“A nd I suppose you’re still living at that dear St. Mary Mead1?” Lady Selina was asking. “Such a sweet unspoiltvillage. I often think about it. Just the same as ever, I suppose?”
“Well, not quite.” Miss Marple reflected on certain aspects of her place of residence. The new Building Estate. Theadditions to the Village Hall, the altered appearance of the High Street with its up-to-date shop fronts—She sighed.
“One has to accept change, I suppose.”
“Progress,” said Lady Selina vaguely2. “Though it often seems to me that it isn’t progress. All these smart plumbingfixtures they have nowadays. Every shade of colour and superb what they call ‘finish’—but do any of them reallypull? Or push, when they’re that kind. Every time you go to a friend’s house, you find some kind of a notice in the loo—‘Press sharply and release,’ ‘Pull to the left,’ ‘Release quickly.’ But in the old days, one just pulled up a handle anykind of way, and cataracts3 of water came at once—There’s the dear Bishop4 of Medmenham,” Lady Selina broke off tosay, as a handsome, elderly cleric passed by. “Practically quite blind, I believe. But such a splendid militant5 priest.”
A little clerical talk was indulged in, interspersed6 by lady Selina’s recognition of various friends and acquaintances,many of whom were not the people she thought they were. She and Miss Marple talked a little of “old days,” thoughMiss Marple’s upbringing, of course, had been quite different from Lady Selina’s, and their reminiscences weremainly confined to the few years when Lady Selina, a recent widow of severely7 straitened means, had taken a smallhouse in the village of St. Mary Mead during the time her second son had been stationed at an airfield8 nearby.
“Do you always stay here when you come up, Jane? Odd I haven’t seen you here before.”
“Oh no, indeed. I couldn’t afford to, and anyway, I hardly ever leave home these days. No, it was a very kind nieceof mine who thought it would be a treat for me to have a short visit to London. Joan is a very kind girl—at leastperhaps hardly a girl.” Miss Marple reflected with a qualm that Joan must now be close on fifty. “She is a painter, youknow. Quite a well-known painter. Joan West. She had an exhibition not long ago.”
Lady Selina had little interest in painters, or indeed in anything artistic9. She regarded writers, artists and musiciansas a species of clever performing animal; she was prepared to feel indulgent towards them, but to wonder privatelywhy they wanted to do what they did.
“This modern stuff, I suppose,” she said, her eyes wandering. “There’s Cicely Longhurst—dyed her hair again, Isee.”
“I’m afraid dear Joan is rather modern.”
Here Miss Marple was quite wrong. Joan West had been modern about twenty years ago, but was now regarded bythe young arriviste artists as completely old-fashioned.
Casting a brief glance at Cicely Longhurst’s hair, Miss Marple relapsed into a pleasant remembrance of how kindJoan had been. Joan had actually said to her husband, “I wish we could do something for poor old Aunt Jane. Shenever gets away from home. Do you think she’d like to go to Bournemouth for a week or two?”
“Good idea,” said Raymond West. His last book was doing very well indeed, and he felt in a generous mood.
“She enjoyed her trip to the West Indies, I think, though it was a pity she had to get mixed-up in a murder case.
Quite the wrong thing at her age.”
“That sort of thing seems to happen to her.”
Raymond was very fond of his old aunt and was constantly devising treats for her, and sending her books that hethought might interest her. He was surprised when she often politely declined the treats, and though she always saidthe books were “so interesting” he sometimes suspected that she had not read them. But then, of course, her eyes werefailing.
In this last he was wrong. Miss Marple had remarkable10 eyesight for her age, and was at this moment taking ineverything that was going on round her with keen interest and pleasure.
To Joan’s proffer11 of a week or two at one of Bournemouth’s best hotels, she had hesitated, murmured, “It’s very,very kind of you, my dear, but I really don’t think—”
“But it’s good for you, Aunt Jane. Good to get away from home sometimes. It gives you new ideas, and new thingsto think about.”
“Oh yes, you are quite right there, and I would like a little visit somewhere for a change. Not, perhaps,Bournemouth.”
Joan was slightly surprised. She had thought Bournemouth would have been Aunt Jane’s Mecca.
“Eastbourne? Or Torquay?”
“What I would really like—” Miss Marple hesitated.
“Yes?”
“I dare say you will think it rather silly of me.”
