Cyanide With Compliments Read online

  ‘I shall go and hear this man Nalder on Greek Athletics,’ Katherine Lingard announced. ‘The sooner we find out if he’s any use, the better. We don’t want to waste time sitting out third-rate lectures.’

  ‘I think I’ll give him a trial too,’ said her friend. ‘Then, if only one can find a peaceful corner, I want to finish re-reading The Iliad. The other people don’t look too bad on the whole. No beatniks or guitars, anyway.’

  ‘I heard somebody say that tall man with untidy white hair and two women in tow is C. Moreton-Blake, the historian.’

  ‘If he is, I was at Newnham with his sister. They might be worth cultivating.’

  Olivia Strode, not an early tea addict, slept on in her starboard cabin until comings and goings outside woke her just before eight o’clock. She spent a few minutes enjoying the prospect of a day without commitments and responsibilities. A fine day, too. Quivers of sunlight reflected from the water danced on the wall. Presently she got up, dressed in a leisurely way, and went in search of the dining saloon. The Moreton-Blakes, already breakfasting, waved from a far corner.

  ‘You sit anywhere you like for breakfast,’ Molly told her as she joined them. ‘We shan’t know the worst about our permanent table companions until lunch. Did you sleep all right?’

  ‘Like a log,’ Olivia replied. ‘All the same, I’m looking forward to lazing on deck most of the day. I think I’ll go to the lecture this morning, though.’

  ‘I’ve reconnoitred,’ Charles reported, ‘and there’s plenty of deck space and chairs to suit all types of anatomy. Altogether we seem to be pretty well found.’

  ‘You can risk coffee if you want to,’ his wife added as the steward came up. ‘It’s surprisingly good.’

  The morning slipped away pleasantly, with a useful and entertaining lecture sandwiched between two spells of idling in the sun. Arriving for lunch a few minutes ahead of the Moreton-Blakes, Olivia found two strangers converging on the table to which her party had been assigned, an English couple whom she placed in the mid-thirties. Quite handsome and decidedly with-it, she thought, glancing at the tall blonde woman’s smart cruise-wear and skilfully applied make-up. The man, also tall and blond, sported a royal blue towelling shirt and a pair of light trousers, and her immediate reaction was that she liked him the better of the two. He had a more relaxed and rather humorous face. They both greeted her in a friendly way, introducing themselves as Lorna and John Bayley. As small talk got going some teasing recollection stirred at the back of her mind, but the arrival of the Moreton-Blakes and another couple distracted her. But when everyone was settled she remembered.

  ‘Do you know, I think we almost met in the Piazza yesterday afternoon,’ she said to the Bayleys. ‘About half-past four, at Florian’s. We came along hoping for a table in the sun, and two people got up and left just at the right moment. We were so grateful: our legs were giving way under us.’

  ‘My God, don’t I know that feeling!’ Lorna Bayley exclaimed. ‘This compulsive sightseeing nearly kills you, and yet you daren’t stop in case you never get to the place again. I gave out for the moment after St Mark’s, though, and insisted on a tea-break, so it probably was us.’

  ‘Since nobody else is saying what an extraordinary coincidence, I’ll say it myself.’ John Bayley grinned at Olivia. ‘A good spot, the Piazza, isn’t it?’ I could sit there all day watching the crowds, and absorbing that incredible facade of the Basilica.’

  ‘Florian’s knows how to cash in on the free spectacle,’ remarked Lorna. ‘Everyone says the coffee’s just as good and half the price just round the corner.’

  ‘Overheads,’ said Charles Moreton-Blake. ‘Their rates must be colossal.’

  Lunch was a success. The food and service were voted good, and the noise-level in the dining saloon tolerable. Olivia reflected that they had been lucky in their table-mates. John Bayley in particular was agreeable and amusing, and the older couple, a Mr and Mrs Mayling, innocuous if dull.

  After coffee in one of the lounges the Moreton-Blakes announced that they were going off to their cabin for a siesta. Rather glad of the chance of some time on her own, Olivia prospected carefully and finally settled herself in a secluded spot on the Boat Deck with a copy of Emma. For a time she gazed contentedly out to sea, and then began to read and became absorbed, only subconsciously aware of other arrivals in the area round her.

