The Thousand Faces of Night - Jack Higgins [8]
After a while he felt better and stood up to remove his raincoat and jacket. The handkerchief had slipped down his arm exposing the wound and blood oozed sluggishly through the torn sleeve of his shirt. As he started to fumble with the knotted handkerchief there was a slight movement at his side. A voice said quietly, 'Are you all right? Can I help you?'
He swung round with a stifled exclamation. A young woman was standing beside him. She was wearing a man's raincoat that was too big for her and a scarf covered her head. 'How the hell did you get there?' Marlowe demanded.
She smiled slightly and sat down beside him. 'I was sitting in the corner. You didn't notice me.'
'I didn't think anyone would be in church in the middle of the afternoon,' he said. 'I came in out of the rain to fix my arm. The bandage has slipped.'
She lifted his arm and said calmly, 'That looks pretty nasty. You need a doctor.'
He jerked away from her and started to untie the handkerchief with his right hand. 'It's only a bad cut,' he said. 'Doesn't even need stitching.'
She reached over and gently unfastened the knot. She folded the handkerchief into a strip and bound it tightly about the wound. As she tied it she said, 'This won't last for long. You need a proper bandage.'
'It'll be all right,' Marlowe said. He stood up and pulled on his coat. He wanted to get away before she started asking too many questions.
As he belted his raincoat she said, 'How did you do it?'
He shrugged. 'I've been hitch-hiking from London. Going to Birmingham to look for work. I ripped myself open on a steel spike when I was climbing down from a lorry.'
He started to walk away and she followed at his heels. At the door, she kneeled and crossed herself and then she followed him out into the porch.
'Well, I'd better be off,' Marlowe said.
She looked out into the driving rain and the fog and said, with a slight smile, 'You won't stand much chance of a lift in this.'
He nodded and said smoothly, 'If I can't, I'll catch a bus to Barford. I'll be all right.'
'But there isn't a bus until five,' she said. 'It's a limited service on this road.' She appeared to hesitate and then went on, 'You can come home with me if you like. I'll bandage that cut for you properly. You've plenty of time to spare before the bus goes.'
Marlowe shook his head and moved towards the top step. 'I wouldn't dream of it.'
Her mouth trembled and there was suppressed laughter in her voice as she replied, 'My father should be home by now. It will be all quite proper.'
An involuntary smile came to Marlowe's face and he turned towards her. For the first time he realized that she had a slight foreign intonation to her speech and an oddly old-fashioned turn of phrase. Suddenly and for some completely inexplicable reason, he felt completely at home with her. He grinned and took out his cigarettes. 'You're not English, are you?'
She smiled back at him, at the same time refusing a cigarette with a slight gesture of one hand. 'No, Portuguese. How did you know? I rather prided myself on my accent.'
He hastened to reassure her. 'It isn't so much your accent. For one thing, you don't look English.'
Her smile widened. 'I don't know how you intended that, but I shall take it as a compliment. My name is Maria Magellan.'
She held out her hand. He hesitated for a moment and then took it in his. 'Hugh Marlowe.'
'So! Now we know each other and it is all very respectable,' she said briskly. 'Shall we go?'
He paused for only a moment before following her down the steps. As she passed through the gate in front of him he noticed that she was small, with the ripe figure peculiar to southern women and hips that were too large by English standards.
They walked along the pavement, side by side, and