　was　gusty；　and　the　clouds　that　passed　across　a　Wedgwood…blue　sky　carried　little　threat：　too　small；　too　white。　They　were　April　clouds；　containing　at　worst　a　light　shower。
　　〃Carys。〃　She　fixed　him　with　eyes　so　ringed　with　tiredness　his　first　thought　was　that　they　were　bruised。　In　her　hand　she　had　a　bundle；　rather　than　a　bunch；　of　flowers；　many　still　buds。
　　〃Smell；〃　she　said；　proffering　them。
　　He　sniffed　at　them。　They　were　practically　scentless：　they　just　smelled　of　eagerness　and　earth。
　　〃Can't　smell　much。〃　〃Good；〃　she　said。　〃I　thought　I　was　losing　my　senses。〃　She　let　the　bundle　drop　to　the　ground；　impatient　with　them。
　　〃You　don't　mind　if　I　interrupt；　do　you？〃　She　shook　her　head。　〃Interrupt　all　you　like；〃　she　replied。　The　strangeness　of　her　manner　struck　him　more　forcibly　than　ever；　she　always　spoke　as　though　she　had　some　private　joke　on　her　mind。　He　longed　to　join　in　the　game；　to　learn　her　secret　language；　but　she　seemed　so　sealed　up；　an　anchorite　behind　a　wall　of　sly　smiles。
　　〃I　suppose　you　heard　the　dogs　last　night；〃　he　said。
　　〃I　don't　remember；〃　she　replied；　frowning。　〃Maybe。〃　〃Did　anybody　say　anything　to　you　about　it？〃　〃Why　should　they？〃　〃I　don't　know。　I　just　thought…〃　She　put　him　out　of　his　disfort　with　a　fierce　little　nod　of　her　head。
　　〃Yes；　if　you　want　to　know。　Pearl　told　me　there's　been　an　intruder。　And　you　scared　him　off；　is　that　right？　You　and　the　dogs。〃　〃Me　and　the　dogs。〃　〃And　which　of　you　bit　off　his　finger？〃　Had　Pearl　told　her　about　the　finger　too；　or　was　it　the　old　man　who'd　vouchsafed　that　vicious　detail？　Had　they　been　together　today；　in　her　room？　He　canceled　the　scene　before　it　flared　up　in　his　head。
　　〃Did　Pearl　tell　you　that？〃　he　said。
　　〃I　haven't　seen　the　old　man；〃　she　replied；　〃if　that's　what　you're　driving　at。
　　His　thought　encapsulated；　it　was　eerie。　She　even　used　his　phraseology。　〃The　old　man；〃　she　called　him；　not　〃Papa。〃　〃Shall　we　walk　down　to　the　lake？〃　she　suggested；　not　really　seeming　to　care　one　way　or　the　other。
　　〃Sure。〃　〃You　were　right　about　the　dovecote；　you　know；〃　she　said。　〃It's　ugly　when　it's　empty　like　this。　I　never　thought　of　it　like　that　before。〃　The　image　of　the　deserted　dovecote　genuinely　seemed　to　unnerve　her。　She　shivered；　even　in　the　thick　coat。
　　〃Did　you　run　today？〃　she　asked。
　　〃No。　I　was　too　tired。〃　〃Was　it　that　bad？〃　〃Was　what　that　bad？〃　〃Last　night。〃　He　didn't　know　how　to　begin　to　answer。　Yes；　of　course；　it　had　been　bad；　but　even　if　he　trusted　her　enough　to　describe　the　illusion　he'd　seen…and　he　was　by　no　means　sure　he　did…his　vocabulary　was　woefully　inadequate。
　　Carys　paused　as　they　came　in　sight　of　the　lake。　Small　white　flowers　starred　the　grass　beneath　their　feet；　Marty　didn't　know　their　names。　She　studied　them　as　she　said：　〃Is　it　just　another　prison；　Marty？〃　〃What？〃　〃Being　here。〃　She　had　her　father's　skill　with　non　sequiturs。　He　hadn't　anticipated　the　question　at　all；　and　it　threw　him。　Nobody　had　really　asked　him　how　he'd　felt　since　arriving。　Certainly　not　beyond　a　superficial　inquiry　as　to　his　fort。　Perhaps　consequently　he　hadn't　really　bothered　to　ask　himself。　His　answer…when　it　came…came　haltingly。
