alistairmaclean.bearisland-第26节
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〃One of those stupid things。 I slipped on the snow and struck my neck on the storm sill of the door。 Does ache a bit； I must say。〃
She didn't answer。 She freed her other arm； caught me by both lapels； stared at me with a face full of misery and put her forehead on my shoulder。 Now it was my collar's turn to bee damp。 It was the most extraordinary behaviour for a wardress…that her function was to keep tabs on and effectively immobilise me I was increasingly sure…but； then； she was the most extraordinary wardress I'd ever e across。 And the nicest。 Dr。 Marlowe； I said； the lady is in distress and you are but human。 I let my suspicions take five and stroked the tangled yellow hair。 I'd been led to believe； I forgot by what or by whom； that nothing was as conducive to the calming of upset feminine feelings as that soothing gesture： only seconds later I was wondering where I'd picked up this piece of obviously blatant misinformation for she suddenly pushed herself upright and struck me twice on the shoulder with the base of her clenched left fist。 I was more than ever convinced that she wasn't made of swansdown。
〃Don't do that；〃 she said。 〃Don't do that。〃
〃All right；〃 I said agreeably。 I won't do that。 I'm sorry。〃
〃No； no； please！ I'm sorry。 I don't know what made me…I really…〃 She stopped speaking although her lips kept on moving and stared at me with tear…filled eyes； the no longer beautiful face defenceless and defeated and full of despair： it made me feel acutely unfortable for I do not like to see proud and self…contained people thus reduced。 There was a quick indrawing of breath then； astonishingly； she had her arms wound round my neck and so tightly that it would appear that she was bent upon my instant asphyxiation。 She wept in silence； her shoulders shaking。
Splendidly done； I thought approvingly； quite splendidly done。 Irrespective of for whose benefit it might be…'and then I despised myself for my cynicism。 Quite apart from the fact that her acknowledged limitations as an actress put such a performance out of the question I was convinced； without knowing why I was convinced； that what I was seeing was genuine uninhibited emotion。 And what on earth had she to gain by pretending to lower her defences in front of me？
For whom； then； the tears？ Not for me； of that I was certain； why in the world for me： I scarcely knew her； she scarcely knew me； I was only a shoulder to cry on； likely enough I was only a doctor's shoulder to cry on； people have the oddest misconceptions about doctors and maybe their shoulders are regarded as being more reliable and forting than the average。 Or more absorbent。 Nor were the tears for herself； I was equally certain of that； to survive； intact； the kind of upbringing shed hinted she'd had； one had to be possessed of an unusual degree of self…reliance and mental toughness that almost automatically excluded considerations of self…pity。 So for whom； then； the tears？
I didn't know and； at that moment； I hardly cared。 In normal circumstances and with no other matter so significantly important as to engage my attention； so lovely a girl in such obvious distress would have had my plete and undivided concern； but the circumstances were abnormal and my thoughts were elsewhere engaged with an intensity that made Mary Stuart's odd behaviour seem relatively unimportant。
I couldn't keep my eyes from the bottle of Scotch by the captain's table。
When Halliday had had； at my insistence as I now bitterly recalled； his first drink； the bottle had been about a third full： after his second drink it had been about a quarter full： and now it was half full。 The quiet and violent man who had so recently switched off the lights and moved through the saloon had switched bottles and； for good measure； had removed the glass that Halliday had used。 Mary Stuart said something； her voice so muffled and indistinct that I couldn't make it out： what with salt tears and salt blood this night's work was going to cost me a new shirt。 I said： 〃What？〃
She moved her head； enough to enable her to speak more clearly； but not enough to let me see her face。
〃I'm sorry。 I'm sorry I was such a fool。 Will you forgive me？〃
I squeezed her shoulder in what was more or less an automatic gesture； my eyes and my thoughts were still on that bottle； but she seemed to take it as sufficient answer。 She said hesitantly： 〃Are you going to sleep again？〃 She hadn't stopped being as foolish as she thought： or perhaps she wasn't being foolish at all。
