The Inn at the Edge of the World by Alice Thomas Ellis

Author:Alice Thomas Ellis [Ellis, Alice Thomas]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, General
ISBN: 1780336616
Google: ahOXkrmFeoYC
Amazon: B008HRM80I
Barnesnoble: B008HRM80I
Publisher: Corsair
Published: 1990-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

The professor’s cottage was remarkably cold, though not, decided Jessica, for any supernatural reason but because he hadn’t lit the fire: it was neatly laid and grimly unwelcoming. He ignited one bar of the Calor gas stove and invited them to retain their coats until the atmosphere warmed up.

‘Let’s light the fire,’ said Mrs H., approaching the grate purposefully.

‘Don’t be silly,’ said the professor, impeding her way. ‘What’s the point of lighting the fire at this time?’

‘It would be warmer,’ said Mrs H.

‘If you want to come down first thing in the morning and clean it out and lay it again then go ahead,’ said the professor.

‘OK,’ said Mrs H., ‘where’re the matches?’

The professor lost his temper. ‘If you’re going to take charge,’ he said, ‘just carry on. You open a bottle – or better still, go back to your place and open your own bottles.’

‘Temper, temper,’ said Mrs H. She would have persisted and struck a match, but looking round she couldn’t see any.

Ronald regarded this display with moderate professional interest. The man was clearly obsessional: people of loose morals were often neurotically economical in other ways. He was quite sure that if the professor saw a pin he would pick it up and conserve it until it came in useful. ‘What do you do with your empty cans and old newspapers?’ he asked.

‘What?’ said the professor, controlling himself.

‘You must have a lovely view here in the daytime,’ said Anita, peering through the window into the murk.

‘The cold ghost happened in the summer,’ said Mrs H. whose vaguely proprietorial attitude had not been modified by her host’s outburst, ‘so it was more noticeable.’

Jessica wondered for a moment how she knew so much about it and concluded that she and the professor must once have been closer than they now appeared to be. It was unusual, she thought, for lecherous people to care for each other: they mostly preferred to debauch the virtuous.

‘How’s the fence holding up?’ asked Mrs H. spitefully.

The subject of the fence was a sore spot with the professor: somebody kept pulling it down. Every time he arrived on the island he put it up, and every time somebody came along and pulled it down and danced on his lawn, or so it would appear. The grass would be flattened and parts of the lawn balded, the nasturtiums which trailed the edges thrust carelessly aside. It fronted the sea and was intended to deter tourists from presuming that the professor’s garden was a public place suitable for picnics. The odd thing was that even out of the tourist season somebody came along and pulled it down. He had suspected each of the locals in turn, but had no evidence with which to back an accusation and had to content himself with casting unfriendly glances and making veiled remarks, which did little to enhance his popularity.

‘I’m going to get Finlay to put it up this time,’ he said. ‘I’m fed up with hammering in stakes.’

‘He’ll charge you,’ said Mrs H.

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