Read Online The Wine-Dark Sea by Robert Aickman - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Robert Aickman
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Margaret, following the discouraging ascent with her eyes. ‘What’s more, I can see a sign outside it. I believe the map’s wrong. Come on.’
‘Oh well,’ said Mimi.
Just as they were over the tunnel entrance another train sped downwards. They looked from above at the blind black roofs of the coaches, like the caterpillar at the fair with the cover down.
It was hard to say whether the map was wrong or not. The house above the tunnel, though apparently not shown, was certainly not an inn. It was almost the exact opposite: an unlicensed Guest House.
‘Good for a cup of tea,’ said Mimi. ‘But we’d better eat outside.’
A little further up the road was a small hillock. They ascended it, cast off their heavy rucksacks, loosened their belts a hole or two, and began to eat corned beef sandwiches. The Guest House lay below them, occupied to all appearances, but with no one visible.
‘Not much traffic,’ said Margaret, dangling a squashed tomato.
‘They all go by train.’
The distant crowing of an engine whistle seemed to confirm her words.
The sharp-edged clouds, now slightly larger, were still being pushed across the sky; but by now the breeze seemed to have dropped and it was exceedingly hot. The two women were covered with sweat, and Mimi undid another button of her shirt.’
Aren’t you glad I made you wear shorts?”
Margaret had to admit to herself she was glad. There had been some dissension between the two of them upon this point; Margaret, who had never worn shorts in her life before, feeling intensely embarrassed by Mimi’s proposal, and Mimi unexpectedly announcing that she wouldn’t come at all unless Margaret ‘dressed like everybody else’. Margaret now realised that for once ‘everybody’ was right. The freedom was delightful ; and without it the weight of the rucksack would have been unendurable. Moreover, her entire present outfit had cost less than a guinea; and it mattered little what happened to it. That, she perceived, was the real freedom. Still she was pleased that none of her family could see her.
‘Very glad indeed,’ she replied. ‘I really am.’
Mimi smiled warmly, too nice to triumph, although the matter was one about which Margaret’s original attitude had roused strong feelings in her.
‘Not the ideal food for this heat,’ said Margaret. ‘We’ll come out in spots.’
‘Lucky to get corned beef. Another girl and I hiked from end to end of the Pilgrim’s Way on plain bread and marge. It was Bank Holiday and we’d forgotten to lay anything in.’ Then, springing to her feet with her mouth full, she picked up her rucksack. ‘Let’s try for a drink.’ She was off down the road before Margaret could rise or even speak. She was given to acting on such sudden small impulses, Margaret had noticed.
By the time Margaret had finished her final sandwich, Mimi had rung the Guest House bell and had been inside for some time. Before following, Margaret wiped the sweat from her face on to one of the large handkerchiefs Mimi had prudently enjoined; then from one of the breast pockets of her shirt produced a comb and mirror, rearranged her hair so far as was allowed by sweat and the small tight bun into which, with a view to efficiency on this holiday, she had woven it, and returned the articles to her shirt pocket, buttoning down the flap, but avoiding contact as far as possible with her sticky body. She approached the front door slowly, endeavouring to beget no further heat.
The bell, though provided with a modern pseudo-Italian pull, was of the authentic country house pattern, operated by a wire. The door was almost immediately opened by a plain woman in a Marks and Spencer overall.
‘Yes?’
‘Could I possibly have something to drink? My friend’s inside already.’
‘Come in. Tea or coffee? We’re out of minerals.’
‘Could I have some coffee?’
‘Coffee.’ The word was repeated in a short blank tone. One would have supposed she had to deal with
‘Oh well,’ said Mimi.
Just as they were over the tunnel entrance another train sped downwards. They looked from above at the blind black roofs of the coaches, like the caterpillar at the fair with the cover down.
It was hard to say whether the map was wrong or not. The house above the tunnel, though apparently not shown, was certainly not an inn. It was almost the exact opposite: an unlicensed Guest House.
‘Good for a cup of tea,’ said Mimi. ‘But we’d better eat outside.’
A little further up the road was a small hillock. They ascended it, cast off their heavy rucksacks, loosened their belts a hole or two, and began to eat corned beef sandwiches. The Guest House lay below them, occupied to all appearances, but with no one visible.
‘Not much traffic,’ said Margaret, dangling a squashed tomato.
‘They all go by train.’
The distant crowing of an engine whistle seemed to confirm her words.
The sharp-edged clouds, now slightly larger, were still being pushed across the sky; but by now the breeze seemed to have dropped and it was exceedingly hot. The two women were covered with sweat, and Mimi undid another button of her shirt.’
Aren’t you glad I made you wear shorts?”
Margaret had to admit to herself she was glad. There had been some dissension between the two of them upon this point; Margaret, who had never worn shorts in her life before, feeling intensely embarrassed by Mimi’s proposal, and Mimi unexpectedly announcing that she wouldn’t come at all unless Margaret ‘dressed like everybody else’. Margaret now realised that for once ‘everybody’ was right. The freedom was delightful ; and without it the weight of the rucksack would have been unendurable. Moreover, her entire present outfit had cost less than a guinea; and it mattered little what happened to it. That, she perceived, was the real freedom. Still she was pleased that none of her family could see her.
‘Very glad indeed,’ she replied. ‘I really am.’
Mimi smiled warmly, too nice to triumph, although the matter was one about which Margaret’s original attitude had roused strong feelings in her.
‘Not the ideal food for this heat,’ said Margaret. ‘We’ll come out in spots.’
‘Lucky to get corned beef. Another girl and I hiked from end to end of the Pilgrim’s Way on plain bread and marge. It was Bank Holiday and we’d forgotten to lay anything in.’ Then, springing to her feet with her mouth full, she picked up her rucksack. ‘Let’s try for a drink.’ She was off down the road before Margaret could rise or even speak. She was given to acting on such sudden small impulses, Margaret had noticed.
By the time Margaret had finished her final sandwich, Mimi had rung the Guest House bell and had been inside for some time. Before following, Margaret wiped the sweat from her face on to one of the large handkerchiefs Mimi had prudently enjoined; then from one of the breast pockets of her shirt produced a comb and mirror, rearranged her hair so far as was allowed by sweat and the small tight bun into which, with a view to efficiency on this holiday, she had woven it, and returned the articles to her shirt pocket, buttoning down the flap, but avoiding contact as far as possible with her sticky body. She approached the front door slowly, endeavouring to beget no further heat.
The bell, though provided with a modern pseudo-Italian pull, was of the authentic country house pattern, operated by a wire. The door was almost immediately opened by a plain woman in a Marks and Spencer overall.
‘Yes?’
‘Could I possibly have something to drink? My friend’s inside already.’
‘Come in. Tea or coffee? We’re out of minerals.’
‘Could I have some coffee?’
‘Coffee.’ The word was repeated in a short blank tone. One would have supposed she had to deal with
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