“No, I’m sure I shan’t.” (Where did the old dear want to go?)“I would really like to go to Bertram’s Hotel—in London.”
“Bertram’s Hotel?” The name was vaguely familiar.
Words came from Miss Marple in a rush.
“I stayed there once—when I was fourteen. With my uncle and aunt, Uncle Thomas, that was, he was Canon ofEly. And I’ve never forgotten it. If I could stay there—a week would be quite enough—two weeks might be tooexpensive.”
“Oh, that’s all right. Of course you shall go. I ought to have thought that you might want to go to London—theshops and everything. We’ll fix it up—if Bertram’s Hotel still exists. So many hotels have vanished, sometimesbombed in the war and sometimes just given up.”
“No, I happen to know Bertram’s Hotel is still going. I had a letter from there—from my American friend AmyMcAllister of Boston. She and her husband were staying there.”
“Good, then I’ll go ahead and fix it up.” She added gently, “I’m afraid you may find it’s changed a good deal fromthe days when you knew it. So don’t be disappointed.”
But Bertram’s Hotel had not changed. It was just as it had always been. Quite miraculously13 so, in Miss Marple’sopinion. In fact, she wondered….
It really seemed too good to be true. She knew quite well, with her usual clear-eyed common sense, that what shewanted was simply to refurbish her memories of the past in their old original colours. Much of her life had, perforce,to be spent recalling past pleasures. If you could find someone to remember them with, that was indeed happiness.
Nowadays that was not easy to do; she had outlived most of her contemporaries. But she still sat and remembered. In aqueer way, it made her come to life again—Jane Marple, that pink and white eager young girl…Such a silly girl inmany ways…now who was that very unsuitable young man whose name—oh dear, she couldn’t even remember itnow! How wise her mother had been to nip that friendship so firmly in the bud. She had come across him years later—and really he was quite dreadful! At the time she had cried herself to sleep for at least a week!
Nowadays, of course—she considered nowadays…These poor young things. Some of them had mothers, but nevermothers who seemed to be any good—mothers who were quite incapable14 of protecting their daughters from sillyaffairs, illegitimate babies, and early and unfortunate marriages. It was all very sad.
Her friend’s voice interrupted these meditations15.
“Well, I never. It is—yes, it is—Bess Sedgwick over there! Of all the unlikely places—”
Miss Marple had been listening with only half an ear to Lady Selina’s comments on her surroundings. She andMiss Marple moved in entirely16 different circles, so that Miss Marple had been unable to exchange scandalous titbitsabout the various friends or acquaintances that Lady Selina recognized or thought she recognized.
But Bess Sedgwick was different. Bess Sedgwick was a name that almost everyone in England knew. For overthirty years now, Bess Sedgwick had been reported by the Press as doing this or that outrageous17 or extraordinarything. For a good part of the war she had been a member of the French Resistance, and was said to have six notches18 onher gun representing dead Germans. She had flown solo across the Atlantic years ago, had ridden on horseback acrossEurope and fetched up at Lake Van. She had driven racing19 cars, had once saved two children from a burning house,had several marriages to her credit and discredit20 and was said to be the second best-dressed woman in Europe. It wasalso said that she had successfully smuggled21 herself aboard a nuclear submarine on its test voyage.
It was therefore with the most intense interest that Miss Marple sat up and indulged in a frankly22 avid23 stare.
Whatever she had expected of Bertram’s Hotel, it was not to find Bess Sedgwick there. An expensive night club, ora lorry drivers’ pull up—either of those would be quite in keeping with Bess Sedgwick’s wide range of interests. Butthis highly respectable and old world hostelry seemed strangely alien.
Still there she was—no doubt of it. Hardly a month passed without Bess Sedgwick’s face appearing in the fashionmagazines or the popular press. Here she was in the flesh, smoking a cigarette in a quick impatient manner andlooking in a surprised way at the large tea tray in front of her as though she had never seen one before. She hadordered—Miss Marple screwed up her eyes and peered—it was rather far away—yes, doughnuts. Very interesting.
As she watched, Bess Sedgwick stubbed out her cigarette in her saucer, lifted a doughnut and took an immensebite. Rich red real strawberry jam gushed24 out over her chin. Bess threw back her head and laughed, one of the loudestand gayest sounds to have been heard in the lounge of Bertram’s Hotel for some time.
