Faintley Speaking

and came swimming in.

‘I say,’ shouted Mark, ‘it isn’t safe to stay in much longer. The tide’s nearly turning, I think.’

‘Thanks for telling me. Where are you staying?’

‘The Whitesand.’

‘Good. So are we.’

‘I haven’t seen you there.’

‘Came late last night in my cabin cruiser and turned up at the Whitesand at two a.m. Had to knock them up. They weren’t pleased. Well, see you later on, I expect.’

She made for the shore. Mark shuffled away through loose sand, sat down on the first set of steps, shook surplus sand out of his shoes and tramped stolidly skywards towards breakfast. Her cabin cruiser! It only needed that! And he had to go to Torbury Cathedral with the Faintley!

The beginning of the excursion with Miss Faintley was fully as futile and exasperating as Mark had known it would be. To begin with, although the bus ride took fully an hour and three-quarters, Miss Faintley refused to travel on top.

‘No, Street,’ she said, ‘I dislike the smell of stale tobacco smoke.’ And, to Mark’s intense annoyance, she even gave him a slight but unmistakable push to ensure that he really did go inside the bus.

‘All right. You wait,’ thought Mark. He insisted upon taking the gangway seat and upon paying Miss Faintley’s fare as well as his own. He was so ruffled that he contemplated paying full fare for himself by way of asserting his independence, but reconsidered this rash plan and paid a half-fare as usual. During the journey Miss Faintley chatted unceasingly. Mark gave her half his attention. The other half was busy with plans of escaping as soon as he possibly could. It ought to be fairly easy. Torbury was a big place. There would be bookshops on the way to the Cathedral. The Faintley would be certain to want to look at books. She always did, even on school outings; yes, even on the one to the Science Museum, Mark reminded himself.

‘Excuse me, but I want to buy a film for my camera,’ he said, when at last they got off the bus and were passing a chemist’s shop.

‘Very well, Street. I’ll be looking in the window next door. There seem to be some interesting books.’ Miss Faintley seemed pleased, Mark thought.

There were several people in the chemist’s shop. Mark waited to be served, and, whilst he was waiting, he saw that his way of escape was assured. The shop had a second entrance from a street at the back. He obtained his film and left by this further door. Out in the street, he turned and hurried back towards the bus station. A bus was just moving off. He leapt on board, climbed to the top and discovered that the bus was turning into the very street in which he had abandoned his teacher. He looked out of the window, but there was no sign of Miss Faintley.

‘Gone in to browse and forgotten all about me, the silly ass,’ thought Mark.

‘Where do you want, sonny?’ inquired the conductor. Mark replied (with a vague recollection of the map which Miss Faintley had insisted upon showing him):

‘The river. Do you go there?’

The conductor said, ‘Twopenny half,’ and clipped him a ticket. Mark got off at the bridge, stood himself a stodge at a cafe… fish and chips, apple pie and ice cream… and then went for a two-shilling steamer trip. He spent a thoroughly satisfactory day, had tea at the same cafe upon his return, and had prepared a convincing, innocent- sounding story for his parents by the time he got back to the hotel. There was only one snag. He had no idea of what Miss Faintley’s story would be. His parents, however, were out when he arrived, so he bathed and changed and went down to the lounge, hoping to find Miss Faintley and try out on her the rather reproachful remarks he had concocted.

‘I’d no idea where you’d got to,’ he would say, ‘so after I’d looked for you… not knowing Torbury and it being such a whacking big place… where did you get to, Miss Faintley? I mean, I know I must have kept you waiting a jolly long time while I bought my film, but the shop was simply packed with people, and once I’d gone in I didn’t much like to walk out again without buying anything… they might think I’d shop-lifted something…’

By this time Miss Faintley would have interrupted to give her version, Mark hoped, and the rest of the conversation would follow accordingly. Unfortunately, Miss Faintley was not in the lounge, and the story, as told to Mark’s parents at dinner, did not seem nearly as convincing as Mark had hoped. However, Mark’s father (with who knows what personal recollections of boyhood!) stemmed the tide of his wife’s remonstrances.

‘It’s all right, Margaret. Nothing’s happened. The only thing is… where has Miss Faintley got to? She certainly isn’t in here, and dinner goes off at nine.’

Miss Faintley was not at breakfast, either. Mark did not go for an early swim; it was raining. He met the girl who had spoken to him the morning before, and found that she was accompanied by a quietly-discomforting old woman as yellow as the gamboge in Mark’s paint-box and as extravagantly dressed as a macaw. The younger woman came up to him after breakfast.

‘The rain’s stopped. I’m going in. Coming?’ Mark thought he might as well. He said as much, and went upstairs to get his things. When he came back into the hotel vestibule the manager was there, talking to his father. Both turned to Mark. ‘What about this Miss Faintley who took you out yesterday? You know she hasn’t come back to the hotel,’ the manager said. Mark said he was sorry. He did know, but had no helpful observations to offer.

‘I suppose you mean she hasn’t paid,’ he said. ‘She’s a teacher at our school, so I suppose she’ll pay all right, in the end, you know.’

‘I hope so, but that isn’t what’s worrying us, sonny. I’ve rung the hospital and the police station at Torbury. Neither knows anything about her.’

‘Any reason to suppose there’s any funny business?’ asked Mark’s father.

‘No, but one has to inquire when guests don’t come back at night. Have you known the lady long, Mr Street, may I ask?’

‘I forgot when she first came,’ Mark replied at a glance from his father. ‘Nobody at school likes her much,’ he added, ‘but you don’t seem to think of her doing anything queer. Of course, she might