Read Online The Nonesuch and Others by Brian Lumley - Free Book Online

apparently in control once again, but avoiding further eye-to-eye contact by gazing at her slender white hands. “It’s not your fault, Mr. Smith. It’s a matter of association: that room, and the memories. You see, I loved my husband very much, and—”
    She paused, and before she was able to continue—assuming she intended to—the hotel’s frosted-glass outer doors beyond the small lobby swung open, and a rising babble reached us as a large party of noisy, chattering people began entering from the pavement in front of the place. Out there, a coach was just now pulling away.
    Now Mrs. Anderson looked up, away from me and toward these others as they claimed her attention, smiling and trading small talk with her where they passed us by. And some colour returned to her face when a pair of men carrying a wicker basket between them stopped and nodded, beamed their satisfaction and indicated their burden.
    “For tonight,” one of the two said with a laugh, “that’s if chef will oblige?”
    “Oh, I’m sure he will!” Mrs. Anderson answered him. “That’s if you’ll pay something for his time, Mr. Carson, and if you’ll also cover my losses?”
    “But of course we’ll look after the chef!” Carson answered. “And your takings won’t suffer any. These—” he tapped a finger on the basket, “—are only for those who caught ’em, who took a chance and held back from ordering an evening meal. And there’s maybe a couple of pounds extra left over for your freezer.”
    Now she was smiling, albeit a little wanly. “You had a good day, then? You made a good catch?”
    “Some nice ling,” the other replied. “Wreck-fish, you know? And a few beautiful red mullet! Do you want to see?” He made as if to lift the basket’s lid.
    “Goodness no!” She turned her face away. “Better get off to the kitchen before you stink the whole place out!”
    And laughing, the two made off after the rest of the group.
    “A fishing party,” I said, unnecessarily; many of them had been carrying their fishing tackle, and they’d certainly seemed overdressed for a warm summer day! Anyway, I now understood why the place had seemed so empty.
    “Two coach loads of them,” Mrs. Anderson answered. “They’ve been here for a week, fishing from some boats they’ve hired out of Brixham. The other coach should be arriving any time now. In a few more days they’ll be gone; the place will be mostly empty again and I’ll miss their custom. They’re no trouble and during the day they’re mostly out, but they do use the bar quite a lot in the evenings.”
    Smiling, I replied, “Where they down a few drinks and start telling tall tales of the ones that got away, right?”
    “Myself, I don’t really approve of drink,” she said, frowning for no apparent reason. “Though I must confess that the bar keeps the place ticking over. Which reminds me: I have stock to take care of. Please excuse me…”
    She went off about her business, and as Hannah appeared and began making entries in books behind the desk, once again I was obliged to rein in my curiosity. Then again—as I grudgingly told myself—whatever the mystery was here it wasn’t my business anyway. And some ten minutes later, finished with unpacking my few belongings, I was out on my balcony in time to watch the second coach unloading its passengers with their rods and gear. Quieter than the first batch, it appeared that their day hadn’t quite matched up to expectations…
     

     
    I had checked into the hotel (which I’ll call the Seaview, once again because that wasn’t its name) in the middle of the afternoon. Now, with nothing to engage me until dinner, I determined to look more closely at the hotel’s exterior, fixing its design and orientation more firmly in my mind.
    At the desk I collected a front door “key”—a swipe card—from Hannah, and left the hotel by the front entrance. Outside, I crossed the steeply sloping road’s canyon-like cutting to the