  Suddenly the noisy dragging of a chair across the deck to within a few feet of her own roused her. Glancing up irritably, to her dismay she recognized the garrulous woman of the launch, and hastily immersed herself in her book again. But she found it impossible to concentrate. There were sounds of annoyance: mutterings, thumpings of cushions and sighs clearly intended to attract attention. Finally a spectacle case clattered to the ground, shot under her own chair, and emerged on the other side. Picking it up and returning it to its owner could not possibly be avoided. As she feared, this courtesy at once sparked off a torrent of speech.

  ‘How very kind — thank you a thousand times. So clumsy of me! I know how annoying it is to be disturbed when one is reading. I’m a great reader myself — I’m so much alone, you know, and it helps to pass the time, doesn’t it? That and TV. What should we do without TV? I really had to move over to this side, out of the sun. So thoughtless of my young people to put me in such an unsuitable place, and then disappear before I had time to try it out. I had to get all my bits and pieces over here by myself. They really might have waited to see if I was all right before they went off. I’m standing them the entire cost of this holiday, and as you know, these good cruises are not exactly cheap… Do let me make amends for disturbing you by offering you one of these.’

  Olivia politely declined the proffered box of chocolates, made a casual remark about the weather, and resumed her reading. Of course she would have to move to somewhere else. It was absolutely impossible to relax knowing that this infuriating woman would burst out into conversation at any moment. How soon could she decently get up and go?

  Her hesitation was fatal.

  ‘You’re Mrs Strode, aren’t you?’ demanded her neighbour.

  Really, this was the end. Slightly turning her head, Olivia admitted that she was.

  ‘May I introduce myself? I’m Audrey Vickers — Mrs Vickers. I noticed you on the launch, and again at lunch today, with that distinguished-looking elderly man and his pretty wife. He’s Professor Moreton-Blake, isn’t he? I looked you all up on the table list outside the dining-saloon… I’m sure you must be thinking that I’m very curious. I’m not, you know. Not in any horrid sense, that is. It’s just that I’m so interested in people. I expect it’s because I’m so lonely since my niece’s marriage. She married so dreadfully young. It’s left the most terrible blank in my life. I brought her up, you see. She was tragically left an orphan at four. I had recently lost my husband, and I took in the poor little mite and positively gave up my life to her. We were such companions…’

  Mrs Vickers’ voice mercifully trailed off.

  Olivia, exasperated with herself for not having made a speedier getaway, observed noncommittally that people were marrying younger these days.

  ‘In some ways I think it’s a very good thing,’ she added.

  ‘Ah!’

  Although somewhat muffled by a second chocolate, the exclamation rang with self-vindicating triumph. The next moment Audrey Vickers was in full cry, gripping the arms of her deck chair as she leant towards Olivia.

  ‘As you say, Mrs Strode, a good thing in some ways. And in some cases, no doubt. But certainly not in Drusilla’s. Her unfortunate marriage is a tragedy. A sheer undiluted tragedy.’

  Hardly pausing to take breath she poured out an impassioned narrative shot through and through with self-pity. Drusilla, left a virtually penniless orphan, had been educated at a leading girls’ public school at her aunt’s expense. There she had done brilliantly, yes, brilliantly, winning a scholarship to Oxford. The additional cost of a university education had not been grudged for a mo
ment. More academic triumphs had followed. Drusilla had taken a First in science, and been offered a postgraduate research year.

  ‘Imagine my feelings, Mrs Strode, when I suddenly got a letter to say that she had declined this splendid offer, married this creature Keith Lang in a registry office, and taken a post to teach chemistry in a technical college — some sort of trade school, as far as I can make out — so that he could concentrate on his writing. Writing!’ Mrs Vickers infused a world of scorn into the word. ‘Simply an excuse to avoid doing a proper job. He’s bone idle. Of course he saw the chance of getting a silly infatuated girl to keep him, and leapt at it. But it was Drusilla’s deceit that wounded me so cruelly. Hiding it all from me after I’d given up my life to her, and simply presenting me with a fait accompli. It’s beyond all belief!’

