Greybeard

When Martha woke again, she was in a bedroom. She sprawled over a bed, lying against the girl who had been in the car with her. They both roused and tried to pull themselves together. The room they were in was without windows; they thought it was a large room partitioned into two. A dark woman entered and led Martha into another room. She was brought before a man in a mask, and allowed to sit on a chair. The man told her that she was lucky to be chosen, and that there was no need to be frightened. His boss had fallen in love with her, and would treat her well if she would live with him; the flowers had been sent to her as a token of the honesty of his intentions. Angry and frightened though she was, Martha kept quiet at this point.

She had then been taken to the “boss” in a third room. He wore a domino. His face was thin, and deficient in chin. His jaw looked grey in the bright light. He rose when Martha entered and spoke in a gentle husky voice. He told her he was rich and lonely, and needed her company as well as her body. She asked how many girls he required to overcome his loneliness; he said huffily that the other girl was for a friend of his. He and his friend were shy men, and had to resort to this method of introduction; he was not a criminal, and he had no intention of harming her.

Very well, Martha had said, let me go. She told him she was engaged to be married. The man sat in a swivel-chair behind a table. Chair and table stood on a dais. The man moved very little.

He looked at her for a long while in silence, until she became very sick and scared. What chiefly scared her was her belief that this man was in an obscure way scared of her, and would go to considerable lengths to alter this situation.

“You should not get married,” he said at last. “You can’t have babies. Women don’t have babies any more, now that radiation sickness is so fashionable. Men used to hate those beastly little bawling ugly brats so much, and now their secret dreams have been fulfilled, and women can be used for nice things. You and I could do nice things.

“You’re lovely, with those legs and breasts and eyes of yours. But you’re only flesh and blood, like me. A little thing like a scalpel could cut right into you and make you unfit for nice things. I often say to my friends, ‘Even the loveliest girl can’t stand up to a little scalpel.’ I’m sure you’d rather do nice things, a girl like you, eh?”

Martha repeated shakily that she was going to get married. Again he sat in silence, not moving. When he spoke again it was with less interest, and on a different tack. He said he liked her attractive foreign accent. He had a large bombproof shelter underground, stocked with two years’ supplies of food and drink. He had a private plane. They could winter in Florida, if she would sign an agreement with him. They could do nice things.

She told him he had ugly thumbs and fingers. She would have nothing to do with anyone with hands like that.

He rang a bell. Two men ran in and seized Martha. They held Martha while the man in the domino came down off his dais and kissed her and ran his hands under her clothes and over her body. She struggled and kicked his ankle. His mouth trembled. She called him a coward. He ordered her to be taken out. The two men dragged her back into the bedroom and held her down on the bed, while the other girl cried in a corner. In outrage, Martha screamed as loudly as she could. The men put her out with another chloroformed pad.

When she came back to her senses, it was the cold air of night that roused her. She was being hustled into the deserted Sufferance Press building and tied to the bench.

She had been frightened and sick all night. When she heard someone below, she had not dared to call out until Timberlane had uttered his name, fearing the kidnappers had come back for her.

“That vile, loathsome creature! I’d tear his throat out if I got hold of him… Darling — you’re sure that’s all he did to you?”

“Yes — in an obscure way, I felt he’d got the thrill he was after — something in my fear he needed — I don’t know.”

“He was a maniac, whoever he was,” Timberlane said, pressing her close to him, running his hands through her hair. “Thank God he was mad the way he was and did you no real harm. Oh my darling, it’s like a miracle to have you again. I’ll never let you go.”

“All the same, I shouldn’t stay too close, love, until I’ve had a bath,” she said, laughing shakily. Having told her tale, something of her normal composure was back. “You must have been in a state when you saw the taxi speeding away with me, poor darling.”

“Dyson and Jack were a great help. I left a note for Jack at the billet in case I ran into trouble. The police’ll get this slimy little pervert. The details you have should be enough to track him down.”