A Slightly Bitter Taste Page 2

  It didn’t last long. Through the darkness came pinpoints of light … and the pinpoints were splintered words … and the words were in many voices from above and below, from near and far.

  Then the myriad voices became one. He knew that voice. It reminded him of a girl with dark hair and a cheeky smile — the girl he had met at a party in Muswell Hill.

  Something funny about that party. He couldn’t remember whether he had gone or not. Yet if he hadn’t gone he wouldn’t have met her. That was logical. And you couldn’t get anywhere without logic.

  But she wasn’t just anywhere. He could hear her close beside him.

  She was saying “… come on. It’s time you went home.”

  That was silly for a start. Nobody who lived in digs ever looked on the place as home. Once upon a time … but that was long ago.

  Somebody shook him into reluctant awareness of the present. Somebody said, “If you’ve got a car you’re not fit to drive. If you haven’t you’re not fit to walk. Looks as if I’ll have to act the Good Samaritan.”

  Quinn said, “Don’t do me any favours. I can manage quite well by myself.”

  “In your present condition you’d finish up sleeping in the gutter. So don’t argue. Someone’s got to look after you … and it seems I’m the lucky one.”

  From then on he had only fragmentary impressions of movement and half light, a background of noise receding behind him, a long flight of steps leading down to a street. In the pale light of a June dawn the street lay empty and silent.

  Cool sweet air … trees growing out of pools of shadow … that familiar voice urging him to keep going. He knew he was being helped into a car, he could hear the dark girl asking him, “Where do you live?”

  The queer thing was that she didn’t seem able to hear him. He told her twice but she went on asking him each time he woke up. Eventually he decided he wasn’t the only one who’d had a few drinks.

  Through the jolting noise of a car he heard her say, “O.K. I’ve asked for this so I’ve no one to blame but myself now that I’m stuck with it. Why don’t I learn to mind my own business?”

  2

  The echo of that question roused him from a long, deep sleep. As he came up to the surface, a hand shook him and a voice he well remembered began talking to him.

  “… If you’re dead, just say so and I’ll drink this coffee myself. After looking at something like you I need it. You remind me of the corpse of Marat in Tussaud’s Chamber of Horrors.”

  There was bright light shining in his face — a cruel light that seemed to be trying to prise open his eyelids with sharp little knives. He turned his face away and groaned.

  The voice said, “Be sure your sin will find you out … May I be the first to say it serves you right?”

  He took a quick peek at her and then he shut his eyes tight. When the pounding in his temples subsided, he asked, “What time is it?”

  “Five fifteen — p.m., not a.m. You’ve slept like a child — a snoring alcoholic child — for more than twelve hours. How’s your poor head?”

  Quinn said, “As ill as can be expected. Give me that coffee and see if you can keep quiet for a while.”

  The coffee was hot and strong. He kept his eyes closed while he sipped it, one small mouthful at a time, until the feeling of nausea left him. Then he took a chance and peered up at her.

  She looked fresh, well-groomed and youthfully attractive in a dark-red trouser suit that flattered the slim lines of her figure. Late hours didn’t seem to leave any effects on her.

  He wondered if she’d been seen helping him up to his room … or going downstairs … or coming back up again in daylight. It would give his fellow-boarders plenty to talk about.

  Then he realised something was very far wrong. This wasn’t his room: this wasn’t anything like his room. He didn’t have a big, comfortable settee and bright curtains and a vase of pretty flowers on a spindly-legged table. He didn’t have an Indian carpet, either.

  Through an open door he could see a bed and a dressing-table with bottles and jars standing in front of the mirror. The bed was as smooth and neat as a well-made bed in a hospital. On the dressing table stool lay a handbag and a pair of gloves.

  What he guessed didn’t make sense. When he’d gulped down the last of the coffee, he asked, “Where am I?”

