Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 105, Nos. 3 & 4. Whole Nos. 640 & 641, March 1995

Unacceptable Levels by Ruth Rendell

A master of all forms of suspense from the mystery short-short to complex detective novels, Ruth Rendell has two new hooks out this spring, No Night is Too Long, under the pseudonym Barbara Vine, and Simisola, as Ruth Rendell, both from Harmony Books...

“You shouldn’t scratch it. You’ve made it bleed.”

“It itches. It’s giving me hell. You don’t react to mosquito bites the way I do.”

“It’s just where the belt on your jeans rubs. I think I’d better put a plaster on it.”

“They’re in the bathroom cabinet,” he said.

“I know where they are.”

She removed the plaster from its plastic packaging and applied it to the small of his back. He reached for his cigarettes, put one in his mouth, and lit it.

“I wonder if you’re allergic to mosquito bites,” she said. “I mean, I wonder if you should be taking antihistamine when you get bitten. You know, you should try one of those sprays that ease the itching.”

“They don’t do any good.”

“How do you know if you don’t try? I don’t suppose smoking helps. Oh, yes, I know that sounds ridiculous to you, but smoking does affect your general health. I bet you didn’t tell the doctor you had all these allergies when you were examined for that life insurance you took out.”

“What do you mean, ‘all these allergies’? I don’t have allergies. I have rather a strong reaction to mosquito bites.”

“I bet you didn’t tell them you smoked,” she said.

“Of course I told them. You don’t mess about when you’re taking out a hundred thousand pounds’ worth of insurance on your life.” He lit a cigarette from the stub of the last one. “Why d’you think I pay such high premiums?”

“I bet you didn’t tell them you smoke forty a day.”

“I said I was afraid I was a heavy smoker.”

“You ought to give it up,” she said. “Mind you, I’d like a thousand pounds for every time I’ve said that. I’d like a pound. You smokers don’t know what it’s like living with it. You don’t know how you smell, your clothes, your hands, the lot. It gets in the curtains. You may laugh, but it’s no joke.”

“I’m going to bed,” he said.

In the morning she had a shower. She made a cup of tea and brought it up to him. He stayed in bed smoking while he drank his tea. Then he had a shower.

“And wash your hair,” she said. “It stinks of smoke.”

He came back into the bedroom with a towel round him. “The plaster came off.”

“I expect it did. I’ll put another one on.”

She took another plaster out of its pack.

“Did I make it bleed?”

“Of course you make it bleed when you scratch it. Here, keep still.”

“You’d think it would stop itching after a couple of days, wouldn’t you?”

“I told you, you should have used an anti-allergenic spray. You should have taken an antihistamine. You’ve got a nasty sore place there and you’re going to have to keep it covered for at least another forty-eight hours.”

“Anything you say.”

He lit a cigarette.

In the evening they ate their meal outdoors. It was very warm. He smoked to keep the mosquitoes away.

“Any excuse,” she said.

“One of those little buggers has just bitten me in the armpit.”

“Oh, for God’s sake. Just don’t scratch this one.”

“Do you really think I should have told the insurance people I’m allergic to mosquito bites?”

“I don’t suppose it matters,” she said. “I mean, how could anyone tell after you were dead?”

“Thanks very much,” he said.

“Oh, don’t be silly. You’re much more likely to die of smoking than of a mosquito bite.”

Before they went to bed she renewed the plaster on his back and, because he had scratched the new one, gave him another. He could put that one on himself.

He had to get up in the night, the bites drove him mad and he couldn’t just lie there. He walked about the house, smoking. In the morning he told her he didn’t feel well.

“I don’t suppose you do if you didn’t get any sleep.”

“I found a packet of nicotine patches in the kitchen,” he said. “Nicotend or something. I suppose that’s your latest ploy to stop me smoking.”

She said nothing for a moment Then, “Are you going to give it a go then?”

“No, thanks very much. You’ve wasted your money. D’you know what it says in the instructions? ‘While using the patches it is highly dangerous to smoke.’ How about that?”

“Well, of course it is.”

“Why is it?”

“You could have a heart attack. It would put unacceptable levels of nicotine into your blood.”

“Unacceptable levels — you sound like a health minister on telly.”

“The idea,” she said, “is to stop smoking while using the patch. That’s the point. The patch gives you enough nicotine to satisfy the craving without smoking.”

“It wouldn’t give me enough.”

“No, I bet it wouldn’t,” she said, and she smiled.

He lit a cigarette. “I’m going to have my shower and then perhaps you’ll redo those plasters for me.”

“Of course I will,” she said.