The Widow of Bath by Margot Bennett

Author:Margot Bennett [Bennett, Margot]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Tags: summer crime, international smuggling, cold war mystery, Scottish writers, beach crime, Golden age crime, The Man Who Didn’t Fly
Publisher: British Library Publishing
Published: 2021-07-10T05:00:00+00:00

11

Everton, walking back along the sea road, considered the time he had spent apart from his fellow men and women. He knew that he had finished with that part of his life; the hermitage was abandoned for ever. He intended never to see Lucy again, he regretted ever having met the late Mr. Justice Bath; Atkinson and Cady and Mrs. Leonard were frightening people; both Jan and Zoe were better left alone. But amongst them they had set him in motion again. Life was ready to begin. The first thing was to get another job. The world was full of people who had never heard of him; probably most of them wouldn’t be very interested in his conscience.

He was still trying to revel in his freedom when he reached the town.

He intended to walk past the hat shop without a sideways glance, but this was too high an ambition. He allowed himself the glance. The shop was shut.

It was late for lunch, and the hotel was part of the life he was abandoning. He went to a café and ordered a meal, thinking idly of the past and earnestly of his future, which was to begin by writing to the travel agency, resigning from his ridiculous job.

He walked back to the entrance of the hotel, composing the letter in his mind. At the door he hesitated, and then walked on. The sun was shining, and he was free. Or nearly free. He turned to look at the hat shop as he passed it again. It was shut. Although it was against his new plan, he stopped, and tried the door handle. It was locked. He looked around him in the sunshine. Other shops were open. He walked on again, uneasy, and not so free.

He walked to the end of the beach, where first there was a blank stretch of pebbles, then the sea rolling up against the soft cliff. He stood there for a long time, thinking vaguely first of Zoe, then of Cady, then of Zoe again. Finally he walked back again, and this time he went straight to the hat shop. It was still shut. There was no reason why Zoe shouldn’t have taken the afternoon off. Or was there? He remembered that she had been going to meet someone. For the purpose of blackmail. She might be having a very happy time, blackmailing away.

He went back to the hotel to write his letter. When he had written it he went out again. The shop was still shut. Perhaps Zoe was already on her way to London, Paris, and other centres of gaiety, pouring champagne into her slippers and driving about in one of those glossy cars fifty-four feet long.

He went slowly back to the end of the promenade to catch a bus. He remembered the address that Zoe had written the night before to give to the photographer. He left the bus at the housing estate, and wandered through identical streets for half-an-hour before he found the right one.

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