"And I suppose you'restill living at that dear St. Mary Mead?" Lady Selina wasasking. "Such a sweet unspoilt village. I often think aboutit. Just the same as ever, I suppose?"
"Well, not quite." MissMarple reflected on certain aspects of her place of residence. "The new Building Estate. The additions to the Village Hall, the alteredappearance of the High Street with its up-to-date shop fronts –」 She sighed. "One has to accept change, I suppose."
"Progress," said LadySelina vaguely. "Though it often seems to me that it isn't progress. All these smart plumbing fixtures they have nowadays. Every shadeof colour and superb what they call 'finish' – but do any of them really pull? Or push, when they're that kind. Every time you go to a friend'shouse, you find some kind of a notice in the Loo – 'Presssharply and release,' 'Pull to the left,' 'Release quickly.' But in the old days, one justpulled up a handle any kind of way, and cataracts of water came at once – There's the dear Bishop of Medmenham," Lady Selina broke off to say, as a handsome, elderly cleric passed by. "Practically quite blind, I believe. But such a splendid militant priest."
A little clerical talk was indulged in, interspersedby Lady Selina's recognition of various friends andacquaintances, many of whom were not the people she thought they were. She and Miss Marpletalked a little of "old days," thoughMiss Marple's upbringing, of course, had been quite differentfrom Lady Selina's, and their reminiscences were mainlyconfined to the few years when Lady Selina, a recent widow of severely straitened means,had taken a small house in the village of St. Mary Mead during the time her second son hadbeen stationed at an airfield nearby.
"Do you always stay here when you come up, Jane?Odd I haven't seen you here before."
"Oh no, indeed. I couldn't afford to, and anyway, I hardly ever leave home these days. No, it was avery kind niece of mine who thought it would be a treat for me to have a short visit toLondon. Joan is a very kind girl – at least perhaps hardly agirl." Miss Marple reflected with a qualm that Joan must nowbe close to fifty. Joan West. She had an exhibition not long ago.
Lady Selina had little interest in painters, orindeed in anything artistic. She regarded writers, artists and musicians as a species ofclever performing animals; she was prepared to feel indulgent towards them, but to wonderprivately why they wanted to do what they did.
"This modern stuff, I suppose," she said, her eyes wandering. "There's Cicely Longhurst – dyed hair again, I see."
"I'm afraid dear Joanis rather modern."
Here Miss Marple was quite wrong. Joan West had beenmodern about twenty years ago, but was now regarded by the young arriviste artists ascompletely old-fashioned.
Casting a brief glance at cicely Longhurst's hair, Miss Marple relapsed into a pleasant remembrance of how kind Joan hadbeen. Joan had actually said to her husband, "I wish we coulddo something for poor old Aunt Jane. She never gets away from home. Do you think she'd like to go to Bournemouth for a week or two."
"Good idea," saidRaymond West. His last book was doing very well indeed, and he felt in a generous mood.
"She enjoyed her trip to the West Indies, I think,though it was a pity she had to get mixed up in a murder case. Quite the wrong thing ather age."
"That sort of thing seems to happen to her."
Raymond was very fond of his old aunt and wasconstantly devising treats for her, and sending her books that he thought might interesther. He was surprised when she often politely declined the treats, and though she alwayssaid the books were "so interesting" he sometimes suspected that she had not read them. But then, of course, hereyes were failing.
In this last he was wrong. Miss Marple hadremarkable eyesight for her age, and was at this moment taking in everything that wasgoing on round her with keen interest and pleasure.
To Joan's proffer of aweek or two at one of Bournemouth's best hotels, she hadhesitated, murmured, "It's very,very kind of you, my dear, but I really don't think –」
"But it's good foryou, Aunt Jane. Good to get away from home sometimes. It gives you new ideas, and newthings to think about."
"Oh yes, you are quite right there, and I wouldlike a little visit somewhere for a change. Not, perhaps, Bournemouth."
Joan was slightly surprised. She had thoughtBournemouth would have been Aunt Jane's Mecca.
"Eastbourne? Or Torquay?"
"What I would really like –」 Miss Marple hesitated.
"Yes?"
"I dare say you will think it rather silly of me."
"No, I'm sure I shan't. (Where did the old dear want to go?)"
"I would really like to go to Bertram's Hotel – in London."
"Bertram's Hotel? The name was vaguely familiar."
Words came from Miss Marple in a rush.
"I stayed there once – whenI was fourteen. With my uncle and aunt, Uncle Thomas, that was, he was Canon of Ely. And I've never forgotten it. If I could stay there – aweek would be quite enough – two weeks might be too expensive."
"Oh, that's all right.Of course you shall go. I ought to have thought that you might want to go to London –the shops and everything. We'll fix it up –if Bertram's Hotel still exists. So many hotels have vanished,sometimes bombed in the war and sometimes just given up."
"No, I happen to know Bertram's Hotel is stillgoing. I had a letter from there – from my American friend AmyMcAllister of Boston. She and her husband were staying there."
