by Unknown
The conductor looked at it and handed it back. “That’s a super-saver. Forty pounds to upgrade to a full-price ticket or you’ll have to get off at the next stop.”
“Look,” said the lad with the knitted hat to the conductor, “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry, mate.” In this kind of transaction, you had to have one person who was sorry and another who was prepared to forgive. You couldn’t have two people who were sorry. If the conductor was sorry, too, then Emily knew there was no hope that this girl would be allowed to continue her journey without paying full fare. “You’ve got to have the correct ticket to travel on the train. This is the only nonstop service to Torquay this morning and you can’t use the cheap tickets on it. Come on now. Let’s have a look at yours.”
The boyfriend’s ticket was fine. The conductor clipped it and turned back to deal with the girl.
“I’m sorry,” she said. Well that was no good! You couldn’t have three people who were sorry, even if none of them sounded sorry at all. “I don’t have forty pounds.”
“I’m sorry!” Dr. Muriel interrupted. Now it was getting out of hand. “I don’t mean to intrude, but I wonder if I might pay for this young woman’s ticket. My fare’s paid for. In fact all my expenses are paid because I’m giving a talk at the conference. I’m jolly lucky because it’s one of the things I look forward to most in the year. I’d happily buy a ticket if I had to, but it’s all free.”
“Well…” said the conductor.
“I insist,” said Dr. Muriel, addressing the young woman directly. “Since I don’t have to buy my ticket, I would like to buy yours.” As the conductor handed over her credit card receipt, Dr. Muriel said to him, “How did you know that young woman was tucked away in the luggage rack? Emily didn’t even know—did you, Emily?—and she’s a brilliant sleuth.”
The stowaway and her boyfriend looked at Emily as if Dr. Muriel had said she was a talking donkey.
The conductor tapped the side of his nose, indicating that the secret must remain his and he would never reveal it. Nobody pleaded with him to change his mind so he revealed it anyway. “Took a walk down the outside of the train before boarding was announced, saw these two hop on. Usually if there’s any funny business with the tickets, they get on early and hide in the toilets. I had a look to see what they were up to and saw the young lady getting up there. Eyes and intuition.” He made a fork of the first two fingers of his right hand and pointed at his eyes, to help his audience imagine the process. “Nothing fancy compared to the methods of Miss Sherlock Holmes here, I expect.”
“That’s the best kind of investigating,” said Emily modestly. “Using your eyes and observing what you see.”
“Ah yes!” said Dr. Muriel. “How many of us really look? How many of us really see when we look?”
As the conductor made his way back down the carriage away from them, Emily heard once again the sound of the little gasp and then the long, soft sigh as the automatic door slid open quickly and then closed again slowly, the drama over for now.
Emily sat back and she, too, sighed a long, soft sigh as the stress of the last two weeks’ work escaped from her. She was on holiday. Sort of…She looked out of the window at the canal boats on the river that now wound its way alongside the train as it headed southwest past Reading. She saw sheep and cornfields. She saw ferns, fir trees, horses, houses, ducks, geese. She saw swans. When you spent all your time in a big city, it was easy to forget that people were living here in the countryside in a storybook world, a world of canal locks and cart horses. An unLondon. Emily saw alpacas, or some sort of long-necked, furry animal not native to England, trotting purposefully through a field.
The young couple interrupted her thoughts by introducing themselves as Alice and Ben. “We’ll pay you back, soon as we make some money, Muriel,” said Alice. “We’ll be down by the Lamb and Dragon pub or maybe by the beach. Shall I give you my number so you can give us a ring before you come down?”
“It doesn’t matter. Don’t worry about it.”
“I’ll write it in your notebook, Emma.”
“Emily.”
“Emily.” Alice put out her hands for Emily’s notebook and pen.
The train went into a tunnel and they were briefly cut off from daytime and sunlight. Across the aisle from Emily there was now a second Alice, reflected in the window next to her and then in the window on the opposite side of the train, and then projected beyond the window beside her so she seemed to hover in the blackness outside the train, at the same distance from the window as the original Alice inside it, the ghost of a living girl, keeping pace with them all, writing down a number that Dr. Muriel would never call.