  On the contrary, it’s entirely understandable in the light of your frenzied possessiveness, Olivia thought. Before she could speak, however, Mrs Vickers hurried on again. In spite of the shameful way in which Drusilla had treated her, she had done everything possible to help the young couple. She had even offered to make Drusilla an allowance, which had quite incredibly been declined. However the pair had deigned to accept this expensive holiday, on the grounds that Keith needed a period of convalescence after what was said to be pneumonia. Such nonsense: everyone had had ’flu last winter, and taken no notice of it. It was Drusilla who needed a rest and change. She had been worn out doing an exhausting teaching job, and looking after a husband who simply traded on her ridiculous infatuation for him.

  Watching the convulsive movement of Mrs Vickers’ throat as she talked, and the restless twisting and untwisting of her hands, Olivia felt disquieted. The woman would be under treatment in a mental hospital soon if she didn’t take herself in hand. While realizing that it was almost certainly wasted effort, she broke in on a further tirade.

  You know, Mrs Vickers,’ she said, ‘a lot of rubbish is talked about the generation gap, but it does exist and one’s got to accept it. Young people these days have different values. Drusilla is obviously very intelligent, and she’s thought things out, and come to the conclusion that she’ll find sharing Keith’s life and work more satisfying than going all out for an academic career of her own. After all, it’s her happiness you want, isn’t it?’

  Mrs Vickers stared at her in outraged incomprehension.

  ‘You can’t possibly have brought up a child yourself to talk like this. You simply don’t understand what it means to part with one.’

  ‘On the contrary, I understand very well indeed. I was left a widow with a son of ten, and worked to educate him and get him a good start in life. We were companions just as you say you and Drusilla were. But above everything I hoped he’d marry a girl he loved, and make his own life, although this would obviously mean the end of ours together. And I was immensely thankful when it happened. I do hope that you will come to feel the same about your niece,’ Olivia added, feeling entirely unconvinced. ‘And now I really must go and find my friends. They’ll be wondering where I have got to.’

  There was no reply. She gathered up her belongings in a stony silence, and departed, intending to take refuge in her cabin. On the way down she was unexpectedly hailed by the Englishwomen Abroad, who were reclining in deckchairs with books.

  ‘In need of care and protection?’ enquired Dorothy Anstruther. ‘Join us if you care to. We came up to the Boat Deck and saw the Vickers menace holding forth to you.’

  ‘She sits at our table with those two unfortunate young things, God help them and us,’ said Katherine Lingard, looking up from the Iliad. ‘So far we’ve managed to choke her off, though. Here’s a chair. No need to talk,’ she added pointedly.

  Amused, Olivia thanked them, and sat down. It was certainly much nicer to stay on deck. For a time she thought about the Vickers-Lang situation with mingled indignation and compassion. Then she shook herself mentally, and picked up her own book. There was nothing she could do to help, and it was futile to let other people’s problems spoil her holiday to no purpose.

  The random selection of humanity which had embarked on the Penelope soon developed a corporate identity with a life rhythm. The latter was punctuated by such communal activities as meals, lectures about places to be visited, and the shore excursions to these. Within the group as a whole, however, numerous smaller units emerged. Some of these were based on shared interests. The spring flowers of Greece were at the height of their glory, and dedicated botanists conferred enthusiastically, and sought each other out in the evenings for prolonged inquests on the day’s bag of specimens. To the ornithologists the classical sites visited were primarily the habitats of exciting and unfamiliar birds, whose identities were the subject of endless serious discussion. Social subgroups were also swift to emerge. A few owners of titles and members of the higher ranks of the services hastily coalesced into a self-constituted elite, and derived immense satisfaction from their membership, confining their intercourse with outsiders to gracious politeness. A minor playwright attracted a coterie bent on using his Christian name as loudly and frequently as possible. The academics accorded each other due recognition, and conversed together in the manner of fellow countrymen on alien territory. A handful of people who had joined the cruise under a misapprehension as to its character went about looking disgruntled, and complaining about the lack of entertainment on board. The great majority of the passengers, however, were genuinely interested in some aspect of the classical world, and enjoyed themselves thoroughly, finding plenty of common ground for making pleasant acquaintances.

