The Private Face of Murder by Bonett John

Author:Bonett, John [Bonett, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Endeavour Press
Published: 2017-01-24T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

The westering sun shone on the white-washed walls and lime-green paint of the Langosta. In the kitchen the cook chattered relentlessly with her second cousin, twice-removed, who was also housemaid and waitress. Their resonant voices vibrated like power-drills through the hotel, piercing the walls of the sitting-room where Hope sat writing. She put down her pen, folded the letter and sat back in the comfortable chair that Aubrey had once pre-empted. In the room above Alison lay on the bed, savouring the slight breeze from the open casement that played on her breast, listening to Billy whistling under the shower in the minute adjoining bathroom. Outside, in the shade of the long bench under the bar window, Shadow lay asleep, her nose twitching as she dreamed of a hare cornered on a downhill slope.

A small grey car drew up before the door and a man alighted. The appearance of the hotel appeared to please him, for he nodded approvingly before opening the boot to remove his luggage. His face was pleasant and well-formed; the chin perhaps a trifle long, the teeth even and white; the expression controlled as if he were well accustomed to the world’s many vagaries. His cheeks seemed freshly shaved, and the jet-black hair had been brushed to a fine, smooth polish. The violet eyes suggested intelligence and patience. He lifted out a much-used suitcase and, after a moment’s thought, placed it on the bench. Shadow opened her eyes, rose and sniffed at the well-pressed trousers. The man offered his hand. She sniffed again then moved to the doorway, glancing round as if to say “Follow me”. He went after her into the narrow hall and then into the bar-room. There she stopped at the foot of the staircase and barked twice.

Hope summed up the man as she came downstairs. A Spaniard, but not a Catalan, perhaps from Madrid; intelligent, travelled, modestly self-confident, not wealthy; possibly a bank-manager, teacher or civil servant. Whatever he might turn out to be-and visitors usually disclosed their occupations before they left the Langosta – he looked the kind of guest she liked to have. She caught the violet eyes assessing her and returned his smile.

“I wonder if you could put me up for a few days.” His voice was deep and warm.

“A single room? Yes, of course. Would you like to see it?” She mentioned the price.

He shook his head. “I am sure I shall be comfortable here. If I may fetch my luggage –” He returned carrying the case and a fishing-rod and followed her up the stairs. Shadow came after them.

In the bedroom she said, “I should have told you that we provide breakfast and dinner only.”

“I shall be out all day.”

“Fishing?” she asked, thinking that George might be glad to find a companion.

“Fishing,” he assented with a slight smile. He waited in case she should wish to say anything more. “May I sign the register when I come downstairs? Meantime, my name is Salvador Borges.”

“And mine is Hope de Lamplugh.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.