C4 antho - Chamber Four
C4 antho - Chamber Four C4 antho - Chamber Four
~242~ The Chamber Four Fiction Anthology It was near nine, and the sun was high, but the courtyard was empty, and nobody seemed to be around in the rooms or in the gallery. Sharon looked for the other guests, she looked for housekeepers and serving staff going about their work. She saw none. She went up and down the gallery, peering into the windows of the other rooms. Some were furnished like theirs with beds, chairs, dressers, but showed no sign of being occupied. Some were quite empty. One was boarded up: wooden panels had been screwed down over the windows and over the slats in the door. Sharon started back the way she had come, but then she heard voices coming from the shut-up room. She returned to the door, looked up and down the gallery, and leaned toward the plywood panel that covered the louvers. It wasn’t voices she heard, but a single voice, Patrick’s. He must have been talking on the telephone. “Yes,” said Patrick. “Last night.”... “No.”... “She’s the same one, yes.”... “Nothing.”... “Nothing at all.”... “Of course not.”... “He does. He must, mustn’t he?”... “All you’ve got.”... “As soon as may be.”... “No.”... “That’s too long.”... “That’s far too long.”... “Well, he isn’t going anywhere, is he?” “All right.”...
The Next Thing on Benefit ~243~ “I will.”... “All right, then.” Sharon turned and walked quickly back around the gallery to their room. She went through the room and out onto the veranda in front. Munro was waiting for her, sitting in a chair. He got to his feet when Sharon came onto the veranda. He took her in his arms. “Where have you been?” Munro asked her. “Looking around.” “What do you think?” “It’s really quiet.” “It’s meant to be quiet.” “So, where are the other guests?” “Guests?” “This is your island, isn’t it?” Sharon asked. “It belongs to you.” “You might say that,” said Munro. “I might say that? What would you say? If it isn’t yours, whose is it, would you say?” “I’d say it was ours.” “Ours?” “Yours and mine,” said Munro. “For the time being. For the present. For what it’s worth.” * * * * Sharon sat beside Munro on the beach. They sat on low canvas chairs. At noon the wind had come back. It was an onshore wind; it blew into their faces, stiffening. Sharon wore a wide straw sun hat, and she had to keep putting her
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~242~ The <strong>Chamber</strong> <strong>Four</strong> Fiction Anthology<br />
It was near nine, and the sun was high, but the courtyard<br />
was empty, and nobody seemed to be around in the rooms or<br />
in the gallery. Sharon looked for the other guests, she looked<br />
for housekeepers and serving staff going about their work.<br />
She saw none. She went up and down the gallery, peering<br />
into the windows of the other rooms. Some were furnished<br />
like theirs with beds, chairs, dressers, but showed no sign of<br />
being occupied. Some were quite empty. One was boarded<br />
up: wooden panels had been screwed down over the windows<br />
and over the slats in the door.<br />
Sharon started back the way she had come, but then she<br />
heard voices coming from the shut-up room. She returned to<br />
the door, looked up and down the gallery, and leaned toward<br />
the plywood panel that covered the louvers. It wasn’t voices<br />
she heard, but a single voice, Patrick’s. He must have been<br />
talking on the telephone.<br />
“Yes,” said Patrick. “Last night.”...<br />
“No.”...<br />
“She’s the same one, yes.”...<br />
“Nothing.”...<br />
“Nothing at all.”...<br />
“Of course not.”...<br />
“He does. He must, mustn’t he?”...<br />
“All you’ve got.”...<br />
“As soon as may be.”...<br />
“No.”...<br />
“That’s too long.”...<br />
“That’s far too long.”...<br />
“Well, he isn’t going anywhere, is he?”<br />
“All right.”...
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