Destination Unknown - Agatha Christie [45]
‘Tom!’ she said, and there was a catch in her voice that her listening ears approved. ‘Oh, Tom–but what–’
‘Plastic surgery! Hertz of Vienna is here. And he’s a living marvel. Don’t say you regret my old crushed nose.’
He kissed her again, lightly, easily, this time, then turned to the watching Van Heidem with a slight apologetic laugh.
‘Forgive the transports, Van Heidem,’ he said.
‘But naturally, naturally–’ the Dutchman smiled benevolently.
‘It’s been so long,’ said Hilary, ‘and I–’ she swayed a little; ‘I–please, can I sit down?’
Hurriedly Tom Betterton eased her into a chair.
‘Of course, darling. You’re all in. That frightful journey. And the plane accident. My God, what an escape!’
(So there was full communication. They knew all about the plane crash.)
‘It’s left me terribly woolly-headed,’ said Hilary, with an apologetic little laugh. ‘I forget things and get muddled up, and have awful headaches. And then, finding you looking like a total stranger! I’m a bit of a mess, darling. I hope I won’t be a bother to you!’
‘You a bother? Never. You’ll just have to take it easy for a bit, that’s all. There’s all the–time in the world here.’
Van Heidem moved gently towards the door.
‘I will leave you now,’ he said. ‘After a little you will bring your wife to the Registry, Betterton? For the moment you will like to be alone.’
He went out, shutting the door behind him.
Immediately Betterton dropped on his knees by Hilary and buried his face on her shoulder.
‘Darling, darling,’ he said.
And once again she felt that warning pressure of the fingers. The whisper, so faint as hardly to be heard, was urgent and insistent.
‘Keep it up. There might be a microphone–one never knows.’
That was it, of course. One never knew…Fear–uneasiness–uncertainty–danger–always danger–she could feel it in the atmosphere.
Tom Betterton sat back on his haunches.
‘It’s so wonderful to see you,’ he said softly. ‘And yet, you know, it’s like a dream–not quite real. Do you feel like that, too?’
‘Yes, that’s just it–a dream–being here–with you–at last. It doesn’t seem real, Tom.’
She had placed both hands on his shoulders. She was looking at him, a faint smile on her lips. (There might be a spy-hole as well as a microphone.)
Coolly and calmly she appraised what she saw. A nervous good-looking man of thirty-odd who was badly frightened–a man nearly at the end of his tether–a man who had, presumably, come here full of high hopes and had been reduced–to this.
Now that she had surmounted her first hurdle, Hilary felt a curious exhilaration in the playing of her part. She must be Olive Betterton. Act as Olive would have acted, feel as Olive would have felt. And life was so unreal that that seemed quite natural. Somebody called Hilary Craven had died in an aeroplane accident. From now on she wouldn’t even remember her.
Instead, she rallied her memories of the lessons she had studied so assiduously.
‘It seems such ages since Firbank,’ she said. ‘Whiskers–you remember Whiskers? She had kittens–just after you went away. There are so many things, silly everyday little things, you don’t even know about. That’s what seems so odd.’
‘I know. It’s breaking with an old life and beginning a new one.’
‘And–it’s all right here? You’re happy?’
A necessary wifely question that any wife would ask.
‘It’s wonderful.’ Tom Betterton squared his shoulders, threw his head back. Unhappy, frightened eyes looked out of a smiling confident face. ‘Every facility. No expense spared. Perfect conditions to get on with the job. And the organization! It’s unbelievable.’
‘Oh, I’m sure it is. My journey–did you come the same way?’
‘One doesn’t talk about that. Oh, I’m not snubbing you, darling. But–you see, you’ve got to learn about everything.’
‘But the lepers? Is it really a Leper Colony?’
‘Oh yes. Perfectly genuine. There’s a team of medicos doing very fine work in research on the subject. But it’s quite self-contained. It needn’t worry you. It’s just–clever camouflage.’
‘I see.’ Hilary looked round her. ‘Are these our quarters?’
‘Yes. Sitting-room,