Night Train to Memphis - Elizabeth Peters [19]
‘How clever of you,’ I said.
By the time we had finished (five courses, not six), Sweet had identified some of the other passengers for me, and supplied capsule biographies for many of them. The blonde in the tight corset was a Mrs Umphenour from Memphis (Tennessee, not Egypt), who had taken the cruise to console herself for the death of her third husband. The misanthropic reader alone at a nearby table was a German surgeon who specialized in urology. What he was doing on the cruise Sweet could not imagine; he was not a friendly person and he appeared to be only mildly interested in Egyptology.
I sincerely hoped he was not interested in medieval Islamic art.
Jen had eaten her way through all five courses and was looking a trifle bloated by the time we prepared to return to the lounge for coffee and after-dinner drinks. Sweet announced he and Bright would have to deny themselves that pleasure, since the group was to leave for a shore tour at seven the next morning. ‘You young ladies can do without sleep,’ he said, with a gallant bow, ‘but if Bright and I don’t get our eight hours we are good for nothing.’
Bright nodded and smiled. He hadn’t said a word.
Jen took me by the arm. I winced. John had mentioned that his mother was a dedicated gardener; I had no idea that form of exercise could develop such formidable muscles. I don’t like being manhandled, even by women, so I said, ‘I’m a little tired myself. I think I’ll skip the coffee.’
‘But it’s included,’ Jen exclaimed.
Bright and Sweet had faded away. I was on my own. I let her tow me towards the stairs. Not until she had settled us at a table and waved imperiously at a passing waiter did I remember I had an excuse to escape.
‘I’m going out on deck to have a cigarette,’ I announced, rising.
Again that imperative hand closed over my arm. ‘No need for that, my dear. We’ll move to the smoking section. You should have told me. Waiter!’
‘But you don’t – ’
‘I do indulge occasionally. My son smokes,’ Jen said, as if that were justification for any evil habit. (Any evil habit?)
The sinners had gathered in a railed-off area near the open doors. Among them, I was surprised to see Mr Blenkiron. His secretary was not with him, but he was surrounded by Mrs Umphenour and her fur coat. It was the biggest damned coat I’ve ever seen, some sort of long, silky white fur I couldn’t identify in the dim light; she had tossed it over her shoulders and it appeared to be eating Blenkiron.
Jen dragged me to a table as far from the pair as she could get. ‘Disgusting,’ she muttered. ‘Her husband not dead a month and she’s already looking for number four.’
I took out a cigarette. I supposed I had to smoke the damned thing.
Jen accepted one when I offered it. She also had brandy (included). She was decidedly glassy-eyed by the time. the newlyweds turned up. They must have been strolling the deck. Mary’s hair was bewitchingly windblown.
‘Still at it?’ John inquired of his mother, as the waiter delivered another glass of brandy.
Jen giggled. ‘Darling, you’re such a tease. What will you and Mary have? It’s all – ’
‘Included,’ John finished. He held a chair for Mary but remained standing, an inimical eye on his maternal parent. ‘The doctor warned you about your spastic colon.’
‘Delicate stomach,’ Jen corrected.
‘You’d better take some of that ghastly medicine,’ her son said resignedly. ‘I watched you at dinner. You were shovelling it in like a stevedore.’
‘Darling,’ Mary said. ‘Aren’t you being a little rude?’
‘He’s just teasing,’ Jen explained, rummaging in her bag. ‘And taking good care of his old mum. I will take a dose, right this minute. I brought the bottle . . . I thought I had . . . Oh, never mind, it can wait. I feel quite well.’
‘I’ll get it,’ John said. ‘Give me your key.’
She handed it over and he left. He hadn’t acknowledged my presence except by a brusque nod.
‘He’s so thoughtful,’ Jen murmured.
‘What does your son do for a living, Mrs Tregarth?’ I asked.
Mary gave me an odd look. The question had been somewhat abrupt,