“She stood watching me, rocking on her heels, her hands in her pockets and a smile on her face. ‘Do you realize that I could get Danny, as my personal maid, to swear anything I asked her to swear, in a court of law? And that the rest of the servants, in blind ignorance, would follow her example and swear too? They think we live together at Manderley as husband and wife, don’t they? And so does everyone, your friends, all our little world. Well, how are you going to prove that we don’t?’
“She sat down on the edge of the table, swinging her legs, watching me.
“ ‘Haven’t we acted the parts of a loving husband and wife rather too well?’ she said. I remember watching that foot of hers in its striped sandal swinging backwards and forwards, and my eyes and brain began to burn in a strange quick way.
“ ‘We could make you look very foolish, Danny and I,’ she said softly. ‘We could make you look so foolish that no one would believe you, Max, nobody at all.’ Still that foot of hers, swinging to and fro, that damned foot in its blue and white striped sandal.
“Suddenly she slipped off the table and stood in front of me, smiling still, her hands in her pockets.
“ ‘If I had a child, Max,’ she said, ‘neither you, nor anyone in the world, would ever prove that it was not yours. It would grow up here in Manderley, bearing your name. There would be nothing you could do. And when you died Manderley would be his. You could not prevent it. The property’s entailed. You would like an heir, wouldn’t you, for your beloved Manderley? You would enjoy it, wouldn’t you, seeing my son lying in his pram under the chestnut tree, playing leap-frog on the lawn, catching butterflies in the Happy Valley? It would give you the biggest thrill of your life, wouldn’t it, Max, to watch my son grow bigger day by day, and to know that when you died, all this would be his?’
“She waited a minute, rocking on her heels, and then she lit a cigarette and went and stood by the window. She began to laugh. She went on laughing. I thought she would never stop. ‘God, how funny,’ she said, ‘how supremely, wonderfully funny! Well, you heard me say I was going to turn over a new leaf, didn’t you? Now you know the reason. They’ll be happy, won’t they, all these smug locals, all your blasted tenants? “It’s what we’ve always hoped for, Mrs. de Winter,” they will say. I’ll be the perfect mother, Max, like I’ve been the perfect wife. And none of them will ever guess, none of them will ever know.’
“She turned round and faced me, smiling, one hand in her pocket, the other holding her cigarette. When I killed her she was smiling still. I fired at her heart. The bullet passed right through. She did not fall at once. She stood there, looking at me, that slow smile on her face, her eyes wide open…”
Maxim’s voice had sunk low, so low that it was like a whisper. The hand that I held between my own was cold. I did not look at him. I watched Jasper’s sleeping body on the carpet beside me, the little thump of his tail, now and then, upon the floor.
“I’d forgotten,” said Maxim, and his voice was slow now, tired, without expression, “that when you shot a person there was so much blood.”
There was a hole there on the carpet beneath Jasper’s tail. The burned hole from a cigarette. I wondered how long it had been there. Some people said ash was good for the carpets.
“I had to get water from the cove,” said Maxim. “I had to keep going backwards and forwards to the cove for water. Even by the fireplace, where she had not been, there was a stain. It was all round where she lay on the floor. It began to blow too. There was no catch on the window. The window kept banging backwards and forwards, while I knelt there on the floor with that dishcloth, and the bucket beside me.”
And the rain on the roof, I thought, he does not remember the rain on the roof. It pattered thin and light and very fast.
“I carried her out to the boat,” he said; “it must have been half past eleven by then, nearly twelve. It was quite dark. There was no moon. The wind was squally, from the west. I carried her down to the cabin and left her there. Then I had to get under way, with the dinghy astern, and beat out of the little harbor against the tide. The wind was with me, but it came in puffs, and I was in the lee there, under cover of the headland. I remember I got the mainsail jammed halfway up the mast. I had not done it, you see, for a long time. I never went out with Rebecca.
“And I thought of the tide, how swift it ran and strong into the little cove. The wind blew down from the headland like a funnel. I got the boat out into the bay. I got her out there, beyond the beacon, and I tried to go about, to clear the ridge of rocks. The little jib fluttered. I could not sheet it in. A puff of wind came and the sheet tore out of my hands, went twisting round the mast. The sail thundered and shook. It cracked like a whip above my head. I could not remember what one had to do. I could not remember. I tried to reach that sheet and it blew above me in the air. Another blast of wind came straight ahead. We began to drift sideways, closer to the ridge. It was dark, so damned dark I couldn’t see anything on the black, slippery deck. Somehow I blundered down into the cabin. I had a spike with me. If I didn’t do it now it would be too late. We were getting so near to the ridge, and in six or seven minutes, drifting like this, we should be out of deep water. I opened the sea-cocks. The water began to come in. I drove the spike into the bottom boards. One of the planks split right across. I took the spike out and began to drive in another plank. The water came up over my feet. I left Rebecca lying on the floor. I fastened both the scuttles. I bolted the door. When I came up on deck I saw we were within twenty yards of the ridge. I threw some of the loose stuff on the deck into the water. There was a lifebuoy, a pair of sweeps, a coil of rope. I climbed into the dinghy. I pulled away, and lay back on the paddles, and watched. The boat was drifting still. She was sinking too. Sinking by the head. The jib was still shaking and cracking like a whip. I thought someone must hear it, someone walking the cliffs late at night, some fisherman from Kerrith away beyond me in the bay, whose boat I could not see. The boat was smaller, like a black shadow on the water. The mast began to shiver, began to crack. Suddenly she heeled right over and as she went the mast broke in two, split right down the center. The lifebuoy and the sweeps floated away from me on the water. The boat was not there anymore. I remember staring at the place where she had been. Then I pulled back to the cove. It started raining.”