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Authors: Ruth Rendell
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thoughts.” He responded by asking with a reflective smile if anyone under thirty would understand what that meant. His remark went down badly with Helen, who probably supposed that she was generally taken for coming within that age range herself. Maureen failed to improve matters by catching Lewis’s eye and giving him a look that was just not a wink.
“It’s my belief,” she said as they left the table, “that we shan’t hear much more of those hands. Sorry, but I didn’t want to mention it while we were eating. The police must know by now that they’re never going to find who they belonged to, and anyway, who really cares?”
Nobody replied to that. They all sat down, and George remarked that his leg was giving him “gip.” When Maureen was ready?
“I’ll just have my coffee now Helen’s gone to all the trouble to make it.”
Lewis passed the rest of his time in Theydon Bois finding out from Stanley how and where to get in touch with Detective Inspector Colin Quell and, when George and Maureen left, said he must go too. It was a long way to the other end of the Central Line. He thanked Helen profusely for his lunch, but he could tell he hadoffended her with his comment about the penny for his thoughts. Unexpectedly, Stanley said he would come with him to the station. Spot would enjoy another walk.
“Why do you call him Spot when he’s black all over?” Lewis asked.
“I asked my grandson to name him and he’s only six. Spot was the only dog’s name he knew. I couldn’t have any more Nippers.”
“Why didn’t anyone ask me to this meeting you had with the policeman?”
“Don’t ask me,” said Stanley. “Didn’t know how to get hold of you, I reckon.”
Lewis said no more. Instead he contributed the few doggy tales he could remember, and Stanley rejoined with anecdotes of past canines he had owned. The station was soon reached, and Stanley, to Lewis’s relief, departed, saying Spot would get fractious if expected to hang about. Lewis had been longing for the chance to be alone and think about George’s remark about adults going into the tunnels. It was a fine mild afternoon and sitting on the seat on Theydon Bois station platform no hardship in the sunshine. Even if it took half an hour before the train came, he had plenty to think about.
Whether any of them or any of the others had ever taken an adult into the tunnels, he didn’t know, though he thought not. The unwritten law was not to involve grown-ups. Human beings make laws even when they are only ten or eleven years old and take no notice of them when they feel like it. Whatever others had done, he had flouted that rule. He hadn’t meant to, or, rather, he hadn’t wanted to, but Uncle James had kept on at him about it.
Sitting on the seat in this semirural place, the effort of remembering threatened to send him to sleep. He was old and it was true what they said, that the old remember events of their childhood better than what had happened this morning. He rested his head back against the seat and sleep came. A snore that was more like a noisysnort woke him, and he realised that the woman who had come to sit next to him must have heard it and perhaps been amused. Age also brings something advantageous: old people no longer feel much embarrassment. There has ceased to be any point in it. It’s a waste of time, and time is valuable now. What had he been thinking about before he fell asleep? He had forgotten and the train was arriving.
He had also forgotten where he had got to in The Count of Monte Cristo , but it didn’t much matter as he had read it so many times before and a favourite point in the adventure was soon turned to. By this time he had also forgotten all about getting in touch with Detective Inspector Quell.
H E WOKE UP in the night and knew at once he wouldn’t get to sleep again. Four o’clock was the witching hour. There was no hope at four. He could get up and walk about the house, he could make a cup of
“It’s my belief,” she said as they left the table, “that we shan’t hear much more of those hands. Sorry, but I didn’t want to mention it while we were eating. The police must know by now that they’re never going to find who they belonged to, and anyway, who really cares?”
Nobody replied to that. They all sat down, and George remarked that his leg was giving him “gip.” When Maureen was ready?
“I’ll just have my coffee now Helen’s gone to all the trouble to make it.”
Lewis passed the rest of his time in Theydon Bois finding out from Stanley how and where to get in touch with Detective Inspector Colin Quell and, when George and Maureen left, said he must go too. It was a long way to the other end of the Central Line. He thanked Helen profusely for his lunch, but he could tell he hadoffended her with his comment about the penny for his thoughts. Unexpectedly, Stanley said he would come with him to the station. Spot would enjoy another walk.
“Why do you call him Spot when he’s black all over?” Lewis asked.
“I asked my grandson to name him and he’s only six. Spot was the only dog’s name he knew. I couldn’t have any more Nippers.”
“Why didn’t anyone ask me to this meeting you had with the policeman?”
“Don’t ask me,” said Stanley. “Didn’t know how to get hold of you, I reckon.”
Lewis said no more. Instead he contributed the few doggy tales he could remember, and Stanley rejoined with anecdotes of past canines he had owned. The station was soon reached, and Stanley, to Lewis’s relief, departed, saying Spot would get fractious if expected to hang about. Lewis had been longing for the chance to be alone and think about George’s remark about adults going into the tunnels. It was a fine mild afternoon and sitting on the seat on Theydon Bois station platform no hardship in the sunshine. Even if it took half an hour before the train came, he had plenty to think about.
Whether any of them or any of the others had ever taken an adult into the tunnels, he didn’t know, though he thought not. The unwritten law was not to involve grown-ups. Human beings make laws even when they are only ten or eleven years old and take no notice of them when they feel like it. Whatever others had done, he had flouted that rule. He hadn’t meant to, or, rather, he hadn’t wanted to, but Uncle James had kept on at him about it.
Sitting on the seat in this semirural place, the effort of remembering threatened to send him to sleep. He was old and it was true what they said, that the old remember events of their childhood better than what had happened this morning. He rested his head back against the seat and sleep came. A snore that was more like a noisysnort woke him, and he realised that the woman who had come to sit next to him must have heard it and perhaps been amused. Age also brings something advantageous: old people no longer feel much embarrassment. There has ceased to be any point in it. It’s a waste of time, and time is valuable now. What had he been thinking about before he fell asleep? He had forgotten and the train was arriving.
He had also forgotten where he had got to in The Count of Monte Cristo , but it didn’t much matter as he had read it so many times before and a favourite point in the adventure was soon turned to. By this time he had also forgotten all about getting in touch with Detective Inspector Quell.
H E WOKE UP in the night and knew at once he wouldn’t get to sleep again. Four o’clock was the witching hour. There was no hope at four. He could get up and walk about the house, he could make a cup of
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