At Bertram's Hotel - Agatha Christie [18]
“Nobody but you ever called me Bessie. It’s a revolting name. What have you been doing all these years?”
“This and that,” said Micky with some reserve. “I’ve not been in the news like you have. I’ve read of your doings in the paper time and again.”
Bess Sedgwick laughed. “Anyway, I’ve worn better than you have,” she said. “You drink too much. You always did.”
“You’ve worn well because you’ve always been in the money.”
“Money wouldn’t have done you any good. You’d have drunk even more and gone to the dogs completely. Oh yes, you would! What brought you here? That’s what I want to know. How did you ever get taken on at this place?”
“I wanted a job. I had these—” his hand flicked over the row of medals.
“Yes, I see.” She was thoughtful. “All genuine too, aren’t they?”
“Sure they’re genuine. Why shouldn’t they be?”
“Oh I believe you. You always had courage. You’ve always been a good fighter. Yes, the army suited you. I’m sure of that.”
“The army’s all right in time of war, but it’s no good in peacetime.”
“So you took to this stuff. I hadn’t the least idea—” she stopped.
“You hadn’t the least idea what, Bessie?”
“Nothing. It’s queer seeing you again after all these years.”
“I haven’t forgotten,” said the man. “I’ve never forgotten you, little Bessie. Ah! A lovely girl you were! A lovely slip of a girl.”
“A damn’ fool of a girl, that’s what I was,” said Lady Sedgwick.
“That’s true now. You hadn’t much sense. If you had, you wouldn’t have taken up with me. What hands you had for a horse. Do you remember that mare—what was her name now?—Molly O’Flynn. Ah, she was a wicked devil, that one was.”
“You were the only one that could ride her,” said Lady Sedgwick.
“She’d have had me off if she could! When she found she couldn’t, she gave in. Ah, she was a beauty, now. But talking of sitting a horse, there wasn’t one lady in those parts better than you. A lovely seat you had, lovely hands. Never any fear in you, not for a minute! And it’s been the same ever since, so I judge. Aeroplanes, racing cars.”
Bess Sedgwick laughed.
“I must get on with my letters.”
She drew back from the window.
Micky leaned over the railing. “I’ve not forgotten Ballygowlan,” he said with meaning. “Sometimes I’ve thought of writing to you—”
Bess Sedgwick’s voice came out harshly.
“And what do you mean by that, Mick Gorman?”
“I was just saying as I haven’t forgotten—anything. I was just—reminding you like.”
Bess Sedgwick’s voice still held its harsh note.
“If you mean what I think you mean, I’ll give you a piece of advice. Any trouble from you, and I’d shoot you as easily as I’d shoot a rat. I’ve shot men before—”
“In foreign parts, maybe—”
“Foreign parts or here—it’s all the same to me.”
“Ah, good Lord, now, and I believe you would do just that!” His voice held admiration. “In Ballygowlan—”
“In Ballygowlan,” she cut in, “they paid you to keep your mouth shut and paid you well. You took the money. You’ll get no more from me so don’t think it.”
“It would be a nice romantic story for the Sunday papers….”
“You heard what I said.”
“Ah,” he laughed, “I’m not serious, I was just joking. I’d never do anything to hurt my little Bessie. I’ll keep my mouth shut.”
“Mind you do,” said Lady Sedgwick.
She shut down the window. Staring down at the desk in front of her she looked at her unfinished letter on the blotting paper. She picked it up, looked at it, crumpled it into a ball and slung it into the wastepaper basket. Then abruptly she got up from her seat and walked out of the room. She did not even cast a glance around her before she went.
The smaller writing rooms at Bertram’s often had an appearance of being empty even when they were not. Two well-appointed desks stood in the windows, there was a table on the right that held a few magazines, on the left were two very high-backed armchairs turned towards the fire. These were favourite spots in the afternoon for elderly military or naval gentlemen to ensconce themselves and fall happily asleep until teatime. Anyone coming in to write a letter did not usually even notice them. The