Inside the train, at the table behind Emily and Dr. Muriel, a man now began to make himself a sandwich, assembling the ingredients from a Tupperware container. He had brought a knife to spread the butter on a soft white roll, some ham. The process was comfortingly old-fashioned. Outside, as the train emerged into the daylight again, Emily saw two piebald ponies, nose to nose, keeping each other company. She saw a heron in a muddy puddle in a field. And because she was facing backwards as she traveled, because she was looking out at events that had happened a microsecond before the light hit the retina in the back of her eye and her brain made sense of it, there was nothing she could do to change any of it. She felt soothed. Relieved.
Dr. Muriel noticed and approved. “The sea air will blow all your troubles away,” she said.
But trouble was blowing into Torquay. And Emily and Dr. Muriel were about to get caught up in the middle of it.
CHAPTER SIX
THE HOTEL MAJESTIC
As the train arrived at Torquay station just before one o’clock, Emily got her first glimpse of the town. She looked out across the sweep of the bay to where hotels and houses looked down onto the sea from a clifftop. There was something jauntily continental about the rows of yachts and pleasure cruisers in the harbor, which lay surrounded by shops and restaurants at the bottom of the hill.
As she left the train, she saw a sputnik-shaped booth plastered with posters advertising tourist excursions by boat, bus and train. There were day trips to Paignton and Brixham and Agatha Christie’s house. There were fishing trips, and rides around the pier for people who enjoyed being towed on a large inflatable banana. And there was a poster showing Edmund Zenon in his walking-on-water pose. This one had white lettering handwritten over the top of it: MEET ME IN THE SMELL OF A BOOK BOOKSHOP, TORQUAY, 4 PM FRIDAY. Emily took out her notebook and wrote down the time.
Outside the station there was an advertising billboard with news of upcoming shows at the local theater—mostly tribute acts to long-dead pop stars. They might have been ghosts secretly congregating in Torquay to be close at hand for Edmund Zenon’s paranormal challenge, while masquerading as tribute acts. But Emily thought it unlikely. Tacked onto the billboard there were two large, glossy posters advertising the challenge. Here was Edmund again in top hat and cape, walking on water. But these had been defaced. Someone had scrawled Go Home! on top of them. Emily wrote that in her notebook, too.
Emily stopped to read the sign put up by the tourist board just outside Torquay train station:
WELCOME TO THE ENGLISH RIVIERA, TORQUAY.
TWINNED WITH HAMELIN AND HELLEVOETSLUIS.
“Hell-vote-sluice sounds like a device to separate the souls from the bodies of dead people in a mortuary, and flush the unwanted bits away,” she said to Dr. Muriel.
“What an imagination you have! It’s a city in Belgium. I believe they say hell-vouts-laus. Much less alarming, don’t you think? More like a coleslaw than a disposal system for mortal remains. Come on!”
Dr. Muriel unhooked her silver-topped walking stick from her pull-along case and gestured toward the Hotel Majestic, only a few yards from the train station, looking out onto a gray sea under an overcast sky from on top of a hill.
“It gladdens my heart as soon as I step off the train and see it. Fresh air! Sea views! What do you think?�
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“I think we might have trouble getting past that lot.”
Up ahead, a small crowd had gathered outside the main entrance, which was at the back of the hotel, facing the train station and away from the sea. Emily looked to see whether there was another doorway round the side that they could use. But Dr. Muriel moved forward fearlessly, waving her cane as if she was scattering pigeons in a park.
Most of the people in the crowd were standing around, hands in pockets, looking cold. A feral-looking teenage girl in a hooded top was holding a placard with GO HOME! written on it. The girl slunk back as Dr. Muriel approached, pressing her sleeve under her nose as if she could smell something rotten. Most of the bottom half of her face was covered but Emily saw pale skin, dark brown eyes, dark brown hair. Next to the girl was a wiry woman in her forties with another placard. This one said SAVE YOUR SOUL and, underneath that, PLEDGE AND PLUNGE. The woman had short, light brown hair and she was wearing very little make-up. She was dressed in jeans, a thick knitted sweater and a black workman’s jacket. Her eyes were a muddy green; soft and speckled like a feather from a garden bird. There was a challenge in her expression. Emily went over to talk to her. The true start of her investigation!
“Hello. I’m Emily. Are you here to protest against Edmund Zenon?”
The woman rotated the placard a quarter of an inch. “I’m Hilary. This is Trina.” Trina didn’t make eye contact. “We’re here to save his soul, if we can. Come down to the beach later, if you’d like to learn more about it. About five o’clock?”
There was an excited murmur from the small crowd. A man called out, “Someone’s coming!”