"Good, then I'll goahead, and fix it up." She added gently, "I'm afraid you may find it's changed a good deal from the days when you knew it. So don't be disappointed."
But Bertram's Hotel had not changed. It was just asit had always been. Quite miraculously so, in Miss Marple'sopinion. In fact, she wondered…
It really seemed too good to be true. She knew quitewell with her usual clear-eyed common sense, that what she wanted was simply to refurbishher memories of the past in their old original colours. Much of her life had, perforce, tobe spent recalling past pleasures. If you could find someone to remember them with, thatwas indeed happiness. Nowadays that was not easy to do; she had outlived most of hercontemporaries. But she still sat and remembered. In a queer way, it made her come to lifeagain – Jane Marple, that pink and white eager young girl…. Such a silly girl in many ways… now who wasthat very unsuitable young man whose name – oh dear, shecouldn't even remember it now! How wise her mother had been tonip that friendship so firmly in the bud. She had come across him years later – and really he was quite dreadful! At the time she had cried herself to sleepfor at least a week!
Nowadays, of course – sheconsidered nowadays…. These poor young things. Some of themhad mothers, but never mothers who seemed to be any good – motherswho were quite incapable of protecting their daughters from silly affairs, illegitimatebabies, and early and unfortunate marriages. It was all very sad.
Her friend's voiceinterrupted these meditations.
"Well, I never. It is – yes, it is – Bess Sedgwick over there! Of all theunlikely places –」
Miss Marple had been listening with only half an earto Lady Selina's comments on her surroundings. She and MissMarple moved in entirely different circles, so that Miss Marple had been unable toexchange scandalous tit-bits about the various friends or acquaintances that Lady Selinarecognised or thought she recognised.
But Bess Sedgwick was different. Bess Sedgwick was aname that almost everyone in England knew. For over thirty years now, Bess Sedgwick hadbeen reported by the Press as doing this or that outrageous or extraordinary thing. For agood part of the war she had been a member of the French Resistance, and was said to havesix notches on her gun representing dead Germans. She had flown solo across the Atlanticyears ago, had ridden on horseback across Europe and fetched up at Lake Van. She haddriven racing cars, had once saved two children from a burning house, had severalmarriages to her credit and discredit and was said to be the second best-dressed woman inEurope. It was also said that she had successfully smuggled herself aboard a nuclearsubmarine on its test voyage.
It was therefore with the most intense interest thatMiss Marple sat up and indulged in a frankly avid stare.
Whatever she had expected of Bertram's Hotel, it wasnot to find Bess Sedgwick there. An expensive nightclub, or a lorry drivers' pull up – either of those would be quite inkeeping with Bess Sedgwick's wide range of interests. But thishighly respectable and old world hostelry seemed strangely alien.
Still there she was – nodoubt of it. Hardly a month passed without Bess Sedgwick'sface appearing in the fashion magazines or the popular press. Here she was in the flesh,smoking a cigarette in a quick impatient manner and looking in a surprised way at thelarge tea tray in front of her as thought she had never seen one before. She had ordered –Miss Marple screwed up her eyes and peered – it was rather far away – yes, doughnuts. Veryinteresting.
As she watched, Bess Sedgwick stubbed out hercigarette in her saucer, lifted a doughnut and took an immense bite. Rich red realstrawberry jam gushed out over her chin. Bess threw back her head and laughed, one of theloudest and gayest sounds to have been heard in the lounge of Bertram's Hotel for sometime.
Henry was immediately beside her, a small delicatenapkin proffered. She took it, scrubbed her chin with the vigour of a schoolboy,exclaiming: "That's what I call areal doughnut. Gorgeous."
She dropped the napkin on the tray and stood up. Asusual every eye was on her. She was used to that. Perhaps she liked it, perhaps she nolonger noticed it. She was worth looking at – a striking womanrather than a beautiful one. The palest of platinum hair fell sleek and smooth exquisite.Her nose was faintly aquiline, her eyes deep set and a real grey in colour. She had thewide mouth of a natural comedian. Her dress was of such simplicity that it puzzled mostmen. It looked like the coarsest kind of sacking, had no ornamentation of any kind, and noapparent fastening or seams. But women knew better. Even the provincial old dears inBertram's knew, quite certainly, that it had cost the earth!
Striding across the lounge towards the life, shepassed quite close to Lady Selina and Miss Marple, and she nodded to the former.
"Hallo, Lady Selina. Haven't seen you since Crufts. How are the Borzois?"
"What on earth are you doing here, Bess?"
"Just staying here. I'vejust driven up from Land's End. Four hours and three-quarters.Not bad."
"You'll kill yourselfone of these days. Or someone else."
"Oh I hope not."
"But why are you staying here?"
Bess Sedgwick threw a swift glance round. She seemedto see the point and acknowledge it with an ironic smile.
"Someone told me I ought to try it. I think they're right. I've just had the most marvellousdoughnut."
"My dear, they have real muffins too."
"Muffins," said LadySedgwick thoughtfully. "Yes…."She seemed to concede the point. "Muffins!"
