Читать книгу Scandalous Risks - Susan Howatch - Страница 24

I caught up with him just before he reached the carriage. ‘What the hell did you see?’

‘Nothing. I just don’t like meddling with psychic emanations, that’s all, and I promised my father I wouldn’t do it. If I seem upset it’s because I’m angry that I’ve broken my word to him.’ Diving into the carriage he collapsed in a heap on the seat.

Charley, who had been dipping into my copy of Lady Chatterley’s Lover, hastily shoved it aside but I paid him no attention. I remained in the corridor and stared out of the window at the smooth hills of the Starbridge diocese. The train was now hurtling towards our journey’s end.

‘Nick and I are down here for Easter, of course,’ said Charley, appearing beside me as the train slowed to a crawl on the outskirts of the city. ‘Nick stayed on after the end of term to begin the swot for his exams, and I delayed my return to Starbridge in order to make a retreat with the Fordite monks in London … Are you staying with the Aysgarths or are you heading for home?’

‘The former.’ As the train lurched over a set of points on its approach to the station I stepped back into the carriage and said abruptly to Nick: ‘Are we going to meet again?’

‘Oh yes. And again. And again. And again.’

‘What a terrifying prospect!’

‘No, it’s okay, you don’t have to worry. I’m benign.’

‘I see,’ I said. ‘A recurring phenomenon which ought to be entirely harmless. Like Halley’s Comet.’

Finally I saw him smile. I noticed that he had good teeth, very even, and that when his mouth was relaxed he lost the air of solemnity conjured up by his spectacles. Again my memory was jogged, and as it occurred to me that he was as watchable as a gifted actor I at last solved the riddle of his familiarity. ‘Wait a minute,’ I said. ‘Are you any relation of Martin Darrow, the actor?’

‘He’s my half-brother.’

I relaxed. Although I’m not averse to paranormal puzzles I much prefer mysteries that are capable of a rational explanation. ‘My mother’s mad on him,’ I said agreeably, ‘never misses an episode of his comedy series, stays glued to the TV. But surely he must be at least thirty years older than you are?’

‘My father had a rather peculiar private life.’

‘Come on, chaps!’ exclaimed Charley, plunging bossily back into the carriage as the train finally halted at the platform. ‘Get a move on! Nick, as you’ve only got a duffle-bag, could you give Venetia a hand with her suitcases?’

I stepped down on to the platform accompanied by my psychic porter. The sun was shining and far away in the distance beyond the train, beyond the railway yard, beyond the roofs of the mean little villas which flanked the tracks, I saw the slim straight spire of the Cathedral.

Blazing with energy Charley bounded ahead and by the time Nick and I emerged from the station he was bouncing towards the episcopal car, a black Rover, as Mrs Ashworth emerged from the driver’s seat. I knew now, six years after our first meeting, that she was the same age as Aysgarth, but on that day she looked more like forty-five than sixty-one. It was not only her slender figure which made her seem youthful but the smooth straight hair coiled simply in a bun; an elderly woman who has the guts to flout fashion by refusing a permanent wave really does deserve to look a long way from the geriatric ward.

Ever since our first meeting when she had boldly identified me as a femme fatale despite the massive evidence to the contrary, I had secretly labelled her my heroine and now, once again, my admiration for her was renewed. She was wearing a pale lilac-coloured raincoat, unbuttoned to reveal a straight grey skirt and a sky-blue blouse – unremarkable clothes, but on her they looked as if they had arrived by special messenger that morning from Paris. Her navy shoes, so different from the old ladies’ ‘support’ footwear which my mother favoured, were notable for the elegance of their stiletto heels. Mrs Ashworth might have turned sixty, but this boring fact had evidently long since been dismissed by her as trivial. Her triumph over the ravages of time was superb.

‘Hullo, Nicholas!’ she exclaimed warmly after she had given Charley a peck on the cheek, but I knew she was much more interested in me. ‘Venetia – what a surprise! I saw Dido Aysgarth earlier today but she didn’t mention they were expecting you at the Deanery.’

‘They’re not expecting me. To be quite honest, Mrs Ashworth, I’m not exactly sure why I’m here. I’m a bit bouleversée at the moment.’

‘How exciting! Come and have tea. I’ve got a prayer-group turning up later and there’s a visiting American bishop who comes and goes like the Cheshire cat’s smile, but at the moment I’m absolutely free.’

My spirits rose, and accepting her invitation with gratitude I slid into the back seat of the Bishop’s Rover.