  She took the cup from him. With a smile in her dark eyes, she said, “That’s what they always say on television when the goody wakes up after being slugged by the baddy and —”

  “Oh, to hell with television! Where am I?”

  “The one place where you shouldn’t be. I’ve still got a reputation for respectability — even if it is somewhat tarnished.”

  “You mean this is where you live?”

  “Well, it isn’t the British Museum.”

  He pushed himself upright and held on to the back of the settee long enough to take a look out of the window. When he slumped back again, he said, “I’m beginning to feel like Rip Van Winkle. Whereabouts is this?”

  “A mile and a half outside Basingstoke. It’s the cottage where I stay when I want to get away from the rat race. Pleasant change from the non-stop rushing about that you do in town with everybody —”

  “Stop talking like a guide book,” Quinn said. “Do you mean you brought me all the way from London and I didn’t even know it?”

  With a laugh bubbling in her throat, she said, “That’s right. You were like a lump of meat the whole time — all forty-nine miles of our journey into the dawn. May as well tell you I stopped twice to see if you were still alive.”

  “Why don’t I remember anything about it?”

  “Don’t ask me. But I can assure you that you crawled out of the car — with a little assistance, of course — staggered up the path and through the door, and got as far as here.”

  “Damn’ funny why the whole thing’s a blank.”

  She stared at him with the eyes of a school-teacher. “All I did was give you a little push and you collapsed on to the settee.” She laughed again. “If you’d fallen down before you reached it I’d have had to let you sleep on the floor.”

  “It might be a joke to you but I don’t see anything to laugh about,” Quinn said. “Why in heaven’s name did you bring me here?”

  Her smile vanished. She said, “So that there’s no misunderstanding let me assure you it wasn’t because I was in desperate need of a man. The choice was either here or a straw mattress in the lock-up at Muswell Hill. You were drunk and incapable, my dear Mr. Quinn — but incapable.”

  Quinn said, “You could’ve taken me home to my digs … although I don’t want you to get the idea I’m not grateful.”

  She gave him a razor-edged grin. “Too late. I’d already got that idea. Just to keep things straight, how could I take you home if I didn’t know where you lived?”

  “But I remember giving you the address.”

  “Oh, sure. What you mean is that you remember thinking you’d given me the address. As it happens that was about the only thing you didn’t tell me.”

  The change in her voice made him feel uncomfortable. He said, “What are you talking about now?”

  “Your confidences. I got it all, a complete life story, an autobiography that left nothing to the imagination.”

  With a look in her eyes which reminded him of the night before, she added, “You wouldn’t make a good spy, Mr. Quinn. When you’ve had a couple — if you’ll pardon the understatement — you reveal all your secrets to the first sympathetic listener.”

  His head was throbbing, his eyes hurt. Thinking was difficult. He only knew he’d made a fool of himself.

  Best thing would be to get out and never see her again. Then it wouldn’t matter how much he’d blabbed …

  He asked, “What did I say?”

  “Oh, nothing you could call very juicy. I was rather disappointed.”

  “Don’t be facetious. I’m not in the mood.”

  “All right. You’re a reporter, unmarried,
and you run a crime column in the Morning Post. Seems you enjoy your work but you’d enjoy it even more if your news editor wasn’t quite such a bastard.”

  She passed the empty coffee cup from one hand to the other while she studied him with an expressionless face. “Have I got it right so far?”

  “It’s right,” Quinn said. “What else?”

  For a moment she hesitated. “I don’t think I should repeat any more.”

  “Why not? Embarrassed?”

  “No, not at all. It just wouldn’t be fair.”

  “That’s for me to decide. Go on. What else did I say?”

  She looked down at the cup and took a long time to answer. At last, she said, “Very well — if you insist. I gather that you spend most of your spare time in pubs because you’re lonely; you envy many of your colleagues who are married; compared with other people you think you’re a louse; you blame your parents for making you what you are and hate yourself in consequence because you suspect they’re merely an excuse for what you call the failure you’ve made of your life —”

  She broke off. Then she looked at Quinn with a trace of compassion in her eyes.

