Another Little Christmas Murder by Lorna Nicholl Morgan

Author:Lorna Nicholl Morgan [Morgan, Lorna Nicholl]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Christmas, Classics, Cozy, crime, Fiction, Mystery & Detective
ISBN: 9780751567717
Google: _wxeDAAAQBAJ
Publisher: Hachette UK
Published: 2016-11-03T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter X

‘Are you awake, Dylis?’ Through slowly returning consciousness, she heard Inigo’s voice, his light rapping upon the door of her room, and made an effort to rouse herself. Daylight streamed round the curtains, and her glance, moving sleepily in the direction of the door, encountered the chair she had placed against it and the pile of articles on top. It looked incongruous in the light of morning. She laughed, and called out:

‘All right, half a minute.’

She was becoming adept at leaping out of bed and donning dressing-gown and slippers with the minimum of delay, but it took her a few minutes longer to draw back the curtains and to remove the obstacles before opening the door.

‘I put up the barricade after you’d gone last night,’ she said, smiling at his surprised face as he stood there, fully dressed, balancing a small breakfast tray on one hand. ‘Now laugh your head off.’

‘I’m not in the mood,’ he said, entering and closing the door with his free hand. ‘I’ve lost my sense of humour. Tell me you heard people galloping up and down the corridor wailing like banshees and I’ll believe you.’

He did look worried, she thought, standing with his back to the door, still balancing the tray in absent-minded fashion as if he had forgotten its existence. She asked:

‘Is that for me? Or did you bring it up just to prove that even Wintry Wold can provide room service?’

‘I’m sorry. Of course it’s for you. I thought you might like some tea and toast as it’s gone ten o’clock.’

‘Has it really? I’d no idea. Why did you let me sleep so late?’

‘It seemed a pity to wake you earlier, after you’d had such a rotten night.’

He carried the tray round and put it on the table, and she wrapped a blanket about her for extra warmth and comfort, sat down on the bed and poured herself a cup of tea. He lit a cigarette and began to walk restlessly about the room. He said:

‘I’ve been trying to get the car to go.’

‘Really? I thought we were going to make that journey together?’

‘So we are, or rather, we were. But I thought there was no harm in getting the engine warmed up a bit by the time you were ready. But it’s no use. It’s out of action.’

‘I expect it’s cold,’ she said, enjoying her tea, and wishing that the men of her acquaintance would not take such a morbid interest in engines. By Inigo’s harrowed face one might have thought that somebody else had died.

‘Of course it’s cold. But that’s not the point. Someone’s been messing about with it.’

‘Well, you were all having a go at it yesterday. I don’t wonder it’s packed up.’

‘With the interior,’ he said. ‘Someone has deliberately jammed the works. Now I know something about cars …’

‘But I don’t, so it’s no good trying to explain it to me. As far as I’m concerned, a car either goes or it doesn’t and if it doesn’t, then I leave it in the hands of a mechanic until it does.

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