The sight of so many people headed for the privacy and comfort of their homes obviously reminded them of their own positions. They must feel like Flying Dutchmen, at this point, condemned to wander the world unceasingly for their sins. When would they see their own homeland and homes again? If we didn’t catch up with the kids before they went to ground in some tiny lodging house, who knew?
From across the aisle came a not-very-strangled sob. I tried to ignore it. Maternal hysterics were all we needed just now. I preferred Paula’s belligerency. At least it could be more easily dealt with.
Perhaps, I cheered up slightly, their moods would cancel each other out. The best cure for hysterics was a good slap in the face—and my money was on Paula to administer it. It would come better from her than from any of us; furthermore, she’d enjoy doing it.
The worst of hysteria is that it can be contagious. From somewhere behind us came the sound of a long, quavering breath. Nerves that had had too much to cope with over the past few weeks were nearing a breaking point. Tension swirled through the bus like a tangible force—nerves could not be allowed to break. That way lay confession—and the confession of one person could trap them all.
But Hortense was not going to be upstaged by anyone else. She obviously felt, with some justification, that she had a better right to hysterics than someone with nothing so personal at stake. She drew a quavering breath of her own and launched out on a keening tirade.
“I brought my son up to be a gentleman. He was the best student in his class, he was going to college next year. I never thought he’d throw himself away on a little—”
“You can’t complain,” Paula cut in. “He’s latched on to a good thing. My poor little Donna is making just the mistake I made when I was her age.”
They might at least count their blessings. I wouldn’t say they weren’t losing a child because, if those kids had half the sense I gave them credit for, they’d keep well away from their doting parents. But the mothers had each gained a sparring partner.
“Ladies, ladies.” Only Professor Tablor, determined to be peacemaker, would rush in where the rest of us had no intention of treading. “Why don’t you try to understand each other’s point of view? After all, you have a lot in common, both being widow ladies, of a sort—”
“Don’t you put me in the same class with her!” Hortense whirled on him. “She’s nothing but a grass widow; whereas, I”—she drew herself up proudly— “am a sod widow!”
The bus lurched sharply. “It’s all right,” I said to Jim. I’d heard the expression before in the States. “She just means she buried her husband, and Paula divorced hers.”
“Gawdstrewth,” Jim moaned softly, “you never can tell with these bleedin’ Yanks!”
“Listen, I’ll have you know …” Paula began.
Ahead of us, beyond a bend in the road, we could see flashing blue lights. They conveyed nothing to the tourists, but Gerry and I exchanged glances. Jim slowed down.
The others suddenly grew quiet, as though sensing more trouble impending. The unerring magnet of disaster drew their eyes to the windows. We bore down on the scene in silence.
A policeman with a torch was waving traffic past. He signaled furiously at us, but we had recognised the white wreckage. Jim pulled the bus to a stop behind the ambulance.
Faced with a genuine disaster, the women were quiet. It must have been like this, that night in Switzerland. Eyes met eyes in the silent bus, sporadically illuminated by the flashing blue lights outside, and the tacit message sounded through the bus as clearly as though it had been spoken: Battle stations.
Tristan Tablor moved up to the front of the bus to stand behind Hortense and Paula, who were waiting on the steps for Jim to pull the release lever and open the door.
The others stood and moved out into the aisle, closing ranks, allied again in the face of an emergency. The shuttered faces, the relentlessness of their forward surge, made them seem suddenly formidable.
It was easy to see how they had defied and defeated any police investigation in Switzerland.
With a hiss of compressed air, the door opened and Hortense, Paula, and Tristan leaped to the ground. Gerry and I weren’t far behind them—Penny had been in that car, too.
It hadn’t caught on fire—at least there was that. The wreckage was a Chinese puzzle of twisted metal, another car inextricably entwined with the Lancia. In the flashing blue lights, white paint glimmered faintly on no-longer-recognisable components. I had no consciousness of breathing at all as we covered the last few yards, ignoring the people who tried to stop us. It took a moment to pull my eyes away from the wreckage and scan the surrounding scene. That was when I noticed my breathing, because I resumed it just then.