  In an abrupt voice, she said, “And that’s enough for one sitting. Would you like some aspirin for your headache?”

  Quinn said, “Yes, please — if it’s not too much trouble.”

  Her eyes lit up with laughter. “Trouble! After last night that is a joke.”

  If anyone else had laughed at him like that he’d have resented it. But she was different. Being with her — even if there was a gong beating inside his head — made him feel good.

  He said, “I’m sorry if I caused you a lot of bother. Afraid I kind of let myself go at that party. I haven’t had a proper break in a long time … and to-day I begin a two weeks’ holiday.”

  “Yes, I know. That was another thing you told me while I was unfastening your tie and removing your shoes. You kept adding bits of information about yourself even after you fell asleep.”

  With an underlying query in her voice, she added, “I gather you’ve no idea where to go for this long-awaited holiday.”

  “Too many places to choose from,” Quinn said.

  “Everywhere’s the same if” — she reached out and put the empty cup down on a small table near the settee — “if you take the wrong half of your personality along with you.”

  Quinn said, “Makes me sound like a schizophrenic. Maybe you ran a bigger risk than you knew when you let me spend the night here. After all, we were alone together and I might have —”

  “Oh, no, you wouldn’t.” She was still laughing at him. “Two minutes after I lugged you on to that settee you departed this life. I’d have been quite safe even if we’d shared the same bed. For twelve hours you were insentient, incompetent and entirely impotent.”

  There didn’t seem anything that Quinn could usefully say. But when she went on looking at him as though trying to read his thoughts, he said, “I’m sorry I was such poor company. If you’d care to invite me back some time when I’m sober I’ll endeavour to make amends.”

  The dark girl shrugged. As she turned away, she said, “I’ll ignore that. When you’ve had a couple of aspirins maybe you’ll feel well enough to apologise.”

  He told himself he was a louse. After she came back with the aspirins and a tumbler of water, he said, “I didn’t mean what you thought I meant.”

  “No … ? You could’ve fooled me. Still, never mind. Swallow these … Now shut your eyes for a while and you’ll feel better. If you shut your mouth at the same time” — the sting had gone from her voice — “I’ll feel better, too.”

  The thumping in his head gradually slackened as he lay quiet and listened to the tap-tap of her heels moving here and there … the gushing of a tap … the squeak of a door opening and closing again. He had no wish and no energy to think. It was pleasant just to relax and let the aspirins do their work.

  Wonderful what a few little tablets could do for a headache. Aspirin was supposed to have been discovered by a German research chemist before the turn of the century … man should have been given the Iron Cross and the V.C. and the Croix de Guerre … no, that wasn’t right. They were for bravery in time of war … a knighthood would have been better.

  Be a change to see an order of gallantry given to people who hadn’t merely amassed fame and fortune in pursuit of their own personal interests … like a pop group … Wonder why it was called knighthood?

  He must have dozed off. Next thing he knew the dark girl was asking him if he’d like another cup of coffee.

  “… I think you’ve slept enough for one day. What you want now is a cold shower. You’ll find clean towels in the bathroom and everything else you need — including a razor. No, I don’t shave. It belonged to a man who used to live here. I went into Basingstoke and bought some blades while you were playing Old Macdonald’s Pig.”

  Quinn said, “Thanks. You’ve been more than kind. If there’s ever anything I can do in return —”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t hesitate to ask. And while we’re on the subject” — she shook her head lightly — “if you’re thinking of buying me some flowers or a box of chocolates, forget it. I’d have done the same for anybody.”

  “That’s a pity,” Quinn said. “I’ve been hoping you did it because you liked me.”

  She studied him carefully, her head tilted first to one side and then to the other. At last, she said, “Unless you’ve got a pure and shining soul under that debauched exterior, I don’t see what there is to like.”

