The Sad Variety by Nicholas Blake

Author:Nicholas Blake
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781446476833
Publisher: Random House

CHAPTER 9

* * *

The Beleaguered Café

DECEMBER 31–JANUARY 1

ON MONDAY MORNING Professor Alfred Wragby woke up soon after seven. The room was dark: his eyes went automatically in the direction of Lucy’s bedroom door, as if she had called out to him from a nightmare. He was wryly conscious that for the last two nights, in spite of everything, he had had almost his full usual quota of sleep. He ran over a mathematical problem in his mind, as a pianist might play scales to limber up his fingers: then he addressed himself to the graver problem.

Why had he not received the instructions which the kidnappers had told him two mornings ago he would be getting? Perhaps they were afraid of telephoning again.

But it seemed more likely that they had dropped their attempt to secure his knowledge; and they would not do that unless they had lost their bargaining counter—unless Lucy was dead.

Wragby’s heart began to ache, with the torturing, throbbing persistence of an abscessed tooth. Suppose they had carried out their threats to hurt Lucy, and gone too far and killed her? He remembered giving her a rather pompous lecture once on facing the facts: he’d better instruct himself on that subject now. He was grievously aware how the intellectual demands and discipline of his work had too often taken him away from Lucy, prevented him from giving the child the fatherly attention which was her due. It was the kind of vain regret one feels for one’s failures towards a loved person now dead.

It was little consolation to know that his work must be the most important thing in his life: that is no excuse for neglecting the living. Face the facts.

Elena stirred at his side. He must do more to support her through this terrible ordeal: she had suffered far worse things in the past than had ever befallen him, and she had no work to distract her mind now. In sleep, her hand came out and grasped his. He recalled the first time he had seen Elena, and how her likeness to his first wife had made his heart miss a beat. What could he do for her? She had seemed more cheerful yesterday evening, but later she relapsed into the dumb misery which he could find no way of breaking through. Such contact as they had now was a physical one only.

Wragby’s feelings of helplessness was increased by their present situation, snowed up in the Guest House with little to do except eat, talk to their fellow guests—a pretty odd lot anyway—and tramp along the deep lanes. They were living in a limbo on the very edge of hell …

At seven o’clock this morning, Jim’s wife put a packet of sandwiches into the pocket of his great-coat. As she did so, her hand encountered a crumpled ball of paper, which she extracted.

‘What’s this, Jim? Someone written ee a love-letter?’

‘Dunno. Oh, kid up at Smugglers’ threw it to me. Out of window. Paper dart, see?’

‘It’s got writing on it.

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