The Giant Stumbles

  The Giant Stumbles

  by

  John Lymington

  Transworld Publishers

  LONDON

  CHAPTER ONE

  I

  The first storm came on the night of August the sixth. It happened with great suddenness, following weeks of calm, very’ hot weather. The calm persisted until three minutes before the first fire-dropping flash of lightning seared over the horizon, like a great white dazzling flicker racing across the sea. It was so brilliant as to seem slow and deliberate in action. Those who saw it waited, almost in awe, for the thunder; but when it came it was no more than a sullen murmur in the far distance. Yet within two minutes of the first flash, the storm covered the sky above the coast and the forest to the north. Lightning came with blinding brilliance; the thunder shook the windows of the village, and the rains came down with the tearing force of bullets. The sea, which had been calm as a lake, suddenly whipped into fury and the great white crusts on its blackness grew luminous when the lights in the big house went out.

  Harriet Rhodes got up, turned her glance from the tearing rain beyond the french windows and looked towards the door of the room.

  Nature tore and strove with tongues of fire and storm and she feared the tumult might wake the children. The children were scared of thunder.

  Harriet went to the door and opened it. The lights had gone there, too. A blaze of lightning lit the long, curving corridor, throwing a blue scene at her, then faded again into nothing.

  The rain hissed. A cannonade of thunder ran echoing across the heavens and died so that she heard the rain again.

  There were no cries, no sudden whimpers of alarm and bare feet scampering along the carpeted passage. She fumbled her way into the kitchen and got matches. There were candles somewhere, but she had no idea where. Somehow one only saw them in daylight.

  She went along the corridor to the door of Harry’s room, and stopped, catching her breath as a bright flash seared into the corridor, making the curtained windows jump on the wall in sudden blazing light. Three times it did that in rapid succession, and then again the thunder roared and crashed over the white house.

  She opened Harry’s door and struck a match. His bed was a still mound. There was only a tuft of hair showing between the pillow and the turn-down of the sheets. Harry liked to snuggle even in the midst of a heatwave. She blew the match out and left. In the next room the little boy lay flat on the bed, uncovered, his arms flung out across the pillow. Nothing had disturbed him yet. She went in, blew out the second match and covered him gently by the dim light from the window. The rain hissed with savage fury.

  She went out carefully, making no noise. As she closed the door, thunder roared again, but not so close now.

  She remembered there was a torch somewhere in the lounge she had just left and went back into that room as a brilliant flare blazed out on the sea. She saw her husband standing there by the open windows, staring out at the fury. She went to him and put an arm through his. She saw him look down at her and smiled in the gloom.

  “I was afraid it would wake the children,” she said. “But they’re all right so far. Have you finished work ?”

  “No, chump,” he laughed, patting her hand. “Can’ write with no light now, can I ?”

  “Sorry ! ” She laughed, too. “I didn’t think of it. I hope Joe’s all right. He’s out in his car and you know he hasn’t got a hood on it.”

  “He’ll only get wet,” said Nigel cheerfully. “Don’t cluck so, Hal. They’ll live, you know!” He laughed again “Let’s have a drink. I think I can see as far as the side’ board.”

  “You’re callous,” Hal said. “It’s a good job the children have a mother.”

  “Indeed!” he said.

  “Oh—clever!” she snorted, and then shivered slightly as she stared out at the wild sea. “I hate storms.”

  “I know you do,” he said, coming to her. “Drink this and enjoy one for a change.”

  She took the glass and they clinked drinks from custom, and because they were each continually wishing for something. He turned and stared out at the sea again.

  “Do you know, there’s something very queer about this storm?” he said.

  “You sound ominous,” she teased. “What?”

  “There’s lightning, torrential rain—but no wind,” he said.

  “What’s strange about that, then ?” she said.

  “Look at the sea!”

  “It’s rough.”

  “Yes, I know it’s rough. But I never saw a rough sea without a wind before.”

  She thought a moment.

  “I suppose it is a bit queer,” she said.

  “The glass was high and steady,” he said. “And then within fifteen seconds it dropped to twenty-nine. I thought

  it would explode. Now a wild sea and no wind. Physically it’s all wrong.”

  “Obviously, an idea for another article,” she said.

  “Maybe,” he said, staring out.

  A terrific flash made her turn her head from the window and thunder crashed among the chimneys overhead. He felt her shiver against him.

  “Baby,” he said. “Don’t worry. The noise is safe.”

  “I hate it,” she said.

  He put his arm round her waist. “You always did. I don’t like ’em myself. But this one’s interesting. Like a man breathing with no lungs.”

  “Horrible,” she said.

  The lights came on, flickered and then steadied. He felt her relax slightly.

  “Okay,” he said. “I must get on with my work.”

  “Must you?” She did not want him to go.

  He kissed her and smiled.

  “It’s got to go off in the morning,” he said, and finished his drink.

  “Nigel …..”

  He stopped at the door and looked back.

  “Nigel, I …. ”

  He came back to her, watching quizzically. “This starts like a confession,” he said.

