Mrs. Oliver drove into the inner court of Borodene Mansions1. There were six cars filling theparking space. As Mrs. Oliver hesitated, one of the cars reversed out and drove away. Mrs. Oliverhurried neatly2 into the vacant space.
She descended3, banged the door and stood looking up to the sky. It was a recent block,occupying a space left by the havoc5 of a land mine in the last war. It might, Mrs. Oliver thought,have been lifted en bloc4 from the Great West Road and, first deprived of some such legend asSKYLARK’S FEATHER RAZOR BLADES, have been deposited as a block of flats in situ. Itlooked extremely functional6 and whoever had built it had obviously scorned any ornamentaladditions.
It was a busy time. Cars and people were going in and out of the courtyard as the day’s workcame to a close.
Mrs. Oliver glanced down at her wrist. Ten minutes to seven. About the right time, as far as shecould judge. The kind of time when girls in jobs might be presumed to have returned, either torenew their makeup7, change their clothes to tight exotic pants or whatever their particularaddiction was, and go out again, or else to settle down to home life and wash their smalls and theirstockings. Anyway, quite a sensible time to try. The block was exactly the same on the east andthe west, with big swing doors set in the centre. Mrs. Oliver chose the left- hand side butimmediately found that she was wrong. All this side was numbers from 100 to 200. She crossedover to the other side.
No. 67 was on the sixth floor. Mrs. Oliver pressed the button of the lift. The doors opened like ayawning mouth with a menacing clash. Mrs. Oliver hurried into the yawning cavern8. She wasalways afraid of modern lifts.
Crash. The doors came to again. The lift went up. It stopped almost immediately (that wasfrightening too!). Mrs. Oliver scuttled9 out like a frightened rabbit.
She looked up at the wall and went along the right-hand passage. She came to a door marked 67in metal numbers affixed10 to the centre of the door. The numeral 7 detached itself and fell on herfeet as she arrived.
“This place doesn’t like me,” said Mrs. Oliver to herself as she winced11 with pain and picked thenumber up gingerly and affixed it by its spike12 to the door again.
She pressed the bell. Perhaps everyone was out.
However, the door opened almost at once. A tall handsome girl stood in the doorway13. She waswearing a dark well-cut suit with a very short skirt, a white silk shirt, and was very well shod. Shehad swept-up dark hair, good but discreet14 makeup, and for some reason was slightly alarming toMrs. Oliver.
“Oh,” said Mrs. Oliver, galvanizing herself to say the right thing. “Is Miss Restarick in, by anychance?”
“No, I’m sorry, she’s out. Can I give her a message?”
Mrs. Oliver said, “Oh” again—before proceeding15. She made a play of action by producing aparcel rather untidily done up in brown paper. “I promised her a book,” she explained. “One ofmine that she hadn’t read. I hope I’ve remembered actually which it was. She won’t be in soon, Isuppose?”
“I really couldn’t say. I don’t know what she is doing tonight.”
“Oh. Are you Miss Reece-Holland?”
The girl looked slightly surprised.
“Yes, I am.”
“I’ve met your father,” said Mrs. Oliver. She went on, “I’m Mrs. Oliver. I write books,” sheadded in the usual guilty style in which she invariably made such an announcement.
“Won’t you come in?”
Mrs. Oliver accepted the invitation, and Claudia Reece-Holland led her into a sitting room. Allthe rooms of the flats were papered the same with an artificial raw wood pattern. Tenants16 couldthen display their modern pictures or apply any forms of decoration they fancied. There was afoundation of modern built-in furniture, cupboard, bookshelves and so on, a large settee and apullout type of table. Personal bits and pieces could be added by the tenants. There were also signsof individuality displayed here by a gigantic Harlequin pasted on one wall, and a stencil17 of amonkey swinging from branches of palm fronds18 on another wall.
“I’m sure Norma will be thrilled to get your book, Mrs. Oliver. Won’t you have a drink?
Sherry? Gin?”
This girl had the brisk manner of a really good secretary. Mrs. Oliver refused.
“You’ve got a splendid view up here,” she said, looking out of the window and blinking a littleas she got the setting sun straight in her eyes.
“Yes. Not so funny when the lift goes out of order.”
“I shouldn’t have thought that lift would dare to go out of order. It’s so—so—robot-like.”
