Destination Unknown - Agatha Christie [46]
She got up and followed him through a well-appointed bathroom into a good-sized bedroom with twin beds, big built-in cupboards, a dressing-table, and a bookshelf near the beds. Hilary looked into the cupboard space with some amusement.
‘I hardly know what I’m going to put in here,’ she remarked. ‘All I’ve got is what I can stand up in.’
‘Oh that. You can fit yourself out with all you want. There’s a fashion model department and all accessories, cosmetics, everything. All first-class. The Unit is quite self-contained–all you want on the premises. No need to go outside ever again.’
He said the words lightly, but it seemed to Hilary’s sensitive ear that there was despair concealed behind the words.
‘No need to go outside ever again. No chance of ever going outside again. Abandon hope all ye who enter here…The well-appointed cage! Was it for this,’ she thought, ‘that all these varying personalities had abandoned their countries, their loyalties, their everyday lives? Dr Barron, Andy Peters, young Ericsson with his dreaming face, the overbearing Helga Needheim? Did they know what they were coming to find? Would they be content? Was this what they had wanted?’
She thought: ‘I’d better not ask too many questions…if someone is listening.’
Was someone listening? Were they being spied upon? Tom Betterton evidently thought it might be so. But was he right? Or was it nerves–hysteria? Tom Betterton, she thought, was very near to a breakdown.
‘Yes,’ she thought grimly, ‘and so may you be, my girl, in six months’ time…’ What did it do to people, she wondered, living like this?
Tom Betterton said to her:
‘Would you like to lie down–to rest?’
‘No–’ she hesitated. ‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘Then perhaps you’d better come with me to the Registry.’
‘What’s the Registry?’
‘Everyone who clocks in goes through the Registry. They record everything about you. Health, teeth, blood pressure, blood group, psychological reactions, tastes, dislikes, allergies, aptitudes, preferences.’
‘It sounds very military–or do I mean medical?’
‘Both,’ said Tom Betterton. ‘Both. This organization–it’s really formidable.’
‘One’s always heard so,’ said Hilary. ‘I mean that everything behind the Iron Curtain is really properly planned.’
She tried to put a proper enthusiasm into her voice. After all, Olive Betterton had presumably been a sympathizer with the Party, although, perhaps by order, she had not been known to be a Party member.
Betterton said evasively:
‘There’s a lot for you to–understand.’ He added quickly: ‘Better not try to take in too much at once.’
He kissed her again, a curious, apparently tender and even passionate kiss, that was actually as cold as ice, murmured very low in her ear, ‘Keep it up,’ and said aloud, ‘And now, come down to the Registry.’
Chapter 12
The Registry was presided over by a woman who looked like a strict nursery governess. Her hair was rolled into a rather hideous bun and she wore very efficient-looking pince-nez. She nodded approval as the Bettertons entered the severe office-like room.
‘Ah,’ she said. ‘You’ve brought Mrs Betterton. That’s right.’
Her English was perfectly idiomatic but it was spoken with a stilted precision which made Hilary believe that she was probably a foreigner. Actually, her nationality was Swiss. She motioned Hilary to a chair, opened a drawer beside her and took out a sheaf of forms upon which she commenced to write rapidly. Tom Betterton said rather awkwardly:
‘Well then, Olive, I’ll leave you.’
‘Yes please, Dr Betterton. It’s much better to get through all the formalities straight away.’
Betterton went out, shutting the door behind him. The Robot, for as such Hilary thought of her, continued to write.
‘Now then,’ she said, in a businesslike way. ‘Full name, please. Age. Where born. Father and mother’s names. Any serious illnesses. Tastes. Hobbies. List of any jobs held. Degrees at any university. Preferences in food and drink.’
It went on, a seemingly endless catalogue. Hilary responded vaguely, almost mechanically.