‘Damn you!’ cried Vivien shrilly. ‘Why can’t you say it, you smooth-faced devil, instead of torturing me?’
Clare looked shocked, and Vivien hastily recanted.
‘I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry, Clare. I am indeed. Only – my nerves are all to pieces, and your sitting here and talking about the weather – well, it got me all rattled.’
‘You’ll have a nervous breakdown if you’re not careful,’ said Clare coldly.
Vivien gave a short laugh.
‘Go over the edge? No – I’m not that kind. I’ll never be a loony. Now tell me – what’s all this about?’
Clare was silent for a moment, then she spoke, looking not at Vivien, but steadily out over the sea.
‘I thought it only fair to warn you that I can no longer keep silence about – about what happened last year.’
‘You mean – you’ll go to Gerald with the whole story?’
‘Unless you’ll tell him yourself. That would be infinitely the better way.’
Vivien laughed sharply.
‘You know well enough I haven’t got the pluck to do that.’
Clare did not contradict the assertion. She had had proof before of Vivien’s utterly craven temper.
‘It would be infinitely better,’ she repeated.
Again Vivien gave that short, ugly laugh. ‘It’s your precious conscience, I suppose, that drives you to do this?’ she sneered.
‘I dare say it seems very strange to you,’ said Clare quietly. ‘But it honestly is that.’
Vivien’s white, set face stared into hers. ‘My God!’ she said. ‘I really believe you mean it, too. You actually think that’s the reason.’
‘It is the reason.’
‘No, it isn’t. If so, you’d have done it before – long ago. Why didn’t you? No, don’t answer. I’ll tell you. You got more pleasure out of holding it over me – that’s why. You liked to keep me on tenterhooks, and make me wince and squirm. You’d say things – diabolical things – just to torment me and keep me perpetually on the jump. And so they did for a bit – till I got used to them.’
‘You got to feel secure,’ said Clare.
‘You saw that, didn’t you? But even then, you held back, enjoying your sense of power. But now we’re going away, escaping from you, perhaps even going to be happy – you couldn’t stick that at any price. So your convenient conscience wakes up!’
She stopped, panting. Clare said, still very quietly:
‘I can’t prevent your saying all these fantastical things; but I can assure you they’re not true.’
Vivien turned suddenly and caught her by the hand.
‘Clare – for God’s sake! I’ve been straight – I’ve done what you said. I’ve not seen Cyril again – I swear it.’
‘That’s nothing to do with it.’
‘Clare – haven’t you any pity – any kindness? I’ll go down on my knees to you.’
‘Tell Gerald yourself. If you tell him, he may forgive you.’
Vivien laughed scornfully.
‘You know Gerald better than that. He’ll be rabid – vindictive. He’ll make me suffer – he’ll make Cyril suffer. That’s what I can’t bear. Listen, Clare – he’s doing so well. He’s invented something – machinery, I don’t understand about it, but it may be a wonderful success. He’s working it out now – his wife supplies the money for it, of course. But she’s suspicious – jealous. If she finds out, and she will find out if Gerald starts proceedings for divorce – she’ll chuck Cyril – his work, everything. Cyril will be ruined.’
‘I’m not thinking of Cyril,’ said Clare. ‘I’m thinking of Gerald. Why don’t you think a little of him, too?’
‘Gerald! I don’t care that –’ she snapped her fingers ‘for Gerald. I never have. We might as well have the truth now we’re at it. But I do care for Cyril. I’m a rotter, through and through, I admit it. I dare say he’s a rotter, too. But my feeling for him – that isn’t rotten. I’d die for him, do you hear? I’d die for him!’
‘That is easily said,’ said Clare derisively. ‘You think I’m not in earnest? Listen, if you go on with this beastly business, I’ll kill myself. Sooner than have Cyril brought into it and ruined, I’d do that.’
Clare remained unimpressed.
‘You don’t believe me?’ said Vivien, panting. ‘Suicide needs a lot of courage.’
Vivien flinched back as though she had been struck.
‘You’ve got me there. Yes, I’ve no pluck. If there were an easy way –’
‘There’s an easy way in front of you,’ said Clare. ‘You’ve only got to run straight down that green slope. It would be all over in a couple of minutes. Remember that child last year.’
‘Yes,’ said Vivien thoughtfully. ‘That would be easy – quite easy – if one really wanted to –’
Clare laughed.
Vivien turned to her.
‘Let’s have this out once more. Can’t you see that by keeping silence as long as you have, you’ve – you’ve no right to go back on it now? I’ll not see Cyril again. I’ll be a good wife to Gerald – I swear I will. Or I’ll go away and never see him again? Whichever you like. Clare –’
Clare got up.
‘I advise you,’ she said, ‘to tell your husband yourself . . . otherwise – I shall.’
‘I see,’ said Vivien softly. ‘Well, I can’t let Cyril suffer . . .’
She got up, stood still as though considering for a minute or two, then ran lightly down to the path, but instead of stopping, crossed it and went down the slope. Once she half turned her head and waved a hand gaily to Clare, then she ran on gaily, lightly, as a child might run, out of sight . . .
Clare stood petrified. Suddenly she heard cries, shouts, a clamour of voices. Then – silence.
She picked her way stiffly down to the path. About a hundred yards away a party of people coming up it had stopped. They were staring and pointing. Clare ran down and joined them.
‘Yes, Miss, someone’s fallen over the cliff. Two men have gone down – to see.’
She waited. Was it an hour, or eternity, or only a few minutes?
A man came toiling up the ascent. It was the Vicar in his shirt sleeves. His coat had been taken off to cover what lay below.
‘Horrible,’ he said, his face was very white. ‘Mercifully death must have been instantaneous.’
He saw Clare, and came over to her.
‘This must have been a terrible shock to you. You were taking a walk together, I understand?’
Clare heard herself answering mechanically.
Yes. They had just parted. No, Lady Lee’s manner had been quite normal. One of the group interposed the information that the lady was laughing and waving her hand. A terribly dangerous place – there ought to be a railing along the path.
The Vicar’s voice rose again. ‘An accident – yes, clearly an accident.’
And then suddenly Clare laughed – a hoarse, raucous laugh that echoed along the cliff.
‘That’s a damned lie,’ she said. ‘I killed her.’
She felt someone patting her shoulder, a voice spoke soothingly. ‘There, there. It’s all right. You’ll be all right presently.’