  No one had a more agreeable time than Olivia Strode. She revelled in the complete freedom from her usual chores, in the perfect weather, and in the interest and beauty of places which she had always wanted to visit. Her only regret was that the days passed so swiftly, and on the morning of the Penelope's arrival off Delos she realized sadly that two-thirds of the holiday was already over.

  As the small landing-craft approached the jetty she forgot to repine: the island cast its spell over her. The sapphire of sea and sky framed the dazzling white marble ruins and the enchanting little peak of Mount Cynthus, and the landscape seemed bathed in light and peace. Olivia was glad that she had come on ahead of her friends: she would have a little time alone in this heavenly place. She made her way slowly towards the assembly point in the old Slave Market, and sat down on a low wall, blissfully happy.

  After a time, however, the steady stream of later arrivals became a distraction. There was talking and laughter all around her, and cameras clicked endlessly. She watched the Maylings conscientiously referring to their guide-book. Not far away Lorna Bayley in emerald green slacks and a bikini-type top was sitting perched on a mound, against which John was leaning as he lit a cigarette. Olivia watched Audrey Vickers suddenly bear down on them, with a reluctant Drusilla and Keith Lang in the rear. Her habit of thrusting her company on people was by now recognized as a cruise hazard, and this time she had got the Bayleys trapped. She addressed herself to John, talking excitedly with a wealth of gesture. He was shaking his head, and appeared to be making a series of vigorous denials. Finally Lorna descended from her perch, and he contrived to disengage himself, raising his eyes to heaven as they walked past Olivia. She reciprocated, and then seeing the Moreton-Blakes coming along the path from the jetty, got up and went to meet them.

  In retrospect she came to look back on the morning at Delos as both the highlight and the turning point of her cruise. It had a dreamlike beauty, yet left impressions sharply etched in her memory. The Avenue of Lions, for instance, and the Palm of Leda, the solitary beach beyond ablaze with flowers to the water’s edge, the grim Herm, and the superb cat rampant in the mosaic floor of a house in the Graeco-Roman quarter. All these and other things remained with her, crowned by the incomparable view of the Cyclades from the summit of Mount Cynthus.

  During lunch the Penelope made the short crossing from Delos to Mykonos. The first intimation that the morning had been a turning point came
when passengers emerged from the dining-saloon. The brightness of the day was already partly eclipsed by a fine web of high cloud advancing over the sky from the south-east. Olivia exclaimed in dismay.

  ‘The weather can’t be going to break!’

  ‘Can’t it?’ said Charles Moreton-Blake. ‘You don’t realize how lucky we’ve been up to now, my dear. I talked to a chap yesterday who’d done the trip a couple of years ago, and they only had four decent days in a fortnight.’

  That afternoon Olivia found an expedition disappointing for the first time. Colour had drained out of the world leaving a sense of drabness. But under any circumstances, she thought, Mykonos would have seemed an anti-climax after Delos. She was not attracted by its picturesqueness, which struck her as cultivated and unconvincing, and the Moreton-Blakes agreed with her. They strolled along the crowded waterfront with its cafes and tourist shops, and came on the Englishwomen Abroad, leaning on their walking sticks and looking around critically.

  ‘Tarted up,’ summarized Katherine Lingard. ‘Try the churches. There are one or two quite good icons.’

  ‘Anything but those damned windmills up there,’ said Charles.

  After a brief tour of the little town they made for a cafe, and were hailed by the Bayleys.

  ‘Join us,’ invited John. ‘The tea’s lousy, but at least it’s hot and wet.’

  It was not a particularly cheerful little party. Lorna Bayley seemed out of sorts, and conversation soon flagged.

  ‘I can’t think why the hell they brought us in here,’ John remarked. ‘The place is positively twee.’

  ‘Some people are managing to enjoy it, anyway,’ Lorna retorted. ‘For goodness sake stop grousing. Come and buy me a non-souvenir at one of the shops instead.’