Death in Devon. Ian Sansom
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Название: Death in Devon
Автор: Ian Sansom
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Приключения: прочее
isbn: 9780007533152
isbn:
‘And what is our motto here, Sefton?’
‘No slacking.’
‘Correct.’
‘No shilly-shallying.’
‘Precisely.’
‘And no funking.’
At that moment Miriam appeared at the study door. She was dressed and made up, as usual, in a fashion that suggested that she was about to arrive fashionably late at a cocktail party, probably somewhere in Kensington, thronged with wealthy and elegant suitors.
The County Guides: Norfolk, in preparation
‘Hard at it already then, boys?’
‘Ah, Miriam,’ said Morley. ‘You’re uncharacteristically bright and early.’
‘Good morning, Father. Yes. The storm kept me awake in the night. I was terribly disturbed. And what about you, Sefton? Another long and lonely night?’
‘I slept as well as could be expected, Miss Morley.’
‘Glad to hear it.’
‘We’ll be leaving at seven, children,’ said Morley. ‘Quick breakfast, and on the road. I want to be in Devon by nightfall.’
‘Devon?’ I said.
‘And when is your speech, Father?’
‘Tomorrow. Founder’s Day.’
‘You’re giving a speech?’ I said. ‘In Devon.’
‘Yes, I thought we’d kill two birds with one stone. I’ve been asked to give the Founder’s Day address down at All Souls, Sefton. They’ve just moved into new school buildings down there somewhere. Where is it, Miriam?’
‘Rousdon, Father.’
‘Rousdon, yes, that’s it, and—’
‘Or Rouse them, Sefton,’ said Miriam coquettishly.
‘So the plan is to base ourselves there and tackle Devon. Book number two. How does that sound, Sefton?’
‘Mad,’ said Miriam. ‘Utterly, utterly mad. As usual.’
‘Super,’ I said.
‘Oh, please,’ said Miriam. ‘Soo-per. If you’d wanted someone to soft-soap you, Father, you could have employed a masseur.’ She raised a quizzical eyebrow towards me.
‘Thank you, Miriam,’ said Morley. ‘Let’s fight nicely, shall we?’
‘Sorry, gents. Must pack,’ said Miriam, leaving as abruptly as she’d arrived, glimmering as she went.
‘Untameable,’ said Morley, shaking his head. ‘Wild, Sefton. Utterly wild. Like Devon.’
The Lagonda
AFTER A BRIEF but exhausting breakfast – Morley expatiating on the history of sausages, the music of Wagner, the music of birdsong, the symbolic meaning of the human hand, and the decline of smithying (‘It’s the bicycles I blame, Sefton, not the cars, and of course people getting rid of the pony and trap’) – Miriam and I loaded the Lagonda and prepared to set off. The weather was sullen, and so was Miriam. After everything had been loaded – massive stationery supplies, mostly – I assisted her in lashing a couple of long planks to the side of the car.
‘Careful with the paintwork, Sefton, or you’ll have to touch it up. We wouldn’t want that, would we?’
‘No, Miss Morley,’ I agreed.
‘Ah,’ said Morley, appearing fortuitously with his trusty Irish terrier. He tapped the long wooden boards with a great deal of proprietorial pleasure. ‘They arrived then?’
‘Apparently,’ said Miriam.
‘Beautiful, aren’t they, Sefton?’
‘Yes,’ I agreed. My attention was elsewhere: I was attempting to fondle the dog, and simultaneously to ignore it, as Morley had advised. But the dog was not impressed – the damned thing was tugging determinedly at the turn-ups on my trousers.
‘Finn!’ said Miriam sternly, and the dog immediately stopped and trotted off. Miriam gave me a pitying smile.
‘Absolutely beautiful,’ Morley was saying to himself, about the boards, which were indeed beautiful – sleek, rounded, polished – though I had absolutely no idea what on earth they were.
‘Solid ash,’ said Morley. ‘Had them made by Grays of Cambridge – the cricket chaps. Not cheap. But worth every penny. They finish them with the shinbone of a reindeer. Did you know?’
‘No.’
‘Gives a lovely finish.’
‘And they are …?’
‘Surfboards, of course,’ said Morley.
I must have looked, I suppose, rather nonplussed. It was still early in the morning.
‘Really, Sefton, have you never seen a surfboard?’ said Miriam, delighted.
‘No. Of course I’ve seen … surfboards and … surfboarding, but—’
‘Well, you’re in for a treat,’ she said.
‘Yes,’ agreed Morley. ‘It’s very—’
‘Liberating,’ said Miriam.
‘Yes,’ agreed Morley. ‘Liberating is exactly the word. Like flying. Being free.’
‘It’ll be a new experience for you, Sefton,’ said Miriam.
‘Hawaiian in origin, obviously,’ said Morley, as he climbed into the back of the car, and Miriam fitted his portable desk with his typewriter stays. ‘I’ve done a little research, I think our best bets are north Devon. Saunton. Croyde. Round about there.’
‘We СКАЧАТЬ