Richard Jury Mysteries 10: The Old Silent

by Martha Grimes

  Trueblood folded his arms and pursed his lips, looking at the trunk. "Oh, I don't know, Melrose. I think it'll do. It looks quite long enough. Heavy, of course, but that's just English soil. Vivian was out shoveling half the—"

  Vivian, made even more beautiful by the bright flush rising to her cheeks, thrust her face so close to Trueblood's, he leaned back. He quickly pulled and wound his striped scarf about his neck, shrieking, in a mockery of fear, "No closer! No closer!"

  "Oh, shut up! I don't know if I dare have you to the wedding. God knows what you'll get up to." Her fiery gaze included Melrose.

  "Don't look at me! Have I said a word? No."

  "Keep it that way." Then she turned to Jury. "You're being very silent," she said softly.

  "I can't stand train stations." He thought of Carole-anne. "Or airports. Or partings."

  Agatha was too busy pulling at Melrose to bother with her nemesis, Marshall Trueblood. "Who" she demanded, pointing toward the station cafe, "is that woman?"

  "Karla. She's—it's—Trueblood's friend."

  "Not her. That person inside the cafe. She's been staring at us for the last half hour. At you, for some reason. I was watching her when you were taking my picture."

  Melrose looked, squinted, moved closer to the plate glass behind which a young woman in dark green was standing on the other side of the glass, as still as Karla on this side.

  Melrose put on his spectacles, squinted through them . . . Ellen!

  He loosened Agatha's viselike grip and pushed through the surge of passengers rushing for their trains.

  Ellen immediately turned and sat down in one of the plastic-form chairs and sipped her cup of tea.

  Melrose tapped and tapped on the pane. Finally, she turned round, giving him a speculative look. Where on earth had they met?

  He motioned her outside with several furious waves.

  When finally she emerged, both of them ignored by Karla, Melrose decided that the Princess was right. "You look indescribable." Actually, it was true. The dress was totally shapeless, except where Ellen lent it shape (and that considerable); it was a swampy green that did nothing whatever to light up her face. Ah, but the face was clean, the nails actually manicured, the hair combed and possibly Sassooned. And the legs and high heels visible. There was a view the Lido would have a hard time matching. Melrose reconsidered dying in a deck chair.

  Holding her hand, he dragged her over to the train, where he smiled brilliantly at Jury, haltingly at Agatha (whose own mouth was agape), and uncertainly at Vivian, who was now in her compartment—barely two minutes to go—and who reached down her slim hand to take Ellen's.

  She released it and grabbed at Melrose's and with the other hand for Jury. Trueblood was quick-walking beside the liveried porter who was pulling the luggage. Marshall held up a decal of the British flag, smiled and thwacked it on her trunk, taking his time pressing it in place. He waved the porter on and came running back. "Viv-viv, darling! Watch those canals, be careful of the Giopinnos' cellar . . . ah, but, of course, he doesn't drink wine, does . . . owwww!" (Vivian had thrown her paperback book at him.) "My dearest, darling, Viv. I shall never say another word. . . . Oh, God, it's moving, it's moving."

  Say another word, no. Melrose looked at the departing rack of luggage. There was the British flag! And right next to it was stuck the cut-out of Dracula swinging in his gondola. Melrose shut his eyes.

  "Don't do anything foolish, Vivian!" was Agatha's last word. "Mind those gondoliers! Have you any Italian at all?"

  "Arrivederci, that's about it." She was wiping away tears that trailed slowly down her face.

  Still holding her hands, Melrose and Jury were half-running beside the train which finally gained so much speed, they had to release her.

  Good-byes were shouted, cried, flung all down the line until the train heaved itself out into the sooty light of a London January day.

  Jury stood there, unconscious of a pram that barked his shin and a couple of punks with mohawks who shoved him aside.

  He dragged his eyes from the track when he heard Trueblood beside him. Karla had reengaged his arm. "Come on, old trout.We're off to see a rerun of The Untouchables."

  "What? Why in God's name would anyone who'd just seen Vivian off want to see Al Capone?"

  "Don't be dense. We'll only stay for the credits."

  "That makes sense." Jury looked down the track. The end of the train was a cinder now.

  Trueblood drew a banner in air between thumb and forefinger. " 'Wardrobe by Armani.' Everyone applauds. Then we leave, go somewhere and get drunk."

  Jury smiled, looked at Karla, whose mouth hitched up on one end. "You two go along. I'll see you later."

  Trueblood looked at him with concern. "We'll all get together at Nine-One-Nine. How's that?"

  "Hmm? Fine."

  Jury was looking at Melrose and Ellen, who in some sort of twosome metamorphosis had walked over to take the place of Trueblood and Karla. "Luncheon at the Ritz. What do you say? Agatha's taken herself off to Waterloo. Sorry about that." Melrose grinned.

  Boyishly. It was the first time Jury ever remembered seeing his friend actually grin. "No, you two go on."

  "Not without you. And I've something for you." Melrose reached into the deep pocket of his overcoat and brought out the Sony Walkman. He smiled. "Here." Then he reached in the other and brought out some tapes. Six of them.

  Transformer. Lou Reed; Rock n Roll Animal. Lou Reed; Berlin. Lou Reed; Live in Italy. Lou Reed; Mistrial. Lou Reed; New York. Lou Reed.

  "I'm sorry," said Melrose, "I couldn't find Metal Machine Music."

  Ellen sighed. "You've got to be a real Lou Reed fanatic to dig that one. Feedback screams."

  "I dig feedback screams. I'm with you, aren't I?"

  "I can't thank you enough," Jury said, looking at Melrose Plant's enthusiastic face. "I've got some work to clear up; these'll help." He held up the tapes.

  "Work? For God's sakes, that's all you've been doing! Come with us."

  "Yeah, come on." One hand pulled on Jury's arm; the other was in Melrose's.

  "What is it you say in the U.S.? 'Later days'?"

  Ellen smiled. "Later days, then."

  He shoved both of them gently: "Go."

  Jury watched them walk away, heads close together.

  He turned to look back at the empty track and then in the other direction over the heads of Victoria's crowded railway station. Over there was the old, dependable Underground sign. Jury held on to the tapes Melrose had given him and brought out another tape from his pocket, looked at it, shoved it back.

  He might as well go home and put on a little Trane.

  / wish I could promise to lie in the night And think of an orchard's arboreal plight When slowly (and nobody comes with a light) Its heart sinks lower under the sod. But something has to be left to God.

  —Robert Frost

  "Good-bye and Keep Cold"

  You need a Busload of Faith to get by.

  —Lou Reed

  New York