She began to wonder if she had really heard him shouting earlier in the day, but the Roths did seem to be the only Americans in the hotel.
The party grew noisier and jollier.
And then Major Peter Frame came stumbling in. His eyes were staring, and his hands were trembling. He clutched on to a chair back and looked wildly around the group.
“Where is that bitch?” he grated.
“If you mean Lady Jane,” said Heather, “I really don’t know. What on earth is the matter?”
“I’ll tell you,” said the major with frightening intensity. “I went back up to the Marag this evening, just above the falls. And I got one. A fifteen-pounder on the end of my line. It was a long battle, and I was resting my fish and having a smoke when she comes blundering along like an ox. “Can I get past?” she says. “Your line’s blocking the path.” “I’ve got a big ‘un on the end of that line,” I says. “Don’t be silly,” says she. “I can’t wait here all night. It’s probably a rock,” and before I could guess what she meant to do she whipped out her scissors and cut my line. She cut my line, the bloody bitch. The great, fat, stinking
“I’ll murder her. I’ll kill that horrible woman. Kill! Kill! Kill!”
The major’s voice had risen to a scream. Shocked silence fell on the dining room.
And into the middle of the silence sailed Lady Jane.
She was wearing a pink chiffon evening gown with a great many bows and tucks and flounces; the type of evening gown favoured by the Queen Mother, Barbara Cartland, and Danny La Rue.
“Well, we’re all very glum,” she said, amused eyes glancing around the stricken group. “Now, what can I do to brighten up the party?”
? Death of a Gossip ?
Day Two
—John Donne
Alice fumbled with a sleepy hand to silence the buzzing of her travel alarm and stretched and yawned. Her room was bathed in a grey light. She had forgotten to close the curtains before going to bed. Fat, greasy raindrops trickled down the window.
Somehow the horrible first dinner had miraculously turned out all right. Lady Jane had carried all before her. Before the major had had time to round on her, Lady Jane had apologized with such an overwhelming blast of sincerity and charm, with such subtle underlying appeals to his status as an officer and gentleman, that the major’s angry colour had subsided, and, after that, people had begun to enjoy themselves. It was Lady Jane who had suggested that they should all get together in the lounge after dinner and help each other tie their leaders. It was Lady Jane who had kept the party laughing with a flow of faintly malicious anecdotes.
Alice remembered Jeremy’s well-manicured hands brushing against her own and the smell of his aftershave as he had bent his head close to hers to help her tie knots. He had seemed to lose interest in Daphne.
There was to be another lecture that morning before they went out fishing for the day. Alice got out of bed and went to the window and looked out. She could not even see the harbour. A thick mist blanketed everything and the rain thudded steadily down. Perhaps she would be lucky and would be teamed up with Jeremy again. Alice closed her eyes, imagining them both eating their packed lunches in the leather-smelling warmth of Jeremy’s car with the steamed-up windows blocking out the rest of the world.
After a hasty shower, she took out her pink plastic rollers and tried to comb her hair into a more sophisticated style, but it fluffed out as usual.
To her dismay, they were not all to be seated at the same table for breakfast, and she was ushered to a table where the major was already eating sausages. Jeremy was with Daphne and Lady Jane at the other end of the dining room.
The major glanced at Alice and then rustled open a copy of
“Wet, isn’t it?” volunteered Alice brightly, but the major only grunted in reply.
Probably doesn’t think I’m worth talking to, thought Alice gloomily.
She rose and helped herself to cereal and rolls and juice, which were placed on a table in the centre of the room, and then shyly ordered the Fisherman’s Breakfast from a massive waitress who was built like a Highland cow.
When the breakfast arrived, she poked at it tentatively with a fork. Bacon, eggs, and sausage, she recognized, but the rest seemed odd and strange.
“What are these?” she asked the major. He did not reply so she repeated her question in a rather shrill voice.
“Haggis and black pudding and a potato scone,” said the major. “Very good. Scotch stuff, you know. Introduced to the stuff when I was first in the Highlands on military training.”
“Were you in the SAS?” asked Alice.
“No.” The major smiled indulgently. “They hadn’t been formed in my day. We called ourselves something else.”
“Oh, what was that?”
“Mustn’t say. Hush-hush stuff, you know.”
“Oh.” Alice was impressed.
“Of course I was in the regular army for most of the big show.”
“Which was…?”
“World War Two. Can still remember leading my men up the Normandy beaches. Yanks had taken the easy bits and left us with the cliffs. ‘Don’t worry, chaps,’ I said. ‘We’ll take Jerry this time.’ They believed me, bless their hearts. Would have died for me. ‘Straordinary loyalty. Quite touching, ‘s matter of fact.”
Alice wished her mum could see her now. “Quite one of the old school,” Mum would say.
“Tell me more,” urged Alice, eyes glowing.
“Well,” said the major happily. “There was a time…”
His voice faded away as a bulky shadow fell across the table. Alice looked up. Lady Jane’s pale eyes surveyed the major with amusement. “Telling Miss Wilson all your tales of derring-do? All those pitched battles around the tea tent on Salisbury Plain?”
Now what could there be in those remarks to make the major sweat? Alice looked from one to the other. Lady Jane nodded her head and gave a little smile before walking away.
The major looked after her, mumbled something, and went off mopping his forehead with his handkerchief.
Charlie Baxter, the Roths, and all the rest were already in the lounge. A cheerful fire was blazing on the hearth. The heavyset waitress lumbered in and threw a pile of old tea leaves, cabbage stalks, and old rolls on the fire, which subsided into a depressing, smoking mess.
Heather examined all their leaders and tugged at the knots. Several gave way. “I wish you wouldn’t say you can tie these things when you obviously can’t,” said Lady Jane to the major.
“You are supposed to tie them yourselves,” pointed out Heather.
“Like a bloody schoolroom,” muttered Lady Jane. “Oh, here’s that wretched man again.”
Constable Macbeth lounged in, water dripping from his black cape. He removed it and squatted down by the fire, raking aside the sodden lumps of congealed goo and putting on fresh coal and sticks. Then, to Alice’s amusement, he lay down on his stomach and began to blow furiously until the flames started leaping up the chimney.
“This hotel has central heating, hasn’t it?” Amy Roth shivered. “Why doesn’t someone turn it on?”
“Now I want you all to try to tie your leaders properly this time,” came Heather’s voice. Everyone groaned and began to wrestle with the thin, slippery nylon.
Constable Macbeth had ambled over to an armchair by the window. Suddenly Alice saw him stiffen. It was almost as if he had pointed like a dog. He got to his feet, his tall, thin frame silhouetted against the greyness of the