It’s amazing what people can walk away from. The kids were huddled together on the grass verge, romance nowhere in their thoughts now. (If it had ever been. There was every good chance that the escapade had been planned as much to spite their mothers as to consummate any great love. With the added advantage to Donna of gaining control of her own money.)
Penny was sitting down at their feet. She looked groggy. I covered the remaining distance with a standing broad jump. “Are you all right?”
She considered this question with the seriousness it deserved. “I think so. Shaken. But we all had our seat belts fastened. And it wasn’t,” she added wonderingly, “even Daphne’s fault.”
I didn’t believe that, but I let it go and looked round for a doctor. They might think they were all right, but I’d rather have a professional opinion on the subject. Just to be sure.
I wasn’t the only one. While the mothers were reclaiming their darlings, Tris Tablor had found the doctor.
“They are all right?” he was insisting. “They are perfectly all right? They weren’t unconscious, or irrational from shock or anything?”
The others clustered eagerly behind him, listening for the reassuring answers. The doctor must have considered them very thoughtful, sympathetic people, touchingly anxious about the younger members of their tour. He couldn’t know that the catch in the questioning was that bit about being irrational. They wanted to be sure that the kids hadn’t talked. Hadn’t said anything, under the influence of shock, or any drugs that might have been administered, to give the game away.
“And it will be all right for them to travel?” Still grimly earnest, Tablor persisted. “We’re flying home tomorrow. They can come with us? It won’t be dangerous for them to fly? It won’t hurt them in any way?”
Again, the answers were reassuring. The kids were shaken, bruised, they’d be feeling sore and aching for a few days, perhaps longer, but there was nothing to stop them from boarding an airliner, settling back in those reclining seats, and resting all the way home. Although, it would be safest if they had their own doctors examine them later—a couple of ribs might be cracked, rather than merely bruised. But basically, they were the luckiest young people alive—to have come through that crash in no worse condition.
There was a mass exhalation of relief. What nice people the doctor must have thought them, so concerned about their young friends. So pleased not to be losing them as traveling companions.
So relieved not to have to leave anyone behind who might blurt out the truth about Tour 79 in an incautious moment.
I turned away abruptly. Gerry had found Daphne. She was still exchanging particulars and recriminations with the driver of the other car, a policeman acting as referee. Both cars were a complete write-off. It was going to be an interesting case for their respective insurance companies.
Pandora twisted unhappily in Gerry’s arms; he was keeping too tight a grip on her, perhaps for fear of her running away in the midst of all the excitement. Or perhaps, in his annoyance at Daphne, he was unaware of squeezing poor Pandora.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Kate Lamb trying to herd the tourists back into the bus. Hortense and Paula, having pulled their dazed and unresisting progeny well apart, were already urging them toward th
e bus, more anxious than anyone to make that morning flight to home and safety.
“And where were you?” Daphne whirled suddenly on Gerry. “If you were going to come chasing after us, why couldn’t you have got here sooner? This is all,” she wound up, in a triumph of female logic, “your fault!”
Pandora yowled, and I stepped forward and pried her out of Gerry’s grasp. As he took a deep breath for rebuttal, I walked away and left them to it. Gerry could handle this by himself. I had my own problems to see to.
Pandora muttered complaints as I tried to soothe her, walking swiftly back to Penny, who was still sitting on the grass verge.
“Here.” I dumped Pandora into her arms, then scooped her up and made for the bus. “Excuse me.” I shouldered my way between Hortense and Paula and their offspring, reaching the bus half a length ahead of them. The door was open; I boarded and marched straight down the aisle, bagging the full-length back seat and stretching Penny out on it.
When I turned around, both Hortense and Paula were glaring at me. Each of them had had that seat in mind for the comfort of her child. The hell with them—it was their fault that Penny had been injured. I glared back, and after a moment, they turned away to settle Donna and Horace into side seats.