“Recently installed, but none the better for that,” said Claudia. “It needs frequent adjusting andall that.”
Another girl came in, talking as she entered.
“Claudia, have you any idea where I put—”
She stopped, looking at Mrs. Oliver.
Claudia made a quick introduction.
“Frances Cary—Mrs. Oliver. Mrs. Ariadne Oliver.”
“Oh, how exciting,” said Frances.
She was a tall willowy girl, with long black hair, a heavily made up dead-white face, andeyebrows and eyelashes slightly slanted19 upwards—the effect heightened by mascara. She woretight velvet20 pants and a heavy sweater. She was a complete contrast to the brisk and efficientClaudia.
“I brought a book I’d promised Norma Restarick,” said Mrs. Oliver.
“Oh!—what a pity she’s still in the country.”
“Hasn’t she come back?”
There was quite definitely a pause. Mrs. Oliver thought the two girls exchanged a glance.
“I thought she had a job in London,” said Mrs. Oliver, endeavouring to convey innocentsurprise.
“Oh yes,” said Claudia. “She’s in an interior decorating place. She’s sent down with patternsoccasionally to places in the country.” She smiled. “We live rather separate lives here,” sheexplained. “Come and go as we like—and don’t usually bother to leave messages. But I won’tforget to give her your book when she does get back.”
Nothing could have been easier than the casual explanation.
Mrs. Oliver rose. “Well, thank you very much.”
Claudia accompanied her to the door. “I shall tell my father I’ve met you,” she said. “He’s agreat reader of detective stories.”
Closing the door she went back into the sitting room.
The girl Frances was leaning against the window.
“Sorry,” she said. “Did I boob?”
“I’d just said that Norma was out.”
Frances shrugged21 her shoulders.
“I couldn’t tell. Claudia, where is that girl? Why didn’t she come back on Monday? Where hasshe gone?”
“I can’t imagine.”
“She didn’t stay on down with her people? That’s where she went for the weekend.”
“No. I rang up, actually, to find out.”
“I suppose it doesn’t really matter…All the same, she is—well, there’s something queer abouther.”
“She’s not really queerer than anyone else.” But the opinion sounded uncertain.
“Oh yes, she is,” said Frances. “Sometimes she gives me the shivers. She’s not normal, youknow.”
She laughed suddenly.
“Norma isn’t normal! You know she isn’t, Claudia, although you won’t admit it. Loyalty22 toyour employer, I suppose.”
点击收听单词发音
1 mansions | |
n.宅第,公馆,大厦( mansion的名词复数 ) | |
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2 neatly | |
adv.整洁地,干净地,灵巧地,熟练地 | |
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3 descended | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
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4 bloc | |
n.集团;联盟 | |
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5 havoc | |
n.大破坏,浩劫,大混乱,大杂乱 | |
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6 functional | |
adj.为实用而设计的,具备功能的,起作用的 | |
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7 makeup | |
n.组织;性格;化装品 | |
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8 cavern | |
n.洞穴,大山洞 | |
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9 scuttled | |
v.使船沉没( scuttle的过去式和过去分词 );快跑,急走 | |
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10 affixed | |
adj.[医]附着的,附着的v.附加( affix的过去式和过去分词 );粘贴;加以;盖(印章) | |
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11 winced | |
赶紧避开,畏缩( wince的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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12 spike | |
n.长钉,钉鞋;v.以大钉钉牢,使...失效 | |
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13 doorway | |
n.门口,(喻)入门;门路,途径 | |
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14 discreet | |
adj.(言行)谨慎的;慎重的;有判断力的 | |
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15 proceeding | |
n.行动,进行,(pl.)会议录,学报 | |
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16 tenants | |
n.房客( tenant的名词复数 );佃户;占用者;占有者 | |
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17 stencil | |
v.用模版印刷;n.模版;复写纸,蜡纸 | |
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18 fronds | |
n.蕨类或棕榈类植物的叶子( frond的名词复数 ) | |
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19 slanted | |
有偏见的; 倾斜的 | |
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20 velvet | |
n.丝绒,天鹅绒;adj.丝绒制的,柔软的 | |
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21 shrugged | |
vt.耸肩(shrug的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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22 loyalty | |
n.忠诚,忠心 | |
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