Destination Unknown - Agatha Christie [50]
Chapter 13
‘It’s like a school,’ said Hilary.
She was back once more in her own apartment. The clothes and accessories she had chosen were awaiting her in the bedroom. She hung the clothes in the cupboard and arranged the other things to her liking.
‘I know,’ said Betterton, ‘I felt like that at first.’
Their conversation was wary and slightly stilted. The shadow of a possible microphone still hung over them. He said in an oblique manner:
‘I think it’s all right, you know. I think I was probably imagining things. But all the same…’
He left it at that, and Hilary realized that what he had left unsaid was, ‘but all the same, we had better be careful.’
The whole business was, Hilary thought, like some fantastic nightmare. Here she was, sharing a bedroom with a strange man, and yet so strong was the feeling of uncertainty, and danger, that to neither of them did the intimacy appear embarrassing. It was like, she thought, climbing a Swiss mountain where you share a hut in close proximity with guides and other climbers as a matter of course. After a minute or two Betterton said:
‘It all takes a bit of getting used to, you know. Let’s just be very natural. Very ordinary. More or less as if we were at home still.’
She realized the wisdom of that. The feeling of unreality persisted and would persist, she supposed, some little time. The reasons for Betterton leaving England, his hopes, his disillusionment, could not be touched upon between them at this moment. They were two people playing a part with an undefined menace hanging over them, as it were. She said presently:
‘I was taken through a lot of formalities. Medical, psychological and all that.’
‘Yes. That’s always done. It’s natural, I suppose.’
‘Did the same happen to you?’
‘More or less.’
‘Then I went in to see the–Deputy Director I think they called him?’
‘That’s right. He runs this place. Very capable and a thoroughly good administrator.’
‘But he’s not really the head of it all?’
‘Oh no, there’s the Director himself.’
‘Does one–do I–shall I see the Director?’
‘Sooner or later I expect. But he doesn’t often appear. He gives us an address from time to time–he’s got a wonderfully stimulating personality.’
There was a faint frown between Betterton’s brows and Hilary thought it wise to abandon the subject. Betterton said, glancing at a watch:
‘Dinner is at eight. Eight to eight-thirty, that is. We’d better be getting down, if you’re ready?’
He spoke exactly as though they were staying in a hotel.
Hilary had changed into the dress she had selected. A soft shade of grey-green that made a good background for her red hair. She clasped a necklace of rather attractive costume jewellery round her neck and said she was ready. They went down the stairs and along corridors and finally into a large dining-room. Miss Jennson came forward and met them.
‘I have arranged a slightly larger table for you, Tom,’ she said to Betterton. ‘A couple of your wife’s fellow-travellers will sit with you–and the Murchisons, of course.’
They went along to the table indicated. The room contained mostly small tables seating four, eight or ten persons. Andy Peters and Ericsson were already sitting at the table and rose as Hilary and Tom approached. Hilary introduced her ‘husband’ to the two men. They sat down, and presently they were joined by another couple. These Betterton introduced as Dr and Mrs Murchison.
‘Simon and I work in the same lab,’ he said, in an explanatory fashion.
Simon Murchison