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Rebecca(161)

Author:Daphne Du Maurier

“No, Frith, we won’t be changing, not tonight,” I said.

“Very good, Madam,” he said.

He left the door open. Robert came in and began drawing the curtains. He arranged the cushions, straightened the sofa, tidied the books and papers on the table. He took away the whiskey and soda and the dirty ashtrays. I had seen him do these things as a ritual every evening I had spent at Manderley, but tonight they seemed to take on a special significance, as though the memory of them would last forever and I would say, long after, in some other time, “I remember this moment.”

Then Frith came in and told us that dinner was served.

I remember every detail of that evening. I remember the ice-cold consommé in the cups, and the fillets of sole, and the hot shoulder of lamb.

I remember the burned sugar sweet, the sharp savory that followed.

We had new candles in the silver candlesticks, they looked white and slim and very tall. The curtains had been drawn here too against the dull gray evening. It seemed strange to be sitting in the dining room and not look out onto the lawns. It was like the beginning of autumn.

It was while we were drinking our coffee in the library that the telephone rang. This time it was I who answered it. I heard Beatrice speaking at the other end. “Is that you?” she said, “I’ve been trying to get through all the evening. Twice it was engaged.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said, “so very sorry.”

“We had the evening papers about two hours ago,” she said, “and the verdict was a frightful shock to both Giles and myself. What does Maxim say about it?”

“I think it was a shock to everybody,” I said.

“But, my dear, the thing is preposterous. Why on earth should Rebecca have committed suicide? The most unlikely person in the world. There must have been a blunder somewhere.”

“I don’t know,” I said.

“What does Maxim say? Where is he?” she said.

“People have been here,” I said—“Colonel Julyan, and others. Maxim is very tired. We’re going up to London tomorrow.”

“What on earth for?”

“Something to do with the verdict. I can’t very well explain.”

“You ought to get it quashed,” she said. “It’s ridiculous, quite ridiculous. And so bad for Maxim, all this frightful publicity. It’s going to reflect on him.”

“Yes,” I said.

“Surely Colonel Julyan can do something?” she said. “He’s a magistrate. What are magistrates for? Old Horridge from Lanyon must have been off his head. What was her motive supposed to be? It’s the most idiotic thing I’ve ever heard in my life. Someone ought to get hold of Tabb. How can he tell whether those holes in the boat were made deliberately or not? Giles said of course it must have been the rocks.”

“They seemed to think not,” I said.

“If only I could have been there,” she said. “I should have insisted on speaking. No one seems to have made any effort. Is Maxim very upset?”

“He’s tired,” I said, “more tired than anything else.”

“I wish I could come up to London and join you,” she said, “but I don’t see how I can. Roger has a temperature of 103, poor old boy, and the nurse we’ve got in is a perfect idiot, he loathes her. I can’t possibly leave him.”

“Of course not,” I said. “You mustn’t attempt it.”

“Whereabouts in London will you be?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “It’s all rather vague.”

“Tell Maxim he must try and do something to get that verdict altered. It’s so bad for the family. I’m telling everybody here it’s absolutely wicked. Rebecca would never have killed herself, she wasn’t the type. I’ve got a good mind to write to the Coroner myself.”

“It’s too late,” I said. “Much better leave it. It won’t do any good.”

“The stupidity of it gets my goat,” she said. “Giles and I think it much more likely that if those holes weren’t done by the rocks they were done deliberately, by some tramp or other. A Communist perhaps. There are heaps of them about. Just the sort of thing a Communist would do.”

Maxim called to me from the library. “Can’t you get rid of her? What on earth is she talking about?”

“Beatrice,” I said desperately, “I’ll try and ring you up from London.”

“Is it any good my tackling Dick Godolphin?” she said. “He’s your M.P. I know him very well, much better than Maxim does. He was at Oxford with Giles. Ask Maxim whether he would like me to telephone Dick and see if he can do anything to quash the verdict? Ask Maxim what he thinks of this Communist idea.”