Cruelty Read online

  ‘That sounds very fair. Why don’t you come with me when I collect it?’

  Mrs Bixby was about to say yes to this, but caught herself just in time. She had no wish to be greeted like an old customer by the pawnbroker in her husband’s presence.

  ‘No,’ she said slowly. ‘I don’t think I will. You see, it’ll be even more thrilling if I stay behind and wait. Oh, I do hope it isn’t going to be something that neither of us wants.’

  ‘You’ve got a point there,’ he said. ‘If I don’t think it’s worth fifty dollars, I won’t even take it.’

  ‘But you said it would be worth five hundred.’

  ‘I’m quite sure it will. Don’t worry.’

  ‘Oh, Cyril, I can hardly wait! Isn’t it exciting?’

  ‘It’s amusing,’ he said, slipping the ticket into his waistcoat pocket. ‘There’s no doubt about that.’

  Monday morning came at last, and after breakfast Mrs Bixby followed her husband to the door and helped him on with his coat.

  ‘Don’t work too hard, darling,’ she said.

  ‘No, all right.’

  ‘Home at six?’

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘Are you going to have time to go to that pawnbroker?’ she asked.

  ‘My God, I forgot all about it. I’ll take a cab and go there now. It’s on my way.’

  ‘You haven’t lost the ticket, have you?’

  ‘I hope not,’ he said, feeling in his waistcoat pocket. ‘No, here it is.’

  ‘And you have enough money?’

  ‘Just about.’

  ‘Darling,’ she said, standing close to him and straightening his tie, which was perfectly straight. ‘If it happens to be something nice, something you think I might like, will you telephone me as soon as you get to the office?’

  ‘If you want me to, yes.’

  ‘You know, I’m sort of hoping it’ll be something for you, Cyril. I’d much rather it was for you than for me.’

  ‘That’s very generous of you, my dear. Now I must run.’

  About an hour later, when the telephone rang, Mrs Bixby was across the room so fast she had the receiver off the hook before the first ring had finished.

  ‘I got it!’ he said.

  ‘You did! Oh, Cyril, what was it? Was it something good?’

  ‘Good!’ he cried. ‘It’s fantastic! You wait till you get your eyes on this! You’ll swoon!’

  ‘Darling, what is it? Tell me quick!’

  ‘You’re a lucky girl, that’s what you are.’

  ‘It’s for me, then?’

  ‘Of course it’s for you. Though how in the world it ever got to be pawned for only fifty dollars I’ll be damned if I know. Someone’s crazy.’

  ‘Cyril! Stop keeping me in suspense! I can’t bear it!’

  ‘You’ll go mad when you see it.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Try to guess.’

  Mrs Bixby paused. Be careful, she told herself. Be very careful now.

  ‘A necklace,’ she said.

  ‘Wrong.’

  ‘A diamond ring.’

  ‘You’re not even warm. I’ll give you a hint. It’s something you can wear.’

  ‘Something I can wear? You mean like a hat?’

  ‘No, it’s not a hat,’ he said, laughing.

  ‘For goodness’ sake, Cyril! Why don’t you tell me?’

  ‘Because I want it to be a surprise. I’ll bring it home with me this evening.’

  ‘You’ll do nothing of the sort!’ she cried. ‘I’m coming right down there to get it now!’

  ‘I’d rather you didn’t do that.’

  ‘Don’t be so silly, darling. Why shouldn’t I come?’

  ‘Because I’m too busy. You’ll disorganize my whole morning schedule. I’m half an hour behind already.’

  ‘Then I’ll come in the lunch hour. All right?’

  ‘I’m not having a lunch hour. Oh well, come at one thirty then, while I’m having a sandwich. Good-bye.’

  At half past one precisely, Mrs Bixby arrived at Dr Bixby’s place of business and rang the bell. Her husband, in his white dentist’s coat, opened the door himself.

  ‘Oh, Cyril, I’m so excited!’

  ‘So you should be. You’re a lucky girl, did you know that?’ He led her down the passage and into the surgery.

  ‘Go and have your lunch, Miss Pulteney,’ he said to the assistant, who was busy putting instruments into the sterilizer. ‘You can finish that when you come back.’ He waited until the girl had gone, then he walked over to a closet that he used for hanging up his clothes and stood in front of it, pointing with his finger. ‘It’s in there,’ he said. ‘Now – shut your eyes.’

  Mrs Bixby did as she was told. Then she took a deep breath and held it, and in the silence that followed she could hear him opening the cupboard door and there was a soft swishing sound as he pulled out a garment from among the other things hanging there.

  ‘All right! You can look!’

  ‘I don’t dare to,’ she said, laughing.

  ‘Go on. Take a peek.’

  Coyly, beginning to giggle, she raised one eyelid a fraction of an inch, just enough to give her a dark blurry view of the man standing there in his white overalls holding something up in the air.

  ‘Mink!’ he cried. ‘Real mink!’

  At the sound of the magic word she opened her eyes quick, and at the same time she actually started forward in order to clasp the coat in her arms.

  But there was no coat. There was only a ridiculous little fur neckpiece dangling from her husband’s hand.

  ‘Feast your eyes on that!’ he said, waving it in front of her face.

  Mrs Bixby put a hand up to her mouth and started backing away. I’m going to scream, she told herself. I just know it. I’m going to scream.

  ‘What’s the matter, my dear? Don’t you like it?’ He stopped waving the fur and stood staring at her, waiting for her to say something.

  ‘Why yes,’ she stammered. ‘I … I … think it’s … it’s lovely … really lovely.’

  ‘Quite took your breath away for a moment there, didn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, it did.’

  ‘Magnificent quality,’ he said. ‘Fine colour, too. You know something, my dear? I reckon a piece like this would cost you two or three hundred dollars at least if you had to buy it in a shop.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it.’

  There were two skins, two narrow mangy-looking skins with their heads still on them and glass beads in their eye sockets and little paws hanging down. One of them had the rear end of the other in its mouth, biting it.

  ‘Here,’ he said. ‘Try it on.’ He leaned forward and draped the thing round her neck, then stepped back to admire. ‘It’s perfect. It really suits you. It isn’t everyone who has mink, my dear.’

  ‘No, it isn’t.’

  ‘Better leave it behind when you go shopping or they’ll all think we’re millionaires and start charging us double.’

  ‘I’ll try to remember that, Cyril.’

  ‘I’m afraid you mustn’t expect anything else for Christmas. Fifty dollars was rather more than I was going to spend anyway.’

  He turned away and went over to the basin and began washing his hands. ‘Run along now, my dear, and buy yourself a nice lunch. I’d take you out myself but I’ve got old man Gorman in the waiting-room with a broken clasp on his denture.’

  Mrs Bixby moved towards the door.

  I’m going to kill that pawnbroker, she told herself. I’m going right back there to the shop this very minute and I’m going to throw this filthy neckpiece right in his face and if he refuses to give me back my coat I’m going to kill him.

  ‘Did I tell you I was going to be late home tonight?’ Cyril Bixby said, still washing his hands.

  ‘No.’

  ‘It’ll probably be at least eight thirty the way things look at the moment. It may even be nine.’

  ‘Yes, all right. Good-bye.’ Mrs Bixby went out, slamming