The Breaking Point: Stories by Daphne Du Maurier

Author:Daphne Du Maurier [Maurier, Daphne Du]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, Psychological, Thrillers, Suspense, Short Stories (Single Author), Literature & Fiction, Action & Adventure, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Crime, Thriller & Suspense, Romance, Thrillers & Suspense, Murder, Thriller, Crime Fiction
ISBN: 9780316253598
Google: 92xlAgAAQBAJ
Amazon: B0085ZL96Q
Publisher: Hachette UK
Published: 2013-12-15T22:00:00+00:00

2

When Deborah woke next morning she knew at once that her mood was bad. It would last her for the day. Her eyes ached, and her neck was stiff, and there was a taste in her mouth like magnesia. Immediately Roger came running into her room, his face refreshed and smiling from some dreamless sleep, and jumped on her bed.

‘It’s come,’ he said, ‘the heat-wave’s come. It’s going to be ninety in the shade.’

Deborah considered how best she could damp his day. ‘It can go to a hundred for all I care,’ she said. ‘I’m going to read all morning.’

His face fell. A look of bewilderment came into his eyes. ‘But the house?’ he said. ‘We’d decided to have a house in the trees, don’t you remember? I was going to get some planks from Willis.’

Deborah turned over in bed and humped her knees. ‘You can, if you like,’ she said. ‘I think it’s a silly game.’

She shut her eyes, feigning sleep, and presently she heard his feet patter slowly back to his own room, and then the thud of a ball against the wall. If he goes on doing that, she thought maliciously, Grandpapa will ring his bell, and Agnes will come panting up the stairs. She hoped for destruction, for grumbling and snapping, and everyone falling out, not speaking. That was the way of the world.

The kitchen, where the children breakfasted, faced west, so it did not get the morning sun. Agnes had hung up fly-papers to catch wasps. The cereal, puffed wheat, was soggy. Deborah complained, mashing the mess with her spoon.

‘It’s a new packet,’ said Agnes. ‘You’re mighty particular all of a sudden.’

‘Deb’s got out of bed the wrong side,’ said Roger.

The two remarks fused to make a challenge. Deborah seized the nearest weapon, a knife, and threw it at her brother. It narrowly missed his eye, but cut his cheek. Surprised, he put his hand to his face and felt the blood. Hurt, not by the knife but by his sister’s action, his face turned red and his lower lip quivered. Deborah ran out of the kitchen and slammed the door. Her own violence distressed her, but the power of the mood was too strong. Going on to the terrace, she saw that the worst had happened. Willis had found the lilo and the rug, and had put them to dry in the sun. He was talking to her grandmother. Deborah tried to slip back into the house, but it was too late.

‘Deborah, how very thoughtless of you,’ said Grandmama. ‘I tell you children every summer that I don’t mind your taking the things from the hut into the garden if only you’ll put them back.’

Deborah knew she should apologize, but the mood forbade it. ‘That old rug is full of moth,’ she said contemptuously, ‘and the lilo has a rainproof back. It doesn’t hurt them.’

They both stared at her, and her grandmother flushed, just as Roger had done when she had thrown the knife at him.

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