　　〃Yes　。　。　。　I　suppose　it's　still　a　prison；　I　hadn't　really　thought　。　。　。　I　mean；　I　can't　just　up　and　leave　anytime　I　want　to；　can　I？　But　it　doesn't　pare　。　。　。　with；　Wandsworth〃…again；　his　vocabulary　failed　him…〃this　is　just　another　world。〃　He　wanted　to　say　he　loved　the　trees；　the　size　of　the　sky；　the　white　florets　they　stepped　through　as　they　walked；　but　he　knew　such　utterances　would　sound　leaden　out　of　his　mouth。　He　hadn't　got　the　knack　of　that　kind　of　talk：　not　like　Flynn；　who　could　babble　instant　poetry　as　though　it　were　a　second　tongue。　Irish　blood；　he　used　to　claim；　to　explain　this　loquacity。　All　Marty　could　say　was：　〃I　can　run　here。〃　She　murmured　something　he　failed　to　catch；　perhaps　just　assent。　Whatever；　his　answer　seemed　to　satisfy　her；　and　he　could　feel　the　anger　he'd　started　out　with；　the　resentment　at　her　clever　talk　and　her　secret　life　with　Papa；　dissolving。
　　〃Do　you　play　tennis？〃　she　asked；　again　out　of　nowhere。
　　〃No；　I　never　have。〃　〃Like　to　learn？〃　she　suggested；　half…looking　around　at　him　and　grinning。　〃I　could　teach　you。　When　the　weather　gets　warmer。〃　She　looked　too　frail　for　any　strenuous　exercise；　living　on　the　edge　all　the　time　seemed　to　weary　her；　though　on　the　edge　of　what　he　didn't　know。
　　〃You　teach　me：　I'll　play；〃　he　said；　happy　with　the　bargain。
　　〃That's　a　deal？〃　she　asked。
　　〃A　deal。〃　…and　her　eyes；　he　thought；　are　so　dark；　ambiguous　eyes　that　dodge　and　skim　sometimes；　and　sometimes；　when　you　least　expect　it；　look　at　you　with　such　directness　you're　sure　she's　stripping　your　soul。
　　…and　he　isn't　handsome；　she　thought；　he's　too　used　to　be　that；　and　he　runs　to　keep　himself　fit　because　if　he　stopped　he'd　get　flabby。　He's　probably　a　narcissist：　I　bet　he　stands　in　front　of　the　mirror　every　night　and　looks　at　himself　and　wishes　he　was　still　a　pretty…boy　instead　of　being　solid　and　somber。
　　She　caught　a　thought　from　him；　her　mind　reaching　up；　easily　up；　above　her　head　（this　was　the　way　she　pictured　it；　at　least）　and　snatching　it　out　of　the　air。　She　did　it　all　the　time…to　Pearl；　to　her　father…often　forgetting　that　other　people　lacked　the　skill　to　pry　with　such　casualness。
　　The　thought　she　had　snatched　was：　I　would　have　to　learn　to　be　gentle；　that；　or　something　like　it。　He　was　afraid　she'd　bruise；　for　Christ's　sake。　That　was　why　he　was　all　dammed　up　when　he　was　with　her；　so　circuitous　in　his　dealings。
　　〃I'm　not　going　to　break；〃　she　said；　and　a　patch　of　skin　at　his　neck　blushed。
　　〃I'm　sorry；〃　he　answered。　She　wasn't　sure　if　he　was　conceding　his　error　or　simply　hadn't　understood　her　observation。
　　〃There's　no　need　to　handle　me　with　kid　gloves。　I　don't　want　that　from　you。　I　get　it　all　the　time。〃　He　threw　her　a　disconsolate　glance。　Why　didn't　he　believe　what　she　told　him？　She　waited；　hoping　for　some　clue；　but　none　was　offered；　however　tentative。
