Spinsters in Jeopardy. Ngaio Marsh

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СКАЧАТЬ Monte Carlo rally. We must hope that the nurse has iron nerves.’

      Alleyn said to Robin: ‘It sounds an admirable idea. Will you suggest it to Dr Baradi?’

      He went to Ricky and lifted him in his arms. Troy gave her hand to Mr Oberon. His own wrapped itself round hers, tightened, and was suddenly withdrawn. ‘You must visit us again,’ he said. ‘If you are a voyager of the spirit, and I think you are, it might interest you to come to one of our meditations.’

      ‘Yes, do come,’ urged his Sati, who had abandoned her exercises on Alleyn’s entrance. ‘It’s madly wonderful. You must. Where are you staying?’

      ‘At the Royal.’

      ‘Couldn’t be easier. No need to hire a car. The Douceville bus leaves from the corner. Every half-hour. You’ll find it perfectly convenient.’

      Troy was reminded vividly of Mr Garbel’s letters. She murmured something non-committal, said goodbye and went to the door.

      ‘I’ll see you out,’ Robin Herrington offered and took up his heavy walking-stick.

      As she groped down the darkened stairway she heard their voices rumbling above her. They came slowly; Alleyn because of Ricky and Herrington because of his stiff leg. The sensation of nightmare that threatened without declaring itself, mounted in intensity. The stairs seemed endless yet when she reached the door into the hall she was half-scared of opening it because Carbury Glande might be on the other side. But the hall was untenanted. She hurried through it and out to the courtyard. The iron gates had an elaborate fastening. Troy fumbled with it, dazzled by the glare of sunlight beyond. She pulled at the heavy latch, bruising her fingers. A voice behind her and at her feet said: ‘Do let me help you.’

      Carbury Glande must have come up the stairs from beneath the courtyard. His face, on a level with her knees, peered through the interstices of the wrought-iron banister. Recognition dawned on it.

      ‘Can it be Troy?’ he ejaculated hoarsely. ‘But it is!’ Dear heart, how magical and how peculiar. Where have you sprung from? And why are you scrabbling away at doors? Has Oberon alarmed you? I may say he petrifies me. What are you up to?’

      He had arrived at her level, a short gnarled man whose hair and beard were red and whose face, at the moment, was a dreadful grey. He blinked up at Troy as if he couldn’t get her into focus. He was wearing a pair of floral shorts and a magenta shirt.

      ‘I’m not up to anything,’ said Troy. ‘In fact, I’m scarcely here at all. We’ve brought your host a middle-aged spinster with a perforated appendix and now we’re on our way.’

      ‘Ah, yes. I heard about the spinster. Ali Baradi woke me at cockcrow, full of professional zeal, and asked me if I’d like to thread needles and count sponges. How he dared! Are you going?’

      ‘I must,’ Troy said. ‘Do open this damned door for me.’

      She could hear Alleyn’s and Herrington’s voices in the hall and the thump of Herrington’s stick.

      Glande reached for the latch. His hand, stained round the nails with paint, was tremulous. ‘I am, as you can see, a wreck,’ he said. ‘A Homeric party and only four hours’ sottish insensitivity in which to recover. Imagine it! There you are.’

      He opened the doors and winced at the glare outside. ‘Oberon will be thrilled you’re here,’ he said. ‘Did you know he bought a thing of yours at the Rond-Point show? It’s in the library. ‘Boy with a Kite.’ He adores it.’

      ‘Look here,’ Troy said hurriedly, ‘be a good chap and don’t tell him I’m me. I’ve come here for a holiday and I’d so much rather …’

      ‘Well, if you like. Yes, of course. Yes, I understand. And on mature consideration I fancy this ménage is not entirely your cup of tea. You’re almost pathologically normal, aren’t you? Forgive me if I bolt back to my burrow, the glare is really more than I can endure. God, somebody’s coming!’

      He stumbled away from the door. Alleyn with Ricky in his arms, came out of the hall followed by Robin Herrington. Glande ejaculated: ‘Oh, sorry!’ and bolted down the stairs. Herrington scowled after him and said: ‘That’s our tame genius. I’ll come to the car, if I may.’

      As they walked in single file down the steps and past the maker of figurines, Troy had the feeling that Robin wanted to say something to them and didn’t know how to begin. They had reached the open platform where Raoul waited by the car before he blurted out:

      ‘I do hope you will let me drive you down, to see the yacht. Both of you, I mean. I mean …’ he stopped short.

      Alleyn said: ‘That’s very nice of you. I hadn’t heard about a yacht.’

      ‘She’s quite fun.’ He stood there, still with an air of hesitancy. Alleyn shifted Ricky and looked at Troy, who held out her hand to Robin.

      ‘Don’t come any farther,’ she said. ‘Goodbye and thank you.’

      ‘Goodbye. If we may, Ginny and I will call at the hotel. It’s the Royal, I suppose. I mean, it might amuse you to come for a drive. I mean, if you don’t know anybody here …’

      ‘It’d be lovely,’ Troy temporized, wondering if Alleyn wanted her to accept.

      ‘As a matter of fact,’ Alleyn said, ‘we have got someone we ought to look up in Roqueville. Do you know anybody about here with the unlikely name of Garbel?’

      Robin’s jaw dropped. He stared at them with an expression of extraordinary consternation. ‘I … no. No. We haven’t really met any of the local people. No. Well I mustn’t keep you standing in the sun. Goodbye.’

      And with a precipitancy as marked as his former hesitation, he turned and limped off down the passageway.

      ‘Now what,’ Troy asked her husband, ‘in a crazy world, is the significance of that particular bit of lunacy?’

      ‘I’ve not the beginning of a notion,’ he said. ‘But I suggest that when we’ve got time to think, we call on Mr Garbel.’

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