  “Yes, it is, I suppose,” she said.

  “You only suppose!” he cried. “My God ! this is going to be worse than even I expect!”

  “It isn’t really all that bad,” she said.

  “Worse and worse,” he muttered. “Come along now. Out with it.”

  His teeth showed bright in a smile, emphasized by his rich brown beard. He looked much younger than he was, she always thought.

  “I’ve sold the barge,” she said, after taking a deep breath.

  The windows came alive with lightning, and his answering words were lost in thunder.

  “You’ve sold Elly?” he said, startled. “What on earth or?”

  “A man wanted it to tow up to London and be a house-boat,” she said. “He’s not going to take it for a fortnight, though.”

  “That’s small comfort,” he said. “I thought we were going to cruise round the world with it. You and me and he children.”

  “That was what you thought when you bought it—two years ago, darling. But apart from getting that old drunkard to put a roof on it …”

  “Deck, dearest,” he corrected.

  “Deck,” she agreed. “Well, apart from that, it’s just been a thing for the children to play in.”

  “They want such a hell of a price for an engine,’’ he said.

  “I thought it would be best,” she said.

  “I shall feel lost without my ship,” he said, and turned to look out of the windows again.

  The sea could be seen breaking white along the line of the private jetty. Alongside it lay the bulk of the old barge, called by the children with unconcious cruelty Elly, that being short for Daddy’s White elephant.

  She put an arm through his.

  “It hasn’t been any good really,
has it?”

  “You’re a one to talk,” he said, a little crossly. “You’re always keeping things that aren’t any good. There’s rooms full of ’em.”

  “I know, dear, but it seemed so much better, when the man made the offer, and Oh, I don’t know. I’m sorry, Nigel.”

  “What’s better? The money? What’s the good of that? In a week you’ll blue it all on the children and presents for me and all that sort of

  f…. ” He stopped himself.

  “Go on—foolery,” she said for him.

  “Well, yes if you like. But we might use Elly some day. It’s daft to sort of go and flog it like that.”

  “Well, I would have asked you, but you were locked away up in The Bin and you know I never come there when you’re busy.”

  The house was a great white bungalow, in the shape of a semi-circle, with a colonnade joining the two horns facing the sea. It had been built for a millionaire who had failed, and upon the western horn was the only room above the ground floor. It was a great square place, with windows looking out all round, and a fine green tiled roof. Now the roof was festooned with aerials of shapes like leaf skeletons and rotating radar searchers. This was where Nigel worked on the articles he sold throughout the world on scientific development, atoms, planets, rockets. From there he made telephone calls to California, Johannesburg and Melbourne; Tokyo, Peru and Georgia. One of the most famous of all scientific writers, he was regarded by the villagers where he lived as mad, and the look-out room on top of the fine white house had become known as The Looney Bin, abbreviated by the family to The Bin.

  “I was busy—true,” he said, frowning. “But not as busy as all that. Elly is—ours. I mean, we didn’t intend to start off on a cruise right away, or in a year, or two years, for that matter. It was just something we were going to do in the future.”

  “I said I’m sorry,” she said, setting her lips.

  “All the same….. ” he started to go on.

  “Sorry!” she snapped.

  He looked at her, noticing her glare.

  “All right, then,” he said, and went out, slamming the door behind him.

  She bit her lip and wished she did not feel like crying whenever something like this happened. She wished, indeed, that she didn’t do things on impulse like that, just as if she deliberately did things that she didn’t want to do …

  As she realized this odd fact—for it was a fact, she knew— she also felt a complete loneliness; as if the world lad stopped around her.

  Startled, almost frightened by the stillness, she looked towards the window.

  Outside the moon shone from a placid sky, reflecting on a calm sea, as if the whole of that mighty, terrifying storm had been no more than some hurricane mirage.

  But then, thankfully, she heard rain dripping from a choked gutter on the roof.

  She felt relieved, as if glad that something familiar was till with her. For a moment she wondered why she felt ike that, but then, of course, she always had that feeling of upset and insecurity after a tiff.

  But by morning she felt uneasy. Nigel had not come down from The Bin all night, and naturally she thought t due to the sale of the old barge. What made it worse was that she looked out of the kitchen window and saw her two younger children, Harry and John, playing pirates aboard the barge, and with a stab she realized how much they did use the old hulk for play.

  Joe, her eldest son, now eighteen and always his mother’s closest, seemed the last chance to find a friend. Jut Joe, fond as he was, had all the forthrightness and plain emotion of youth.

  “You’ve sold the barge?” he said, staring, a cold lo coming into his eyes. “Mother … ”

  Not “Mummy”, she noticed.

  “Mother, you must be barmy !”

  Joe liked the barge. It was a place of solitude, inside cavernous vastness, where one could sit and smoke a pi and dream the dreams of youth. One could also take girls there, and have small parties in the dead of night Until that moment, Joe had not fully realized what a fascinating, romantic, irreplaceable vessel Elly really was.

