Destination Unknown - Agatha Christie [31]
‘Yes, that is true.’
‘I envy you,’ Mr Aristides said unexpectedly.
Hilary looked at him in an astonished manner. Again he waggled his head in vehement assertion.
‘Yes,’ he added, ‘you are to be envied. You have had an experience. I should like the experience of having come so near to death. To have that, yet survive–do you not feel yourself different since then, Madame?’
‘In a rather unfortunate way,’ said Hilary. ‘I had concussion and that gives me very bad headaches, and it also affects my memory.’
‘Those are mere inconveniences,’ said Mr Aristides, with a wave of the hand, ‘but it is an adventure of the spirit you have passed through, is it not?’
‘It is true,’ said Hilary slowly, ‘that I have passed through an adventure of the spirit.’
She was thinking of a bottle of Vichy water and a little heap of sleeping pills.
‘I have never had that experience,’ said Mr Aristides, in his dissatisfied voice. ‘So many other things, but not that.’ He rose, bowed, said ‘Mes hommages, Madame,’ and left her.
Chapter 8
How alike, Hilary thought to herself, all airports were! They had a strange anonymity about them. They were all at some distance from the town or city they served, and in consequence you had a queer, stateless feeling of existing nowhere. You could fly from London to Madrid, to Rome, to Istanbul, to Cairo, to anywhere you liked, and if your journey was a through one by air, you would never have the faintest idea of what any of these cities looked like! If you caught a glimpse of them from the air, they were only a kind of glorified map, something built with a child’s box of bricks.
And why, she thought vexedly, looking round her, does one always have to be at these places so much too early?
They had spent nearly half an hour in the waiting-room. Mrs Calvin Baker, who had decided to accompany Hilary to Marrakesh, had been talking non-stop ever since their arrival. Hilary had answered almost mechanically. But now she realized that the flow had been diverted. Mrs Baker had now switched her attention to two other travellers who were sitting near her. They were both tall, fair young men. One an American with a broad, friendly grin, the other a rather solemn-looking Dane or Norwegian. The Dane talked heavily, slowly, and rather pedantically in careful English. The American was clearly delighted to find another American traveller. Presently, in conscientious fashion, Mrs Calvin Baker turned to Hilary.
‘Mr–? I’d like to have you know my friend, Mrs Betterton.’
‘Andrew Peters–Andy to my friends.’
The other young man rose to his feet, bowed rather stiffly and said, ‘Torquil Ericsson.’
‘So now we’re all acquainted,’ said Mrs Baker happily. ‘Are we all going to Marrakesh? It’s my friend’s first visit there–’
‘I, too,’ said Ericsson. ‘I, too, for the first time go.’
‘That goes for me, too,’ said Peters.
The loudspeaker was suddenly switched on and a hoarse announcement in French was made. The words were barely distinguishable but it appeared to be their summons to the plane.
There were four passengers besides Mrs Baker and Hilary. Besides Peters and Ericsson, there was a thin, tall Frenchman, and a severe-looking nun.
It was a clear, sunny day and flying conditions were good. Leaning back in her seat with half-closed eyes, Hilary studied her fellow-passengers, seeking to distract herself that way from the anxious questionings which were going on in her mind.
One seat ahead of her, on the other side of the aisle, Mrs Calvin Baker in her grey travelling costume looked like a plump and contented duck. A small hat with wings was perched on her blue hair and she was turning the pages of a glossy magazine. Occasionally she leaned forward to tap the shoulder of the man sitting in front of her, who was the cheerful-looking fair young American, Peters. When she did so he turned round, displaying his good-humoured grin, and responding energetically to her remarks. How very good-natured and friendly Americans were, Hilary thought to herself. So different from the