A Caribbean Mystery (Miss Marple 15)

She stroked his head. The man opposite watched her but said nothing. They arrived at the vet’s fairly quickly and found him in. He was a red-faced man with an unsympathetic manner.

He handled Terry none too gently while Joyce stood by, agonized. The tears were running down her face. She kept on talking in a low, reassuring voice.

‘It’s all right, darling. It’s all right . . .’

The vet straightened himself. ‘Impossible to say exactly. I must make a proper examination. You must leave him here.’

‘Oh! I can’t.’

‘I’m afraid you must. I must take him below. I’ll telephone you in – say – half an hour.’

Sick at heart, Joyce gave in. She kissed Terry on his nose. Blind with tears, she stumbled down the steps. The man who had helped her was still there. She had forgotten him.

‘The taxi’s still here. I’ll take you back.’ She shook her head. ‘I’d rather walk.’

‘I’ll walk with you.’

He paid off the taxi. She was hardly conscious of him as he walked quietly by her side without speaking. When they arrived at Mrs Barnes’, he spoke.

‘Your wrist. You must see to it.’

She looked down at it.

‘Oh! That’s all right.’

‘It wants properly washing and tying up. I’ll come in with you.’

He went with her up the stairs. She let him wash the place and bind it up with a clean handkerchief. She only said one thing.

‘Terry didn’t mean to do it. He would never, never mean to do it. He just didn’t realize it was me. He must have been in dreadful pain.’

‘I’m afraid so, yes.’

‘And perhaps they’re hurting him dreadfully now?’

‘I’m sure that everything that can be done for him is being done. When the vet rings up, you can go and get him and nurse him here.’

‘Yes, of course.’

The man paused, then moved towards the door.

‘I hope it will be all right,’ he said awkwardly. ‘Goodbye.’

‘Goodbye.’

Two or three minutes later it occurred to her that he had been kind and that she had never thanked him.

Mrs Barnes appeared, cup in hand.

‘Now, my poor lamb, a cup of hot tea. You’re all to pieces, I can see that.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Barnes, but I don’t want any tea.’

‘It would do you good, dearie. Don’t take on so now. The doggie will be all right and even if he isn’t that gentleman of yours will give you a pretty new dog –’

‘Don’t, Mrs Barnes. Don’t. Please, if you don’t mind, I’d rather be left alone.’

‘Well, I never – there’s the telephone.’

Joyce sped down to it like an arrow. She lifted the receiver. Mrs Barnes panted down after her. She heard Joyce say, ‘Yes – speaking. What? Oh! Oh! Yes. Yes, thank you.’

She put back the receiver. The face she turned to Mrs Barnes startled that good woman. It seemed devoid of any life or expression.

‘Terry’s dead, Mrs Barnes,’ she said.

‘He died alone there without me.’ She went upstairs and, going into her room, shut the door very decisively.

‘Well, I never,’ said Mrs Barnes to the hall wallpaper.

Five minutes later she poked her head into the room. Joyce was sitting bolt upright in a chair. She was not crying.

‘It’s your gentleman, miss. Shall I send him up?’

A sudden light came into Joyce’s eyes.

‘Yes, please. I’d like to see him.’

Halliday came in boisterously. ‘Well, here we are. I haven’t lost much time, have I? I’m prepared to carry you off from this dreadful place here and now. You can’t stay here. Come on, get your things on.’

‘There’s no need, Arthur.’

‘No need? What do you mean?’

‘Terry’s dead. I don’t need to marry you now.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘My dog – Terry. He’s dead. I was only marrying you so that we could be together.’

Halliday stared at her, his face growing redder and redder. ‘You’re mad.’

‘I dare say. People who love dogs are.’

‘You seriously tell me that you were only marrying me because – Oh, it’s absurd!’

‘Why did you think I was marrying you? You knew I hated you.’

‘You were marrying me because I could give you a jolly good time – and so I can.’

‘To my mind,’ said Joyce, ‘that is a much more revolting motive than mine. Anyway, it’s off. I’m not marrying you!’

‘Do you realize that you are treating me damned badly?’

She looked at him coolly but with such a blaze in her eyes that he drew back before it.

‘I don’t think so. I’ve heard you talk about getting a kick out of life. That’s what you got out of me – and my dislike of you heightened it. You knew I hated you and you enjoyed it. When I let you kiss me yesterday, you were disappointed because I didn’t flinch or wince. There’s something brutal in you, Arthur, something cruel – something that likes hurting . . . Nobody could treat you as badly as you deserve. And now do you mind getting out of my room? I want it to myself.’

He spluttered a little.

‘Wh – what are you going to do? You’ve no money.’

‘That’s my business. Please go.’

‘You little devil. You absolutely maddening little devil. You haven’t done with me yet.’

Joyce laughed.

The laugh routed him as nothing else had done. It was so unexpected. He went awkwardly down the stairs and drove away.

Joyce heaved a sigh. She pulled on her shabby black felt hat and in her turn went out. She walked along the streets mechanically, neither thinking nor feeling. Somewhere at the back of her mind there was pain – pain that she would presently feel, but for the moment everything was mercifully dulled.

She passed the Registry Office and hesitated.

‘I must do something. There’s the river, of course. I’ve often thought of that. Just finish everything. But it’s so cold and wet. I don’t think I’m brave enough. I’m not brave really.’

She turned into the Registry Office.

‘Good morning, Mrs Lambert. I’m afraid we’ve no daily post.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Joyce. ‘I can take any kind of post now. My friend, whom I lived with, has – gone away.’

‘Then you’d consider going abroad?’

Joyce nodded.

‘Yes, as far away as possible.’

‘Mr Allaby is here now, as it happens, interviewing candidates. I’ll send you in to him.’

In another minute Joyce was sitting in a cubicle answering questions. Something about her interlocutor seemed vaguely familiar to her, but she could not place him. And then suddenly her mind awoke a little, aware that the last question was faintly out of the ordinary.

‘Do you get on well with old ladies?’ Mr Allaby was asking.

Joyce smiled in spite of herself.

‘I think so.’

‘You see my aunt, who lives with me, is rather difficult. She is very fond of me and she is a great dear really, but I fancy that a young woman might find her rather difficult sometimes.’

‘I think I’m patient and good-tempered,’ said Joyce, ‘and I have always got on with elderly people very well.’

‘You would have to do certain things for my aunt and otherwise you would have the charge of my little boy, who is three. His mother died a year ago.’

‘I see.’

There was a pause.

‘Then if you think you would like the post, we will consider that settled. We travel out next week. I will let you know the exact date, and I expect you would like a small advance of salary to fit yourself out.’

‘Thank you very much. That would be very kind of you.’

They had both risen. Suddenly Mr Allaby said awkwardly: ‘I – hate to butt in – I mean I wish – I would like to know – I mean, is your dog all right?’

For the first time Joyce looked at him. The colour came into her face, her blue eyes deepened almost to black. She looked straight at him. She had thought him elderly, but he was not so very old. Hair turning grey, a pleasant weatherbeaten face, rather stooping shoulders, eyes that were brown and something of the shy kindliness of a dog’s. He looked a little like a dog, Joyce thought.

‘Oh, it’s you,’ she said. ‘I thought afterwards – I never thanked you.’

‘No need. Didn’t expect it. Knew what you were feeling like. What about the poor old chap?’

The tears came into Joyce’s eyes. They streamed down her cheeks. Nothing on earth could have kept them back.

‘He’s dead.’

‘Oh!’