  “I had a very good offer, dear,” Hal said.

  “But Elly’s ours! ” he said, as though stating some controvertible fact.

  Hal sighed and got on getting breakfast. She had friend over this business. The trouble was, she was not even friendly with herself.

  And Nigel was up there, obstinately refusing to go down. She felt like crying, but it was such a beautiful hot, sunny morning.

  Nigel was not worrying about Elly. Some very queer thoughts had come into his head about the wild sea with no wind.

  It was the first of The Queer Things.

  II

  For Harriet there was something very odd about day. She could not put a finger on the oddness. Perhaps was an atmosphere, a sense of something being wrong was not helped by the fact that Nigel did not appeal day. He stayed in The Bin, and no message came for him.

  This was not so odd, because he often did disappear for long periods when on special work, and he had provisions up there: but she had the uneasy feeling that it had some- thing to do with sulking over the barge. There were moments when, worked up by her feeling of guilt, she felt he had spoilt everything for the family for ever.

  The younger children rushed in and out all day long, laughing, shouting, eating, growing browner and browner the sun on the beach. Joe went off in his car, nobody knew where.

  Outside, the fields running down to the beach became filled with cars like shining beetles, and the sea was peppered with bobbing heads.

  The day was hot and gold as copper bronze. During lve afternoon she rested on the sofa and tried to read a book, but the wretched barge kept getting in the way. Several times she wondered if she could ring the buyer and call the deal off, but obstinacy refused her.

  By five o’clock, the barge had become an enormous issue in her mind. She started to get tea, for the daily roman had then gone home, and it was while she was in le kitchen that he suddenly came in.

  He looked tired, his eyes were distant and faintly angry, le thought. He wore just a shirt and trousers.

  “Tea,” he said, huskily. “Good.”

  He leaned against the fridge and stared at her with a queer look. Alarm sprang up in her.

  “Nigel, darling,” she said, turning to him, “I’m sorry about the barge. Desperately, desperately sorry !”

  His stare concentrated. He began to frown.

  “The barge?” he said.

  She felt a faint shock.

  “Elly,” she explained.

  “What’s happened to her?” he asked, puzzled.

  Her eyes grew wide.

  “Nigel!” she gasped. “I told you I sold her—to a man —for a houseboat.”

  “Did you?” he said, and shook his head slightly. I must have forgotten.”

  He went to the table to help himself to tea. “Forgotten?” she said incredulously. “But you—you can’t have forgotten!”

  He looked up at her, the queer stare still in his dark eyes.

  “Perhaps I didn’t listen,” he said. “You know how I am when I’m working on an idea.”

  She looked, she trembled very’ slightly, then dropped the knife she held with a clatter to the table and ran ou of the room.

  He remained there, staring at the shut door where she had gone.

  “Hell,” he grunted. “What’s the matter now?”

  He dropped into a chair, put his arms on the table and let his head fall into them. For several minutes he stayed thus, then he straightened up and drank his tea. He drew a long breath after it, then got up and went through the door where she had gone and into the bedroom as she came out of it.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I got a bit het up.”

  “I’d forgotten about Elly,” he said. “When did you say the man would come to tow it away ?”

  “In a fortnight. He’s going to let me know.”

  “He’s not,” he said, without emotion, and turned and walked a
way. “Rex’s coming,” he said opening the bath room door. “And Leila and another man. They may stay the night. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you. It’s important.’ “It’s all right,” she said, used to sudden visits. “I’ll get the two rooms ready.” She was glad to have something active to do.

  But as she went into the first of the spare rooms she membered what he had said.

  “He’s not.” Just like that. A statement. Not a challenge r defiance. Nothing of anger in it.

  For a moment she wondered if he had telephoned and put the deal off, but she knew he would not do that. He might be thoughtless in many ways, but he would not make her look a fool to a stranger.

  But why had he been so certain?

  She looked out of the window to the lawn which filled le middle of the D plan of the house. Nigel was there, talking to Harry, and Harry’s animals were all about, wandering and hoping for food. Harry’ was mad about animals and was trying to build up what he called a zoo. So far he had a goat, two pigs, a Shetland pony, six budgerigars, a chameleon, a collection of grass snakes (in a box), a bat, a very small monkey, in a cage because it ole things and made itself sick, an uncounted number of its who turned up only at feeding time, and the house spaniel bitch, Constance, who did not really count at all, sing treated as a human being most of the time.

  She watched Nigel and her ten-year-old son talking earnestly together, while the expectant animals watched le talkers even more earnestly. John, the six-year-old, came running on to the lawn and charged into Nigel’s grasp to be caught and swung round.

  Yet, as she watched, she saw Nigel’s face. There was no laughter in it; just that same sort of queer, almost blank, look with which he had come into the kitchen.

  The anxiety which had nagged about the barge all day ow turned suddenly to Nigel. Of course his attitude light have been nothing more than weariness, overwork, the result of long hours of solitude and mental strain, after twenty years she should be used to it. Normally she