She nodded and went on towards the lift.
"Extraordinary girl," saidLady Selina. To her, like to Miss Marple, every woman under sixty was a girl. "Known her ever since she was a child. Nobody could do anything with her. Ranaway with an Irish groom when she was sixteen. They managed to get her back in time –or perhaps not in time. Anyway they bought him off and got her safelymarried to old Coniston – thirty years older than she was,awful old rip, quite dotty about her. That didn't last long.She went off with Johnnie Sedgwick. That might have stuck if he hadn't broken his neck steeplechasing. After that she married Ridgeway Becker, theAmerican yacht owner. He divorced her three years ago and I hear she's taken up with some Racing Motor Driver – a poleor something. I don't know whether she's actually married or not. After the American divorce she went back tocalling herself Sedgwick. She goes about with the most extraordinary people. They say shetakes drugs… I don't know, I'm sure."
"On wonders if she is happy," said Miss Marple.
Lady Selina who had clearly never wondered anythingof the kind, looked rather startled.
"She's got packets ofmoney, I suppose," she said doubtfully. "Alimony and all that. Of course that isn'teverything…."
"No, indeed."
"And she's usually gota man – or several men – in tow."
"Yes?"
"Of course when some women get to that age, that's all they want…. But somehow –」
She paused.
"No," said MissMarple. "I don't think so either."
There were people who would have smiled in gentlederision at this pronouncement on the part of an old-fashioned old lady who could hardlybe expected to be an authority on nymphomania, and indeed it was not a word that MissMarple would have used – her own phrase would have been "always too fond of men." But Lady Selina acceptedher opinion as a confirmation of her own.
"There have been a lot of men in her life,"she pointed out.
"Oh yes, but I should say, wouldn't you, that men were an adventure to her, not a need?"
And would any woman, Miss Marple wondered, come toBertram's Hotel for an assignation with a man? Bertram's wasvery definitely not the sort of place. But possibly that could be, to someone of BessSedgwick's disposition, the very reason for choosing it.
She sighed, looked up at the handsome grandfatherclock decorously ticking in the corner, and rose with the careful effort of the rheumaticto her feet. She walked slowly towards the lift. Lady Selina cast a glance around her andpounced upon an elderly gentleman of military appearance who was reading the Spectator.
"How nice to see you again. Er – it is General Arlington, isn't it?"
But with great courtesy the old gentleman declinedbeing General Arlington. Lady Selina apologised, but was not unduly discomposed. Shecombined short sight with optimism and since the thing she enjoyed most was meeting oldfriends and acquaintances, she was always making this kind of mistake. Many other peopledid the same, since the lights were pleasantly dim and heavily shaded. But nobody evertook offence – usually indeed it seemed to give them pleasure.
Miss Marple smiled to herself as she waited for thelift to come down. So like Selina! Always convinced that she knew everybody. She herselfcould not compete. Her solitary achievement in that line had been the handsome andwell-gaitered Bishop of Westchester whom she had addressed affectionately as "dear Robbie" and who had responded with equalaffection and with memories of himself as a child in a Hampshire vicarage calling outlustily "Be a crocodile now, Auntie Janie. Be a crocodile andeat me."
The lift came down, the uniformed middle-aged manthrew open the door. Rather to Miss Marple's surprise thealighting passenger was Bess Sedgwick whom she had seen go up only a minute or two before.
And then, one foot poised, Bess Sedgwick stoppeddead, with a suddenness that surprised Miss Marple and made her own forward step falter.Bess Sedgwick was staring over Miss Marple's shoulder withsuch concentration that the old lady turned her own head.
The commissionaire had just pushed open the twoswing doors of the entrance and was holding them to let two women pass through into thelounge. One of them was a fussy looking middle-aged lady wearing a rather unfortunateflowered violet hat, the other was a tall, simply but smartly dressed, girl of perhapsseventeen or eighteen with long straight flaxen hair.
Bess Sedgwick pulled herself together, wheeled roundabruptly and re-entered the lift. As Miss Marple followed her in, she turned to her andapologised.
"I'm so sorry. Inearly ran into you." She had a warm friendly voice. "I just remembered I'd forgotten something –which sounds nonsense but isn't really."
"Second floor?" saidthe operator. Miss Marple smiled and nodded in acknowledgment of the apology, got out andwalked slowly along her room, pleasurably turning over sundry little unimportant problemsin her mind as was so often her custom.
For instance what lady Sedgwick had said wasn't true. She had only just gone up to her room, and it must have been thenthat she "remembered she had forgotten something" (if there had been any truth in that statement at all) and had come down tofind it. Or had she perhaps come down to meet someone or look for someone? But if so, whatshe had seen as the lift door opened had startled and upset her, and she had immediatelyswung round into the lift again and gone up so as not to meet whoever it was she had seen.
It must have been the two newcomers. The middle-agedwoman and the girl. Mother and daughter? No, Miss Marple thought, not mother and daughter.
Even at Bertram's,thought Miss Marple, happily, interesting things could happen….
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