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The single deep notes of the bell were now coming more frequently.
‘Why are they ringing that bell? Is it a funeral?’
‘Bit late for a funeral.’
She looked at him a little anxiously.
‘Anyway it’s not cold.’
‘Considering we’re on the east coast it’s quite astonishingly warm.’
‘Not that I care.’
‘I hope that bell isn’t going to ring all night.’
She pulled on the suitcase. His arms were in any case almost parting from his body. ‘Look! We’ve passed it.’
They stopped, and he looked back. ‘How could we have done that?’
‘Well, we have.’
She was right. He could see a big ornamental bell hanging from a bracket attached to a house about a hundred yards behind them.
They
retraced their steps and entered the hotel. A woman dressed in a navy blue coat and skirt, with a good figure but dyed red hair and a face ridged with make-up, advanced upon them.
‘Mr and Mrs Banstead? I’m Hilda Pascoe. Don, my husband, isn’t very well.’
Gerald felt full of doubts. His arrangements were not going as they should. Never rely on guide book recommendations. The trouble lay partly in Phrynne’s insistence that they go somewhere he did not know. ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ he said.
‘You know what men are like when they’re ill?’ Mrs Pascoe spoke understandingly to Phrynne.
‘Impossible,’ said Phrynne. ‘Or very difficult.’
‘Talk about Woman in our hours of ease.’
‘Yes,’ said Phrynne. ‘What’s the trouble?’
‘It’s always the same trouble with Don,’ said Mrs Pascoe, then checked herself. ‘It’s his stomach,’ she said. ‘Ever since he was a kid, Don’s had trouble with the lining of his stomach.’
Gerald interrupted. ‘I wonder if we could see our room?’
‘So sorry,’ said Mrs Pascoe. ‘Will you register first?’ She produced a battered volume bound in peeling imitation leather. ‘Just the name and address.’ She spoke as if Gerald might contribute a résumé of his life.
It was the first time he and Phrynne had ever registered in a hotel; but his confidence in the place was not increased by the long period which had passed since the registration above.
‘We’re always quiet in October,’ remarked Mrs Pascoe, her eyes upon him. Gerald noticed that her eyes were slightly bloodshot. ‘Except sometimes for the bars, of course.’
‘We wanted to come out of the season,’ said Phrynne soothingly.
‘Quite,’ said Mrs Pascoe.
‘Are we alone in the house?’ inquired Gerald. After all the woman was probably doing her best.
‘Except for Commandant Shotcroft. You won’t mind him, will you? He’s a regular.’
‘I’m sure we shan’t,’ said Phrynne.
