Mysterious Mr. Quin - Agatha Christie [91]
‘They probably charge you a pretty penny for it,’ said the Duchess sharply. ‘Find out, will you?’
‘Certainly, Duchess.’
Mr Satterthwaite was still in a flutter of gratification despite the fact that his role was clearly to be that of a glorified courier.
When she learned the price of a passage by Avion, the Duchess turned it down promptly.
‘They needn’t think I’m going to pay a ridiculous sum like that to go in one of their nasty dangerous things.’
So they went by boat, and Mr Satterthwaite endured ten hours of acute discomfort. To begin with, as the boat sailed at seven, he took it for granted that there would be dinner on board. But there was no dinner. The boat was small and the sea was rough. Mr Satterthwaite was decanted at Ajaccio in the early hours of the morning more dead than alive.
The Duchess, on the contrary, was perfectly fresh. She never minded discomfort if she could feel she was saving money. She waxed enthusiastic over the scene on the quay, with the palm trees and the rising sun. The whole population seemed to have turned out to watch the arrival of the boat, and the launching of the gangway was attended with excited cries and directions.
‘On dirait,’ said a stout Frenchman who stood beside them, ‘que jamais avant on n’a fait cette manoeuvre là! ’
‘That maid of mine has been sick all night,’ said the Duchess. ‘The girl’s a perfect fool.’
Mr Satterthwaite smiled in a pallid fashion.
‘A waste of good food, I call it,’ continued the Duchess robustly.
‘Did she get any food?’ asked Mr Satterthwaite enviously.
‘I happened to bring some biscuits and a stick of chocolate on board with me,’ said the Duchess. ‘When I found there was no dinner to be got, I gave the lot to her. The lower classes always make such a fuss about going without their meals.’
With a cry of triumph the launching of the gangway was accomplished. A Musical Comedy chorus of brigands rushed aboard and wrested hand-luggage from the passengers by main force.
‘Come on, Satterthwaite,’ said the Duchess. ‘I want a hot bath and some coffee.’
So did Mr Satterthwaite. He was not wholly successful, however. They were received at the hotel by a bowing manager and were shown to their rooms. The Duchess’s had a bathroom attached. Mr Satterthwaite, however, was directed to a bath that appeared to be situated in somebody else’s bedroom. To expect the water to be hot at that hour in the morning was, perhaps, unreasonable. Later he drank intensely black coffee, served in a pot without a lid. The shutters and the window of his room had been flung open, and the crisp morning air came in fragrantly. A day of dazzling blue and green.
The waiter waved his hand with a flourish to call attention to the view.
‘Ajaccio,’ he said solemnly. ‘Le plus beau port du monde! ’
And he departed abruptly.
Looking out over the deep blue of the bay, with the snowy mountains beyond, Mr Satterthwaite was almost inclined to agree with him. He finished his coffee, and lying down on the bed, fell fast asleep.
At déjeuner the Duchess was in great spirits.
‘This is just what will be good for you, Satterthwaite,’ she said. ‘Get you out of all those dusty little old-maidish ways of yours.’ She swept a lorgnette round the room. ‘Upon my word, there’s Naomi Carlton Smith.’
She indicated a girl sitting by herself at a table in the window. A round-shouldered girl, who slouched as she sat. Her dress appeared to be made of some kind of brown sacking. She had black hair, untidily bobbed.
‘An artist?’ asked Mr Satterthwaite.
He was always good at placing people.
‘Quite right,’ said the Duchess. ‘Calls herself one anyway. I knew she was mooching around in some queer quarter of the globe. Poor as a church mouse, proud as Lucifer, and a bee in her bonnet like all the Carlton Smiths. Her mother was my first cousin.’
‘She’s one of the Knowlton lot then?’
The Duchess nodded.
‘Been her own worst enemy,’ she volunteered. ‘Clever girl too. Mixed herself up with a most undesirable young man. One of that Chelsea crowd. Wrote plays or poems or something unhealthy. Nobody