　　They'd　e　to　the　weir　that　fed　the　lake。　It　was　high；　and　fast。　People　had　drowned　in　it；　she'd　been　told；　as　recently　as　a　couple　of　decades　ago；　just　before　Papa　had　bought　the　estate。　She　started　to　explain　all　this；　and　about　a　coach　and　horses　that　had　been　driven　into　the　lake　during　a　storm；　telling　him　without　listening　to　herself；　working　out　how　to　get　past　his　courtesy　and　his　machismo　to　the　part　of　him　that　might　be　of　use　to　her。
　　〃And　the　coach　is　still　in　there？〃　he　asked；　staring　into　the　threshing　water。
　　〃Presumably；〃　she　said。　The　story　had　lost　its　charm　already。
　　〃Why　don't　you　trust　me？〃　she　asked　him　straight　out。
　　He　didn't　reply；　but　he　was　clearly　struggling　with　something。　The　frown　of　puzzlement　he　displayed　deepened　to　dismay。　Damn；　she　thought；　I've　really　spoiled　things　somehow。　But　it　was　done。　She'd　asked　him　outright；　and　she　was　ready　to　take　the　bad　news；　whatever　it　was。
　　Almost　without　planning　the　theft；　she　stole　another　thought　from　him；　and　it　was　shockingly　clear：　like　living　it。　Through　his　eyes　she　saw　the　door　of　her　bedroom；　and　her　lying　on　the　bed　beyond　it；　glassy…eyed；　with　Papa　sitting　close　by。　When　was　this；　she　wondered？　Yesterday？　The　day　before？　Had　he　heard　them　talking　about　it；　was　that　what　woke　such　distaste　in　him？　He'd　played　the　detective；　and　he　hadn't　liked　what　he'd　discovered。
　　〃I'm　not　very　good　with　people；〃　he　said；　answering　her　question　about　trust。　〃I　never　have　been。〃　How　he　squirmed　rather　than　tell　the　truth。　He　was　being　obscenely　polite　with　her。　She　wanted　to　wring　his　neck。
　　〃You　spied　on　us；〃　she　said　with　brutal　plainness。　〃That's　all　it　is；　isn't　it？　You　saw　Papa　and　me　together…〃　She　tried　to　frame　the　remark　as　if　it　were　a　wild　guess。　It　didn't　quite　convince　as　such；　and　she　knew　it。　But　what　the　hell？　It　was　said　now；　and　he　would　have　to　invent　his　own　reasons　as　to　how　she'd　reached　that　conclusion。
　　〃What　did　you　overhear？〃　she　demanded；　but　got　no　response。　It　wasn't　anger　that　tongue…tied　him；　but　shame　for　his　peeping。　The　blushing　had　infected　his　face　from　ear　to　ear。
　　〃He　treats　you　like　he　owns　you；〃　he　murmured；　not　taking…his　eyes　off　the　roiling　water。
　　〃He　does；　in　a　way。〃　〃Why？〃　〃I'm　all　he's　got。　He's　alone　。　。　。〃　〃Yes。〃
　　〃。　。　。　and　afraid。〃　〃Does　he　ever　let　you　leave　the　Sanctuary？〃　〃I've　got　no　desire　to　go；〃　she　said。　〃I've　got　all　I　want　here。〃　He　wanted　to　ask　her　what　she　did　for　bed　panions；　but　he'd　embarrassed　himself　enough　as　it　was。　She　found　the　thought　anyway；　and　fast　upon　the　thought；　the　image　of　Whitehead　leaning　forward　to　kiss　her。　Perhaps　it　was　more　than　a　fatherly　kiss。　Though　she　tried　not　to　think　of　that　possibility　too　often；　she　could　not　avoid　its　presence。　Marty　was　more　acute　than　she'd　given　him　credit　for；　he'd　caught　that　subtext；　subtle　as　it　was。
　　〃I　don't　trust　him；〃　he　said。　He　took　his　gaze　off　the　water　to　look　around　at　her。　His　bewilderment　was　perfectly　app