Some of the others began to straggle aboard. “It shouldn’t be too long before we get moving,” I told Penny. “Anything you want?”
Meanwhile, Pandora had made her own diagnosis and decided on treatment. She began to wash Penny’s chin.
Penny giggled faintly and shook her head. “It tickles,” she said, closing her eyes. She fell asleep then, or passed out. But she seemed basically all right, and she needed some rest.
I took the aisle seat immediately in front of her and settled down. Probably I should have been out there helping Kate Lamb, but Jim was with her. Gerry was giving every indication of leaving Daphne and doing something useful, as well.
I stayed where I was, telling myself that Penny might awaken and want something. Not even to myself was I willing to admit that I was really guarding her.
Chapter 15
In the darkened bus, we sped quietly back to London. No one felt like talking. Hortense and Paula—the ones with most to be said about this episode—had to wait until their proper audience was conscious and stronger. They brooded out of their respective windows, Paula chain-smoking, both of them turning occasionally to check on their chicks.
The rest of Tour 79 tried to doze. They’d better. They’d have precious few hours of the luxury of a hotel bed tonight—and there was still all their packing to be done. By now, there was one prevailing mood, one overriding ambition shared by everyone in the bus: Tour 79 was going to be on that plane in the morning. Or rather, later this morning. …
The night porter at the hotel opened the door to us, after allowing a decent interval for us to change our minds and go away. When we unsportingly kept ringing the bell, he let us in.
Neil was waiting in the lobby, looking worse than any of us—and that was saying quite a lot. He struggled forward, out of the armchair he had been occupying, and was nearly knocked back into it as Kate flew into his arms. He patted her on the shoulder, slipped aside, and lowered her into the armchair, with a dexterity Gerry might have envied, then came to meet the rest of us. I didn’t like his expression.
He didn’t look as though he liked our expressions, or us at all, either. We were tired, travel-stained, nerve-frayed, and longing for sleep. So was he. He looked us over and gave it to us straight, not bothering to try to soften the blow.
“The police think they’ve found our missing tourist,” he said. “They pulled her out of the Thames yesterday. They want someone who knew her to come and identify the body.”
Tour 79 drew together into a tight defensive unit. It was only apparent when you looked closely that none of them were actually touching one another. They were united, yet withdrawn; dependent on each other, but mistrustful. Gradually, heads turned until one person was the focus of attention.
“Yes.” With a deep sigh, Tristan Tablor accepted the responsibilities of command. He had been morale officer, cheerleader, fun-and-games director; now it was time to shoulder the graver duties one’s subordinates expected of an officer and a gentleman. “Yes, I guess I knew her as well as anybody here. I guess it’s up to me to see to this.”
Neil nodded, looking beyond him, to Jim. “We’ll never find a taxi at this hour—can you drive us?”
“’Strewth, and I complained about the hours in London Transport!” But he was already turning toward the door. Looking slightly dazed, Tris Tablor followed him.
“I’d suggest the rest of you try to get some sleep,” Neil said, dismissing the others, who were still standing together indecisively. Glazed with fatigue, some of them began straggling toward the lifts.
“The police will want to talk to everyone first thing in the morning.” Neil walked back to Kate and bent over her. Gerry and I had gone with him, foolishly hoping we might get a bit more information than he felt the tourists were entitled to. Penny trailed behind us, half-asleep, still clutching Pandora as, a couple of years ago, she might have clutched her favourite teddy bear.
“It will be simplest if you stay the rest of the night here.” Neil swung to face us. “I’ve taken a suite. You can share it with Kate.”
It seemed like the most reasonable solution. We’d have trouble getting transport at this hour, too. Then there was Penny. I didn’t want to be the one to deliver her to her anxious mother at this time of the morning. It would be much easier to remain here and let Penny telephone that she was safe and well and would return home later in the day.
I wasn’t the only one worrying about Penny. Paula had come up behind us and tapped Penny on the shoulder.
