Devil in the Darkness by Archie Roy

Author:Archie Roy
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Valancourt Books
Published: 2016-10-08T16:00:00+00:00

10 Lost One

By the time they had had coffee and cleared away it was eleven-thirty. Paul and Carol wished the others good-night and left the lounge. As they climbed the stairs, their oil-lamps lighting the darkness, Carol said:

‘So much for our early night.’

‘So much for our cottage.’

The room was almost as icy as on the previous night. Paul had left the bedroom door open earlier in the evening in the hope that heat rising from the lounge and dining-room would alleviate the chill. It did not seem to have worked.

‘I wrapped our pyjamas round the bottles,’ said Carol. She picked up her housecoat, her toilet things and an oil-lamp. ‘Let me use the bathroom first. I’ll try not to be long.’

When she had gone, he sat on the edge of the bed, his hands thrust in his trousers pockets and wondered how on earth Eskimos managed it in their igloos. The cold air began to reach him through his heavy sweater and he brought one of the old-fashioned stone hot-water bottles from under the blankets to hold in his lap. Occasionally he found his head tilting back as his eyes sought the ceiling. In spite of the warmth from the bottle he could not help shivering.

The door opened and Carol slipped back in, wearing her housecoat, carrying her toilet things, a bundle of her clothes and the lamp.

‘Enter Florence Nightingale,’ she said. ‘Exit Prince Charming.’

He grinned, picked up his sponge-bag and towel, took the lamp from Carol and left. He met no one on his way to the bathroom. Inside, he set the lamp on the brown wooden case of the toilet cistern, poured water into the wash-hand basin. It was icy cold. Cleanliness, he told himself grimly, is next to godliness. In the mirror above the basin his face, lamplit, looked out at him from a backdrop of darkness. He began to undress.

When he got back to the bedroom he found Carol snuggled down under the bedclothes, only her head visible. Her hair seemed almost black against the pillowslip.

‘I’ve been moving the bottles all over the bed like steam irons. It’s not too bad now.’ Out of the bedclothes came a slim, rounded arm. Her forefinger beckoned him. ‘Come to bed, Mr Wilson.’

‘I am coming.’ He began to remove the sweater and trousers he had put on again in the bathroom after ablutions. The cold air wafted by his naked body as he strode to the bed, pulled back the clothes at his side to get his pyjamas. He halted. Carol lay on her side, facing him. She wore not the long sensible nightgown of the previous night but a light blue shortie nightie. Her gleaming shoulders reflected the mellow lamplight. The filmy blue material looked no more substantial than cobwebs.

He took a deep breath, swallowed. A dimple came and went in her cheeks as she looked at him. Her gaze dropped.

‘Well, don’t just stand there. Do something, if only to stop the heat getting out of this bed.’

He

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