Let's Kill Uncle
Page 24
It was time to go, but the children wanted to see the graveyard on their way. The sad little procession wound its way down the dusty road.
Sergeant Coulter stood holding Rodney, the camera and Lady Syddyns’s roses as the children climbed the fence. Staring down at his boots, Albert listened to the first faraway little rift within the lute.
He had a pension coming to him that he fully intended to enjoy, and he was not ruining his life and career for them. Why, even a dog was legally entitled to one bite. Surely a man could make one mistake? It was just a matter of keeping his mouth shut. He’d only see the boy on holidays, anyway. If worst came to worst, Desmond could not testify and it was their word against his. And children forgot so quickly.
If that was the way the game was played, he could be a damned sight tougher than the lot of them.
The children wandered sadly among the graves.
Mr Brooks blew his nose and said they had better hurry, the boat was in.
‘You just can’t keep up with those weeds,’ said Christie. ‘The blackberry vines are right back to Sir Adrian again.’
‘I’ll just clean up John Townsend’s little angel,’ said Barnaby, ‘it won’t take a minute.’
Christie helped him, and when they were through they patted the angel’s head.
They climbed onto the fence, turned, paused, taking one last look at their handiwork. The Haida Prince blasted again.
‘Hurry up!’ said Sergeant Coulter. He was beginning to sweat in case they missed the boat.
They climbed down, their lovely faces secret and serene.
‘Well, let’s go.’
As he watched them climb up the gangplank, Sergeant Coulter no longer looked as if he were guarding the Khyber Pass. Indeed, one might almost have accused him of slouching.
When they reached the deck they turned, the girl blew him a kiss and the boy waved.
Christie clutched the holy camera to her breast and walked on, and Sergeant Coulter thought with something akin to amazement that at least he wouldn’t see her again. Thank God.
It was nearly dusk as the boat pulled away, and the children stood at the rail, waving, waving, waving.
The figures on the wharf dwindled.
‘It feels as if they’re moving and we’re standing still,’ said Barnaby. ‘Doesn’t it?’
Christie didn’t answer him.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘Nothing.’
Barnaby turned, his eye caught by a sign at the foot of the bridge which stated in large letters that passengers were forbidden.
He nudged Christie with his elbow.
‘Come on,’ he said, ‘let’s go up. Nobody’s around.’
‘No,’ said Christie. ‘You’re not supposed to.’
‘Gee, what’s the matter with you, Christie?’
‘I told you, nothing!’
Barnaby smiled and patted her shoulder.
‘Well, whatever it is, nevermind. I’ll still give you the million dollars, even if we didn’t murder Uncle. We’ll get married if you want.’
‘I’m going to marry Sergeant Coulter, and I don’t want your old million dollars,’ said Christie crossly.
Far above, the seagulls drifted aimlessly like paper aeroplanes, and on the shining water a merry salmon leaped and flashed.
‘Well, what do you want then, Christie?’
‘I want Sergeant Coulter!’
She turned a determined face to Barnaby.
‘He’s half mine,’ she cried jealously, ‘and you got him all. And I’m coming back when I’m eighteen and I’ve got a permanent, and I’m going to get him!’
She raised the instant camera to frame the tiny group on the faraway wharf and snapped the shutter.
‘Sergeant Coulter!’ she hallooed over the glistening waves, ‘look, Sergeant Coulter, I got you!’
And she did, too.
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Table of Contents
Let’s Kill Uncle
Copyright
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