“I was just thinking,” she said, in improbably honeyed tones, ‘I suppose I ought to thank you. If you hadn’t kept in contact and left messages, we’d never have known where to find them. They might have got away.”
“Oh, that’s all right.” Penny smiled sweetly. “We have to look after the interests of our clients, you know. It’s all part of the job.”
“I suppose that’s true,” Paula said slowly. “Just the same, it was awfully nice of you.” Donna was waiting for her over by the lift, she’d said her thank-you, and still she lingered. She put out her hand and stroked Pandora thoughtfully. Pandora laid her ears back and watched her warily through narrowed eyes. That was rather the way I felt. I edged nearer.
“I suppose,” Paula continued, a trifle too casually, “you kids did a lot of laughing and talking together. I mean, you were together for hours. I suppose you talked about all kinds of things—”
That was enough. I bore down on them, sweeping Penny away. “Time to get some rest. There’s a busy day ahead of us, once the sun comes up. You girls can gossip later.”
Gerry had caught part of what was happening, although he had been listening to Kate and Neil until Neil left. He gave me a questioning look as he walked to the lift with us, escorting Kate tenderly. (I was glad that she was safely spoken for.) I ignored it, as I tried to ignore the knowledge of Paula’s eyes boring balefully into my receding back.
The suite was something to see—Neil had done us proud. If I’d been able to identify period antiques, I’m sure I’d have been impressed. Gerry whistled softly, but I concentrated on the essentials. There were two bedrooms, both with twin beds, with excellent innerspring mattresses—no nonsense about keeping in period here. The bathroom contained toothbrushes and an electric shaver, I was glad to see. There wasn’t much point in going to bed now, but a shower and a shave would help a bit.
Kate and Penny took over one of the bedrooms, and Penny rang her mother before falling asleep again. Very thoughtfully, she rang from the bedroom and shut the door. My nerves weren’t up to hearing any part of that conversation, especially not Penny’s one-sided defense of her situation. Her mother was either an extremely long-suffering person, or Penny had an iron determination beneath that fluffy ext
erior—otherwise, we’d have been looking for a new secretary long since.
Pandora had slept well in the bus and was wide-awake now—the only one of us who was. She prowled around the sitting room with interest, sniffing into the corners and checking the windowsills, always glancing back at us to make sure that we were still there. She needn’t have worried; we were too exhausted to go anywhere else.
She was a game little cat, though. Always happy exploring new places—and no nonsense about butter on her paws to settle her down. Or perhaps it was just that we were all there with her. Me, Gerry, and Penny. So long as she was with her people, she was content.
“Prrah!” She jumped up on the sofa between us, bright-eyed, and looked expectantly from one to the other. She was ready for something to happen. Food, games, petting, it didn’t matter which.
We were disappointing company. We sprawled there, in the last stages of exhaustion, not even enough strength to lift a hand and stroke her. She began to upbraid us.
“It’s indecent,” Gerry said. “No creature should have that much energy at this hour of the morning.”
“She can’t help it,” I said. “She’s a lot smaller than we are. It doesn’t take so long for her to restore her strength.”
“It will take me,” he said firmly, “at least twenty-four hours.” He paused and considered. “Perhaps thirty-six.”
“Which, unfortunately, we are unlikely to have clear for some time yet.” I pulled my handkerchief out of my pocket. The chip from Paula’s cast came with it and bounced to the floor.
With a pleased cry, Pandora bounded after it. This was more like it—something to play with. We hadn’t failed her, after all.
She batted the chunk of plaster with one paw, sending it skittering across the carpet, and leaped to head it off before it landed in the corner. She whirled about and hit it again, knocking it back in our direction.
Gerry obligingly put out his foot and kicked it back to her. He was right—she was too energetic. It was a pity that some of that enthusiasm couldn’t be harnessed and transferred to us. We could use it right now. Although Gerry seemed to have a bit more than me. Of course, he hadn’t been on duty with Tour 79 as long as I had.
Tourists Are for Trapping Page 14