  “Looks aren’t everything,” Quinn said.

  “Lucky for you, isn’t it?”

  Her eyes travelled slowly over his face as she went on, “Your hair’s the colour of dried grass, you’ve got a sandy complexion, your eyes are bloodshot … and you need a shave. What’s more, if I’d been designing your features I wouldn’t have given you a sharp nose and that chin. They don’t go together.”

  “They’ve been going together for thirty-odd years,” Quinn said. “Meeting you looks like making this the oddest year so far.”

  She nodded thoughtfully. “I must be crazy, but in spite of everything, there is something about you that I like.”

  He combed back his lank hair with both hands and asked, “Should I be flattered?”

  “Not really. There are so many things I don’t like. If we saw a lot of each other I think it would be easy for me to go off you.”

  “That cuts both ways. But it might be fun while it lasted.”

  Once again she was thoughtful. “I’m not so sure.”

  Quinn said, “There’s nothing sure in this life. If you’ve got any time to spare during the next two weeks let’s see who goes off whom first.”

  “You mean” — she held her lower lip between her teeth for a moment — “you want me to go away with you?”

  “Yes — but not as Mr. and Mrs. Smith. My offer has no strings attached.”

  She glanced at her watch as though it helped her to make up her mind. Then she said, “Just good friends?”

  “That’s all. Of course, in the words of the Victorian novel, there’s always the chance that our friendship may ripen into something deeper.”

  “Don’t count on it.”

  “No, but I can hope. And it might be a good start if you told me your name.”

  “Oh, I thought you knew.” She held out her hand. “I’m Carole Stewart.”

  He liked the touch of her skin, the soft pressure of her fingers. It lasted only a moment but it was very pleasant.

  As she took her hand away, he said, “I’m still waiting for your answer. What do you say?”

  “I’ll think about it. Now do you want another cup of coffee before you have a shave and a shower?”

  Quinn said, “Yes, please.”

  He lay back again when she went into the tiny kitchenette. She left the door open and he could hear the rattle of cups and saucers, the opening and closing of a drawer.

  Then from somewhe
re in the kitchen, she asked, “Ever been to a place called Castle Lammering?”

  “No, can’t say I have. Where is it?”

  “In Dorset … not far from Blandford.”

  “Don’t know Blandford, either.”

  “It’s twenty miles or so from Salisbury. Right in the heart of the country. The village — Castle Lammering, I mean — has only got a couple of hundred people, two pubs, no betting shops or bingo halls or juke-boxes. And the nearest main road is miles away.”

  “Sounds good,” Quinn said. “You been there?”

  “Oh, quite often. I’ve got friends who live just outside the village. It’s a biggish house called Elm Lodge. They’ve plenty of money and entertain a lot.”

  “Nice for your friends,” Quinn said.

  “They’ve invited me to spend a long week-end with them whenever I can get away. In actual fact I thought of setting off this afternoon and staying, perhaps, until Tuesday morning.”

  “Nice for you,” Quinn said.

  The rattle of dishes stopped and Carole Stewart came out of the kitchenette. She was carrying a tray with a plate of biscuits and a cup of steaming coffee.

  She said, “Treatment as before: black coffee without sugar … and drink it down hot.”

  In the same tone she went on, “You’ve got time on your hands and nowhere to go right now. A few days at Castle Lammering might do you good. How would you like to come with me?”

  He’d had a tantalising feeling that this might be what she was going to say but it had been too much to hope for. Now that she had asked him he was afraid she didn’t mean it seriously.

  He said, “I’d like that very much. But how would your friends feel if you brought along a stranger?”

  “They wouldn’t mind at all. In fact they’d probably be quite pleased. A new face would be like a change of scenery.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I wouldn’t have invited you if I weren’t sure.”

  “Then I accept with thanks,” Quinn said. “Funny, isn’t it?”

  “What’s funny?”