Henry was immediately beside her, a small delicate napkin proffered25. She took it, scrubbed her chin with thevigour of a schoolboy, exclaiming: “That’s what I call a real doughnut. Gorgeous.”
She dropped the napkin on the tray and stood up. As usual every eye was on her. She was used to that. Perhaps sheliked it, perhaps she no longer noticed it. She was worth looking at—a striking woman rather than a beautiful one. Thepalest of platinum26 hair fell sleek27 and smooth to her shoulders. The bones of her head and face were exquisite28. Her nosewas faintly aquiline29, her eyes deep set and a real grey in colour. She had the wide mouth of a natural comedian30. Herdress was of such simplicity31 that it puzzled most men. It looked like the coarsest kind of sacking, had noornamentation of any kind, and no apparent fastening or seams. But women knew better. Even the provincial32 old dearsin Bertram’s knew, quite certainly, that it had cost the earth!
Striding across the lounge towards the lift, she passed quite close to Lady Selina and Miss Marple, and she noddedto the former.
“Hello, Lady Selina. Haven’t seen you since Crufts. How are the Borzois?”
“What on earth are you doing here, Bess?”
“Just staying here. I’ve just driven up from Land’s End. Four hours and three-quarters. Not bad.”
“You’ll kill yourself one of these days. Or someone else.”
“Oh I hope not.”
“But why are you staying here?”
Bess Sedgwick threw a swift glance round. She seemed to see the point and acknowledge it with an ironic33 smile.
“Someone told me I ought to try it. I think they’re right. I’ve just had the most marvellous doughnut.”
“My dear, they have real muffins too.”
“Muffins,” said Lady Sedgwick thoughtfully. “Yes…” She seemed to concede the point. “Muffins!”
She nodded and went on towards the lift.
“Extraordinary girl,” said Lady Selina. To her, like to Miss Marple, every woman under sixty was a girl. “Knownher ever since she was a child. Nobody could do anything with her. Ran away with an Irish groom34 when she wassixteen. They managed to get her back in time—or perhaps not in time. Anyway they bought him off and got hersafely married to old Coniston—thirty years older than she was, awful old rip, quite dotty about her. That didn’t lastlong. She went off with Johnnie Sedgwick. That might have stuck if he hadn’t broken his neck steeplechasing. Afterthat she married Ridgway Becker, the American yacht owner. He divorced her three years ago and I hear she’s takenup with some Racing Motor Driver—a Pole or something. I don’t know whether she’s actually married or not. Afterthe American divorce she went back to calling herself Sedgwick. She goes about with the most extraordinary people.
They say she takes drugs…I don’t know, I’m sure.”
“One wonders if she is happy,” said Miss Marple.
Lady Selina, who had clearly never wondered anything of the kind, looked rather startled.
“She’s got packets of money, I suppose,” she said doubtfully. “Alimony and all that. Of course that isn’teverything….”
“No, indeed.”
“And she’s usually got a man—or several men—in tow.”
“Yes?”
“Of course when some women get to that age, that’s all they want…But somehow—”
She paused.
“No,” said Miss Marple. “I don’t think so either.”
There were people who would have smiled in gentle derision at this pronouncement on the part of an old-fashionedold lady who could hardly be expected to be an authority on nymphomania, and indeed it was not a word that MissMarple would have used—her own phrase would have been “always too fond of men.” But Lady Selina accepted heropinion as a confirmation35 of her own.
“There have been a lot of men in her life,” she pointed12 out.
“Oh yes, but I should say, wouldn’t you, that men were an adventure to her, not a need?”
And would any woman, Miss Marple wondered, come to Bertram’s Hotel for an assignation with a man? Bertram’swas very definitely not that sort of place. But possibly that could be, to someone of Bess Sedgwick’s disposition36, thevery reason for choosing it.
She sighed, looked up at the handsome grandfather clock decorously ticking in the corner, and rose with the carefuleffort of the rheumatic to her feet. She walked slowly towards the lift. Lady Selina cast a glance around her andpounced upon an elderly gentleman of military appearance who was reading the Spectator.
“How nice to see you again. Er—it is General Arlington, isn’t it?”
But with great courtesy the old genleman declined being General Arlington. Lady Selina apologized, but was notunduly discomposed. She combined short sight with optimism and since the thing she enjoyed most was meeting oldfriends and acquaintances, she was always making this kind of mistake. Many other people did the same, since thelights were pleasantly dim and heavily shaded. But nobody ever took offence—usually indeed it seemed to give thempleasure.
