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Authors: Agatha Christie
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Victoria returned to earth to hear her employer, whom she had already diagnosed as a non-stop talker, concluding a series of remarks by saying:
‘– and nothing really clean if you know what I mean. I’m always very very careful what I eat. The filth of the streets and the bazaars you wouldn’t believe. And the unhygienic rags the people wear. And some of the toilets – why, you just couldn’t call them toilets at all!’
Victoria listened dutifully to these depressing remarks, but her own sense of glamour remained undimmed. Dirt and germs meant nothing in her young life. They arrived at Heathrow and she assisted Mrs Clipp to alight from the bus. She was already in charge of passports, tickets, money, etc.
‘My,’ said that lady, ‘it certainly is a comfort to have you with me, Miss Jones. I just don’t know what I’d have done if I’d had to travel alone.’
Travelling by air, Victoria thought, was rather like being taken on a school treat. Brisk teachers, kind but firm, were at hand to shepherd you at every turn. Air hostesses, in trim uniform with the authority of nursery governesses dealing with feeble-minded children explained kindly just what you were to do. Victoria almost expected them to preface their remarks with ‘Now, children.’
Tired-looking young gentlemen behind desks extended weary hands to check passports, to inquire intimately of money and jewellery. They managed to induce a sense of guilt in those questioned. Victoria, suggestible by nature, knew a sudden longing to describe her one meagre brooch as a diamond tiara value ten thousand pounds, just to see the expression on the bored young man’s face. Thoughts of Edward restrained her.
The various barriers passed, they sat down to wait once more in a large room giving directly on the aerodrome. Outside the roar of a plane being revved up gave the proper background. Mrs Hamilton Clipp was now happily engaged in making a running commentary on their fellow travellers.
‘Aren’t those two little children just too cute for words? But what an ordeal to travel alone with a couple of children. British, I guess they are. That’s a well-cut suit the mother has on. She looks kind of tired, though. That’s a good-looking man – rather Latin looking, I’d say. What a loud check that man has on – I’d call it very bad taste. Business, I guess. That man over there’s a Dutchman, he was just ahead of us at the controls. That family over there is either Turkish or Persian, I should say. There don’t seem to be any Americans. I guess they go mostly Pan American. I’d say those three men talking together are Oil, wouldn’t you? I just love looking at people and wondering about them. Mr Clipp says to me I’ve got real yen for human nature. It seems to me just natural to take an interest in your fellow creatures. Wouldn’t you say that mink coat over there cost every bit of three thousand dollars?’
Mrs Clipp sighed. Having duly appraised her fellow travellers she became restless.
‘I’d like to know what we are waiting for like this. That plane’s revved up four times. We’re all here. Why can’t they get on with things? They’re certainly not keeping to schedule.’
‘Would you like a cup of coffee, Mrs Clipp? I see there is a buffet at the end of the room.’
‘Why, no, thank you, Miss Jones. I had coffee before I started, and my stomach feels too unsettled right now to take anything more. What are we waiting for, I’d like to know?’
Her question seemed to be answered almost before the words were out of her mouth.
The door leading from the corridor out of the Customs and Passport Department swung open with a rush and a tall man came through with the effect of a gust of wind. Air officials of the line hovered around him. Two large canvas sacks sealed were carried by an officer of BOAC.
Mrs Clipp sat up with alacrity.
‘He’s certainly some big noise,’ she remarked.
‘And knows it,’ thought Victoria.
There
Victoria returned to earth to hear her employer, whom she had already diagnosed as a non-stop talker, concluding a series of remarks by saying:
‘– and nothing really clean if you know what I mean. I’m always very very careful what I eat. The filth of the streets and the bazaars you wouldn’t believe. And the unhygienic rags the people wear. And some of the toilets – why, you just couldn’t call them toilets at all!’
Victoria listened dutifully to these depressing remarks, but her own sense of glamour remained undimmed. Dirt and germs meant nothing in her young life. They arrived at Heathrow and she assisted Mrs Clipp to alight from the bus. She was already in charge of passports, tickets, money, etc.
‘My,’ said that lady, ‘it certainly is a comfort to have you with me, Miss Jones. I just don’t know what I’d have done if I’d had to travel alone.’
Travelling by air, Victoria thought, was rather like being taken on a school treat. Brisk teachers, kind but firm, were at hand to shepherd you at every turn. Air hostesses, in trim uniform with the authority of nursery governesses dealing with feeble-minded children explained kindly just what you were to do. Victoria almost expected them to preface their remarks with ‘Now, children.’
Tired-looking young gentlemen behind desks extended weary hands to check passports, to inquire intimately of money and jewellery. They managed to induce a sense of guilt in those questioned. Victoria, suggestible by nature, knew a sudden longing to describe her one meagre brooch as a diamond tiara value ten thousand pounds, just to see the expression on the bored young man’s face. Thoughts of Edward restrained her.
The various barriers passed, they sat down to wait once more in a large room giving directly on the aerodrome. Outside the roar of a plane being revved up gave the proper background. Mrs Hamilton Clipp was now happily engaged in making a running commentary on their fellow travellers.
‘Aren’t those two little children just too cute for words? But what an ordeal to travel alone with a couple of children. British, I guess they are. That’s a well-cut suit the mother has on. She looks kind of tired, though. That’s a good-looking man – rather Latin looking, I’d say. What a loud check that man has on – I’d call it very bad taste. Business, I guess. That man over there’s a Dutchman, he was just ahead of us at the controls. That family over there is either Turkish or Persian, I should say. There don’t seem to be any Americans. I guess they go mostly Pan American. I’d say those three men talking together are Oil, wouldn’t you? I just love looking at people and wondering about them. Mr Clipp says to me I’ve got real yen for human nature. It seems to me just natural to take an interest in your fellow creatures. Wouldn’t you say that mink coat over there cost every bit of three thousand dollars?’
Mrs Clipp sighed. Having duly appraised her fellow travellers she became restless.
‘I’d like to know what we are waiting for like this. That plane’s revved up four times. We’re all here. Why can’t they get on with things? They’re certainly not keeping to schedule.’
‘Would you like a cup of coffee, Mrs Clipp? I see there is a buffet at the end of the room.’
‘Why, no, thank you, Miss Jones. I had coffee before I started, and my stomach feels too unsettled right now to take anything more. What are we waiting for, I’d like to know?’
Her question seemed to be answered almost before the words were out of her mouth.
The door leading from the corridor out of the Customs and Passport Department swung open with a rush and a tall man came through with the effect of a gust of wind. Air officials of the line hovered around him. Two large canvas sacks sealed were carried by an officer of BOAC.
Mrs Clipp sat up with alacrity.
‘He’s certainly some big noise,’ she remarked.
‘And knows it,’ thought Victoria.
There
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