At Bertram's Hotel - Christie Agatha - Страница 13

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Of course, the Army and Navy Stores had had a good many face lifts since those days. In fact, it was now quite unrecognizable from the old times. It was gayer and much brighter. Miss Marple, though throwing a kindly and indulgent smile at the past, did not object to the amenities of the present. There was still a restaurant, and there she repaired to order her lunch.

As she was looking carefully down the menu and deciding what to have, she looked across the room and her eyebrows went up a little. How extraordinary coincidence was! Here was a woman she had never seen till the day before, though she had seen plenty of newspaper photographs of her-at race meetings, in Bermuda, or standing by her own plane or car. Yesterday, for the first time, she had seen her in the flesh. And now, as was so often the case, there was the coincidence of running into her again in a most unlikely place. For somehow she did not connect lunch at the Army and Navy Stores with Bess Sedgwick. She would not have been surprised to see Bess Sedgwick emerging from a den in Soho, or stepping out of Covent Garden Opera House in evening dress with a diamond tiara on her head. But somehow, not in the Army and Navy Stores which in Miss Marple's mind was, and always would be, connected with the armed forces, their wives, daughters, aunts and grandmothers. Stifi, there Bess Sedgwick was, looking as usual very smart, in her dark suit and her emerald shirt, lunching at a table with a man. A young man with a lean hawklike face, wearing a black leather jacket. They were leaning forward talking earnestly together, forking in mouthfuls of food as though they were quite unaware what they were eating.

An assignation, perhaps? Yes, probably an assignation. The man must be fifteen or twenty years younger than she was-but Bess Sedgwick was a magnetically attractive woman.

Miss Marple looked at the young man consideringly and decided that he was what she called a "handsome fellow." She also decided that she didn't like him very much. "Just like Harry Russell," said Miss Marple to herself, dredging up a prototype as usual from the past. "Never up to any good. Never did any woman who had anything to do with him any good either."

She wouldn't take advice from me, thought Miss Marple, but I could give her some. However, other people's love affairs were no concern of hers, and Bess Sedgwick, by all accounts, could take care of herself very well when it came to love affairs.

Miss Marple sighed, ate her lunch, and meditated a visit to the stationery department.

Curiosity, or what she preferred herself to call "taking an interest" in other people's affairs was undoubtedly one of Miss Marple's characteristics.

Deliberately leaving her gloves on the table, she rose and crossed the floor to the cash desk, taking a route that passed close to Lady Sedgwick's table. Having paid her bill she "discovered" the absence of her gloves and returned to get them-unfortunately dropping her handbag on the return route. It came open and spilled various oddments. A waitress rushed to assist her in picking them up, and Miss Marple was forced to show a great shakiness and dropped coins and keys a second time.

She did not get very much by these subterfuges but they were not entirely in vain-and it was interesting that neither of the two objects of her curiosity spared as much as a glance for the dithery old lady who kept dropping things.

As Miss Marple waited for the elevator down she memorized such scraps as she had heard.

"What about the weather forecast?"

"O.K. No fog."

"All set for Lucerne?"

"Yes. Plane leaves 9:40."

That was all she had got the first time. On the way back it had lasted a little longer.

Bess Sedgwick had been speaking angrily. "What possessed you to come to Bertram's yesterday-you shouldn't have come near the place."

"It's all right. I asked if you were staying there and everyone knows we're close friends-"

"That's not the point. Bertram's is all right for me- not for you. You stick out like a sore thumb. Everyone stares at you."

"Let them!"

"You really are an idiot. Why-why? What reasons did you have? You had a reason-I know you…"..

"Calm down, Bess."

"You're such a liar!"

That was all Miss Marple had been able to hear. She found it interesting.

On the evening of November 19 Canon Pennyfather had finished an early dinner at the Athenaeum, he had nodded to one or two friends, had had a pleasant acrimonious discussion on some crucial points of the dating of the Dead Sea scrolls and now, glancing at his watch, saw that it was time to leave to catch his plane to Lucerne. As he passed through the hail he was greeted by one more friend: Dr. Whittaker, of the S.O.A.S., who said cheerfully, "How are you, Pennyfather? Haven't seen you for a long time. How did you get on at the Congress? Any points of interest come up?"

"I am sure there will be."

"Just come back from it, haven't you?"

"No, no, I am on my way there. I'm catching a plane this evening."

"Oh I see." Whittaker looked slightly puzzled. "Somehow or other I thought the Congress was today."

"No, no. Tomorrow, the nineteenth."

Canon Pennyfather passed out through the door while his friend, looking after him, was just saying,

"But my dear chap, today is the nineteenth, isn't it?"

Canon Pennyfather, however, was gone beyond earshot. He picked up a taxi in Pall Mall, and was driven to the air terminal in Kensington. There was quite a fair crowd this evening. Presenting himself at the desk it at last came to his turn. He managed to produce ticket and passport and other necessities for the journey. The girl behind the desk, about to stamp these credentials, paused abruptly.

"I beg your pardon, sir, this seems to be the wrong ticket."

"The wrong ticket? No, no, that is quite right. Flight one hundred and-well, I can't really read without my glasses-one hundred and something to Lucerne."

"It's the date, sir. This is dated Wednesday the eighteenth."

"No, no, surely. At least-I mean-today is Wednesday the eighteenth."

"I'm sorry, sir. Today is the nineteenth."

"The nineteenth!" The Canon was dismayed. He fished out a small diary, turning the pages eagerly. In the end he had to be convinced. Today was the nineteenth. The plane he had meant to catch had gone yesterday.

"Then that means-that means-dear me, it means the Congress at Lucerne has taken place today."

He stared in deep dismay across the counter; but there were many others travelling; the canon and his perplexities were elbowed aside. He stood sadly, holding the useless ticket in his hand. His mind ranged over various possibilities. Perhaps his ticket could be changed? But that would be no use-no indeed-what time was it flow? Going on for nine o'clock? The conference had actually taken place; starting at ten o'clock this morning. Of course, that was what Whittaker had meant at the Athenaeum. He thought Canon Pennyfather had already been to the Congress.

"Oh dear, oh dear," said Canon Pennyfather, to himself. "What a muddle I have made of it all!" He wandered sadly and silently into the Cromwell Road, not at its best a very cheerful place.

He walked slowly along the street carrying his bag and revolving perplexities in his mind. When at last he had worked out to his satisfaction the various reaSons for which he had made a mistake in the day, he shook his head sadly.

"Now, I suppose," he said to himself, "I suppose-let me see, it's after nine o'clock, yes, I suppose I had better have something to eat."

It was curious, he thought, that he did not feel hungry.

Wandering disconsolately along the Cromwell Road he finally settled upon a small restaurant which served Indian curries. It seemed to him that though he was not quite as hungry as he ought to be, he had better keep his spirits up by having a meal, and after that he must find a hotel and-but no, there was no need to do that. He had a hotel! Of course. He was staying at Bertram's, and had reserved his room for four days. What a piece of luck! What a splendid piece of luck! So his room was there, waiting for him. He had only to ask for his key at the desk and-here another reminiscence assailed him. Something heavy in his pocket?

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