〃No； Mary dear； I'm not going to sleep again。〃 Whatever tone of firm resolution my tone carried； it was superfluous： the throbbing pain in my neck was sufficient guarantee of my wakefulness。
〃Well； that's all right then。〃 I didn't ask what this cryptic remark was intended to convey。 Physically； we couldn't have been closer but mentally I was no longer with her。 I was with Halliday； the man whom I had thought had e to kill me； the man I'd practically forced to have a drink； the man who'd drunk what had been intended for me。
I knew I would never see him again。 Not alive。
6
Dawn； in those high latitudes and at that time of year； did not e until half…past ten in the morning； and it was then that we buried the three dead men； Antonio and Moxen and Scott； and surely their shades would have forgiven us for the almost indecent dispatch with which their funerals were carried out； for that driving blizzard was still at its height； the wind was full of razored knives and struck through both clothes and flesh and laid its icy fingers on the marrow。 Captain Imrie； a large and brassbound Bible in his mittened hands； read swiftly through the burial service or at least I assumed he did； he could have been reading the Sermon on the Mount for all I could tell； the wind just plucked the inaudible words from his mouth and carried them out over the grey…white desolation of waters。 Three times a canvas…wrapped bundle slid smoothly out from beneath the Morning Rose's only Union flag； three times a bundle vanished soundlessly beneath the surface of the sea： we could see the splashes but not hear them for our cars were full of the high and lonely lament of the wind's requiem in the frozen rigging。
On land； mourners customarily find it difficult to tear themselves away from a newly filled grave； but here there was no grave； there was nothing to look at and the bitter cold was sufficient to drive from every mind any thought other than that of immediate shelter and warmth： besides； Captain Imrie had said that it was an old fisherman's custom to drink a toast to the dead。 Whether it was or not I had no idea； it could well have been a custom that Imrie had invented himself； and certainly the deceased had been no fisherman： but whatever its origin I'm sure that it made its contributory effect towards the extremely rapid clearing of the decks。 I remained where I was。 I felt inhibited from joining the others not because I found Captain Imrie's proposal distasteful or ethically objectionable…only the most hypocritical could find in the Christian ethic a bar to wishing bon voyage to the departed…but because； in crowded surroundings； it could be very difficult to see who was filling my glass and what he was filling it with。 Moreover； I'd had no more than three hours' sleep the previous night； my mind was tired and a bit fuzzy round the edges and it was my hope that the admittedly heroic treatment of exposure to an Arctic blizzard might help to blow some of the cobwebs away。 I took a firm hold on one of the numerous lifelines that were rigged on deck； edged my way out to the largest of one of the numerous deck cargoes we were carrying； took what illusory shelter was offered in its lee and waited for the cobwebs to fly away。
Halliday was dead。 I hadn't found his body； I'd searched； casually and unobtrusively； every likely and most of the unlikely places of concealment on the Morning Rose： he had vanished and left no trace。 Halliday； I knew； was lying in the black depths of the Barents Sea。 How he'd got there I didn't know and it didn't seem to be important： it could be that someone had helped him over the side but it was even more probable that he had required no assistance。 He'd left the saloon as abruptly as he had because the poison in his Scotch…my Scotch…had been as fast acting as it had been deadly。 He had felt the urgent need to be sick and the obvious place to be sick was over the side： a slip on the snow or ice； one of the hundreds of trough…seeking lurches that the trawler had experienced during the night and in what must have been by that time his ill； weakened； and dazed state； he would have been quite unable to prevent himself from pitching over the low guardrails。 The only consolation； if consolation it was； was that he had probably succumbed from poison before his lungs had filled with water。 I did not subscribe to the popular belief that death from drowning was a relatively easy and painless way to go if for no other reason than that it was a theory that in the nature of things lacked positive documentation。
I was as certain as could be that Halliday's absence had so far gone unnoticed by everyone except myself and the person responsible for his death and there was not even c
