The Rainbow and the Rose by Nevil Shute

Author:Nevil Shute [Shute, Nevil]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, (¯`'•.¸//(*_*)\\¸.•'´¯)
ISBN: 9780307474155
Google: ujHWbZ8_bXEC
Amazon: 1842322834
Publisher: House of Stratus Ltd
Published: 1958-01-02T00:00:00+00:00

5

The trouble when you take a Nembutal, or any of the barbiturates, is that you must go on sleeping for the allotted time. However great the distress that dreams impose upon you, you cannot jerk yourself awake, fully awake, that is, till the effect of the drug has eased. I think I may have been partially successful in my struggle to awake because I can remember the whistle of the wind around the exposed little house, and the rain beating on the window. Or perhaps it was some noise that Dr Turnbull made that roused me partially, when he brought in the nurse. Whatever it was, I had to go on sleeping with a dream that turned to nightmare.

I lived in the Seven Swans, the inn at Duffington, and I went down to the saloon bar for a beer before my meal. I was a little weary, because we had taken off that morning at seven o’clock from La Baule to fly to Dinard, and then up the coast of France to Boulogne for the short sea-crossing to Lympne. We carried with us in the luggage locker of Morgan le Fay another silver cup which Brenda had won in the Ladies Race. We had had a cup of coffee at Dinard and lunch at Lympne, where I took over the piloting because Brenda was getting tired. We landed back at Duffington at about five o’clock in the afternoon with all four machines present and in good order. As we got out on the tarmac, a little apart from the others, she said, ‘It’s been marvellous, Johnnie. The most wonderful week-end I’ve ever had.’

She stood unbuckling her helmet. I smiled at her. ‘We’re going to have a lot more like it.’

‘Right away from everything …’ she said. ‘You don’t know what it means. I’ve been so happy …’

‘I’ve been happy, too,’ I said. And then we had to cut it out, because the others were getting out of their machines and coming up to talk about the flight.

When I went into the saloon bar Sam Collins, the landlord, was behind the bar, and Sergeant Entwhistle of the police was there, and Tom Dixon from the garage. As he gave me my beer Sam asked about the trip, and I told them all about it, the forced landing and the valve trouble. ‘Mrs Marshall did very well,’ I said. ‘She won another cup – a great big silver one. For the Ladies Race. Two other Moths were in for it, flown by French girls – one of them with over five hundred hours up. Mrs Marshall won by a short head. She flew a very good race.’

They were pleased and interested, but presently there was a pause, and Sam Collins said, ‘Did you know Dr Baddeley, at The Haven?’

I had to be cautious here. ‘I’ve met him once or twice,’ I said.

‘You heard about him?’

‘No?’

‘Sorry to say he got murdered,’ the landlord told me. ‘Chap jumped out at him as he was going home from the hospital after midnight, beat him to death with a bit of iron bar.

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