Miss Marple smiled to herself as she waited for the lift to come down. So like Selina! Always convinced that sheknew everybody. She herself could not compete. Her solitary37 achievement in that line had been the handsome andwell-gaitered Bishop of Westchester whom she had addressed affectionately as “dear Robbie” and who had respondedwith equal affection and with memories of himself as a child in a Hampshire vicarage calling out lustily “Be acrocodile now, Aunty Janie. Be a crocodile and eat me.”
The lift came down, the uniformed middle-aged38 man threw open the door. Rather to Miss Marple’s surprise thealighting passenger was Bess Sedgwick whom she had seen go up only a minute or two before.
And then, one foot poised39, Bess Sedgwick stopped dead, with a suddenness that surprised Miss Marple and madeher own forward step falter40. Bess Sedgwick was staring over Miss Marple’s shoulder with such concentration that theold lady turned her own head.
The commissionaire had just pushed open the two swing doors of the entrance and was holding them to let twowomen pass through into the lounge. One of them was a fussy41 looking middle-aged lady wearing a rather unfortunateflowered violet hat, the other was a tall, simply but smartly dressed, girl of perhaps seventeen or eighteen with longstraight flaxen hair.
Bess Sedgwick pulled herself together, wheeled round abruptly42 and reentered the lift. As Miss Marple followed herin, she turned to her and apologized.
“I’m so sorry. I nearly ran into you.” She had a warm friendly voice. “I just remembered I’d forgotten something—which sounds nonsense but isn’t really.”
“Second floor?” said the operator. Miss Marple smiled and nodded in acknowledgment of the apology, got out andwalked slowly along to her room, pleasurably turning over sundry43 little unimportant problems in her mind as was sooften her custom.
For instance what Lady Sedgwick had said wasn’t true. She had only just gone up to her room, and it must havebeen then that she “remembered she had forgotten something” (if there had been any truth in that statement at all) andhad come down to find it. Or had she perhaps come down to meet someone or look for someone? But if so, what shehad seen as the lift door opened had startled and upset her, and she had immediately swung into the lift again and goneup so as not to meet whoever it was she had seen.
It must have been the two newcomers. The middle-aged woman and the girl. Mother and daughter? No, MissMarple thought, not mother and daughter.
Even at Bertram’s, thought Miss Marple, happily, interesting things could happen….
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1
mead
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| n.蜂蜜酒 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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cataracts
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| n.大瀑布( cataract的名词复数 )；白内障 | |
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bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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militant
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| adj.激进的，好斗的；n.激进分子，斗士 | |
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interspersed
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| adj.[医]散开的；点缀的v.intersperse的过去式和过去分词 | |
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severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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airfield
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| n.飞机场 | |
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artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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proffer
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| v.献出，赠送；n.提议，建议 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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miraculously
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| ad.奇迹般地 | |
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incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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meditations
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| 默想( meditation的名词复数 )； 默念； 沉思； 冥想 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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outrageous
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| adj.无理的，令人不能容忍的 | |
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notches
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| n.（边缘或表面上的）V型痕迹( notch的名词复数 )；刻痕；水平；等级 | |
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racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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discredit
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| vt.使不可置信；n.丧失信义；不信，怀疑 | |
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smuggled
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| 水货 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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avid
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| adj.热心的；贪婪的；渴望的；劲头十足的 | |
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gushed
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proffered
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| v.提供，贡献，提出( proffer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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platinum
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| n.白金 | |
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sleek
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| adj.光滑的，井然有序的；v.使光滑，梳拢 | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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aquiline
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| adj.钩状的，鹰的 | |
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comedian
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| n.喜剧演员；滑稽演员 | |
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simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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provincial
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| adj.省的，地方的；n．外省人，乡下人 | |
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ironic
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| adj.讽刺的，有讽刺意味的，出乎意料的 | |
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groom
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| vt.给（马、狗等）梳毛，照料，使...整洁 | |
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confirmation
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| n.证实，确认，批准 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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poised
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| a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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falter
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| vi.(嗓音)颤抖，结巴地说；犹豫；蹒跚 | |
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fussy
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| adj.为琐事担忧的，过分装饰的，爱挑剔的 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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sundry
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| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
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