Towards Zero (Superintendent Battle 5)

Mercifully he changed the subject of the conversation.

“Going to get any fishing or shooting?”

“Shall go home first. Then I thought of doing a bit of sailing down at Saltcreek.”

“I know it. Attractive little place. Rather a decent old-fashioned Hotel there.”

“Yes. The Balmoral Court. May stay there, or may put up with friends who’ve got a house there.”

“Sounds all right to me.”

“Ah hum. Nice peaceful place, Saltcreek. Nobody to hustle you.”

“I know,” said Drake. “The kind of place where nothing ever happens.”

May 29th

“It is really most annoying,” said old Mr. Treves. “For twenty-five years now I have been to the Marine Hotel at Leahead—and now, would you believe it, the whole place is being pulled down. Widening the front or some nonsense of that kind. Why they can’t let these seaside places alone—Leahead always had a peculiar charm of its own—Regency—pure Regency.”

Rufus Lord said consolingly:

“Still, there are other places to stay there, I suppose?”

“I really don’t feel I can go to Leahead at all. At the Marine, Mrs. Mackay understood my requirements perfectly. I had the same rooms every year—and there was hardly ever a change in the service. And the cooking was excellent—quite excellent.”

“What about trying Saltcreek? There’s rather a nice old-fashioned Hotel there. The Balmoral Court. Tell you who keeps it. Couple of the name of Rogers. She used to be cook to old Lord Mounthead—he had the best dinners in London. She married the butler and they run this hotel now. It sounds to me just your kind of place. Quiet—none of these jazz bands—and first-class cooking and service.”

“It’s an idea—it’s certainly an idea. Is there a sheltered terrace?”

“Yes—a covered-in veranda and a terrace beyond. You can get sun or shade as you prefer. I can give you some introductions in the neighbourhood, too, if you like. There’s old Lady Tressilian—she lives almost next door. A charming house and she herself is a delightful woman in spite of being very much of an invalid.”

“The judge’s widow, do you mean?”

“That’s it.”

“I used to know Matthew Tressilian, and I think I’ve met her. A charming woman—though, of course, that’s a long time ago. Saltcreek is near St. Loo, isn’t it? I’ve several friends in that part of the world. Do you know, I really think Saltcreek is a very good idea. I shall write and get particulars. The middle of August is when I wish to go there—the middle of August to the middle of September. There is a garage for the car, I suppose? And my chauffeur?”

“Oh yes. It’s thoroughly up-to-date.”

“Because, as you know, I have to be careful about walking uphill. I should prefer rooms on the ground floor, though I suppose there is a lift.”

“Oh yes, all that sort of thing.”

“It sounds,” said Mr. Treves, “as though it would solve my problem perfectly. And I should enjoy renewing my acquaintance with Lady Tressilian.”

July 28th

Kay Strange, dressed in shorts, and a canary-coloured woolly, was leaning forward watching the tennis players. It was the semifinal of the St. Loo tournament, men’s singles, and Nevile was playing young Merrick, who was regarded as the coming star in the tennis firmament. His brilliance was undeniable—some of his serves quite unreturnable—but he occasionally struck a wild patch when the older man’s experience and court crafts won the day.

The score was three all in the final set.

Slipping on to a seat next to Kay, Ted Latimer observed in a lazy ironic voice:

“Devoted wife watches her husband slash his way to victory!”

Kay started.

“How you startled me. I didn’t know you were there.”

“I am always there. You should know that by this time.”

Ted Latimer was twenty-five and extremely good-looking—even though unsympathetic old colonels were wont to say of him:

“Touch of the Dago!”

He was dark and beautifully sunburnt and a wonderful dancer.

His dark eyes could be very eloquent, and he managed his voice with the assurance of an actor. Kay had known him since she was fifteen. They had oiled and sunned themselves at Juan les Pins, had danced together and played tennis together. They had been not only friends but allies.

Young Merrick was serving from the left-hand court. Nevile’s return was unplayable, a superb shot to the extreme corner.

“Nevile’s backhand is good,” said Ted. “It’s better than his forehand. Merrick’s weak on the backhand and Nevile knows it. He’s going to pound at it all he knows how.”

The game ended. “Four three—Strange leads.”

He took the next game on his service. Young Merrick was hitting out wildly.

“Five three.”

“Good for Nevile,” said Latimer.

And then the boy pulled himself together. His play became cautious. He varied the pace of his shots.

“He’s got a head on him,” said Ted. “And his footwork is first-class. It’s going to be a fight.”

Slowly the boy pulled up to five all. They went to seven all, and Merrick finally won the match at nine seven.

Nevile came up to the net, grinning and shaking his head ruefully, to shake hands.

“Youth tells,” said Ted Latimer. “Nineteen against thirty-three. But I can tell you the reason, Kay, why Nevile has never been actual championship class. He’s too good a loser.”

“Nonsense.”

“It isn’t. Nevile, blast him, is always the complete good sportsman. I’ve never seen him lose his temper over losing a match.”

“Of course not,” said Kay. “People don’t.”

“Oh yes, they do! We’ve all seen them. Tennis stars who give way to nerves—and who damn’ well snatch every advantage. But old Nevile—he’s always ready to take the count and grin. Let the best man win and all that. God, how I hate the public school spirit! Thank the lord I never went to one.”

Kay turned her head.

“Being rather spiteful, aren’t you?”

“Positively feline!”

“I wish you wouldn’t make it so clear you don’t like Nevile.”

“Why should I like him? He pinched my girl.”

His eyes lingered on her.

“I wasn’t your girl. Circumstances forbade.”

“Quite so. Not even the proverbial tuppence a year between us.”

“Shut up. I fell in love with Nevile and married him—”

“And he’s a jolly good fellow—and so say all of us!”

“Are you trying to annoy me?”

She turned her head as she asked the questi

on. He smiled—and presently she returned his smile.

“How’s the summer going, Kay?”

“So, so. Lovely yachting trip. I’m rather tired of all this tennis business.”

“How long have you got of it? Another month?”

“Yes. Then in September we go to Gull’s Point for a fortnight.”

“I shall be at the Easterhead Bay Hotel,” said Ted. “I’ve booked my room.”

“It’s going to be a lovely party!” said Kay. “Nevile and I, and Nevile’s Ex, and some Malayan planter who’s home on leave.”

“That does sound hilarious!”

“And the dowdy cousin, of course. Slaving away round that unpleasant old woman—and she won’t get anything for it, either, since the money comes to me and Nevile.”

“Perhaps,” said Ted, “she doesn’t know that?”

“That would be rather funny,” said Kay.

But she spoke absently. She stared down at the racquet she was twiddling in her hands. She caught her breath suddenly.

“Oh Ted!”

“What’s the matter, sugar?”

“I don’t know. It’s just sometimes I get—I get cold feet! I get scared and feel queer.”

“That doesn’t sound like you, Kay.”

“It doesn’t, does it? Anyway,” she smiled rather uncertainly, “you’ll be at the Easterhead Bay Hotel.”

“All according to plan.”

When Kay met Nevile outside the changing rooms, he said:

“I see the boy friend’s arrived.”

“Ted?”

“Yes, the faithful dog—or faithful lizard might be more apt.”

“You don’t like him, do you?”

“Oh, I don’t mind him. If it amuses you to pull him around on a string—”

He shrugged his shoulders.

Kay said:

“I believe you’re jealous.”

“Of Latimer?” His surprise was genuine.

Kay said:

“Ted’s supposed to be very attractive.”

“I’m sure he is. He has that lithe South American charm.”

“You are jealous.”

Nevile gave her arm a friendly squeeze.

“No, I’m not, Gorgeous. You can have your tame adorers—a whole court of them if you like. I’m the man in possession, and possession is nine points of the law.”

“You’re very sure of yourself,” said Kay with a slight pout.