Emily and Dr. Muriel turned and watched as a man in his mid-thirties in a shiny blue suit made his way toward the hotel entrance. He had thinning sandy hair and lightly plucked eyebrows. Three brown, long-haired miniature dachshunds on blue leads walked in front of him. The dogs were wearing blue coats that matched their owner’s suit.
“Is it him?” a woman called from the crowd. “Is it the magician?”
But the man in the blue suit wasn’t the man they were waiting for. The people in the crowd shifted about, raising their eyebrows at each other and stamping their feet to make the point that they’d put themselves to a lot of trouble by standing out here in the cold to wait for Edmund Zenon.
“Come on,” said Dr. Muriel to Emily. “We’d better go in. It’ll get crazy when Edmund arrives.”
“It’s crazy now,” said Emily.
“Gerald would insist on making the conference bigger this year. Bigger is not always better. But there’s no point saying that to a man.”
Two security guards stood together at the door, making a two-man wall of muscle to prevent the crowd from coming in. They stood aside to let Dr. Muriel and Emily pass after inspecting a printout of an email confirming their hotel booking for the weekend.
Senior receptionist Mandy Miller, wearing a badge with her name and job title on it, greeted Emily and Dr. Muriel with a pleasant smile as they checked in. Noticing Dr. Muriel’s cane, she nodded over to where two wheelchairs were folded up by the entrance, beneath a plaque proclaiming that the Hotel Majestic was a winner of the Wheely Good Hotel award, given to hotels in the Devon and Dorset areas after a vote among guests with mobility problems. “Will you be wanting a wheelchair during your stay, madam? We keep those here for use by guests.”
“Doctor.”
“You need a doctor?”
“My name’s Doctor Muriel Crowther. I shan’t be needing a wheelchair, thank you.”
The man in the blue suit with the dachshunds was now behind Emily, waiting his turn while Mandy brought up the details of Dr. Muriel’s room reservation on the computer.
Outside, there was a commotion. Emily could hear clapping, cheering and whistling.
“Don’t let anyone in unless they’ve got a reservation, Derek,” Mandy said to the bigger of the two security guards. He remained silent, his back toward Mandy, betraying neither gratitude nor resentment for this advice about how to do his job.
Then the gap between the two men bulged open and Edmund Zenon emerged, smiling and triumphant, like a participant in a pageant that evokes the birth of a hero, with the security guards playing the part of the birth canal. Edmund was tall and slim, wearing an elegant gray sweater and a good pair of jeans. He went straight up to the reception desk at the hotel, nodding pleasantly to Dr. Muriel and Emily as he edged in next to them. He smelled of fresh rain on cut grass. His teeth were perfect. He was amazing.
“Hello there…Mandy”—he discreetly checked her name badge—“I’m Edmund Zenon. Is my room ready?”
Mandy looked as though she was trying to memorize every moment of their brief exchange. She handed over the key to Edmund’s room. “Number thirty-six. Lovely view of the sea. The elevator’s over there to the right in the lobby.”
“Number thirty-six?” said Dr. Muriel, frowning.
“Do you need help with your bags?” Mandy asked Edmund.
“No thanks. My technical guy’s already checked in. He’s got most of the luggage.” He took the key, smiled, and stalked off toward the elevator.
“I wonder if I could have a word?” Emily said, taking a few steps after him. “It’s quite important.”
“Sure!” The doors to the elevator opened. Edmund stepped in. “Call me,” he said as the doors closed. The elevator ascended.
OK. So that hadn’t gone as well as it might have. Emily went back to Reception, where Mandy was handing over a key to Dr. Muriel.
“And for you we have a lovely room in the eaves at the top of the hotel.”
“Does it face the sea?”
“I’m afraid not, no.”
“I think number thirty-six is the room I usually stay in. Is there a balcony overlooking the sea? French windows?”
“Oh. I don’t know what happened! I was going to give that key to you. Maybe he hypnotized me?”
“Can’t you call his room and tell him there’s been a mistake?” Emily suggested.
“I can’t, no. Hotel policy, I’m sorry. I’m not allowed to change the room now that it’s been allocated to Mr. Zenon.” Mandy completed the check-in arrangements—Emily had also been allocated a lovely inward-facing room in the eaves—and handed over their keys.
“What did Edmund say?” Dr. Muriel asked as she walked with Emily to the elevator. “Did you talk to him about Peg and her prophecy?”
“He didn’t say anything, he just fobbed me off by telling me to call him. Obviously I don’t have his number. I’ll have to try again, next time I see him. I think I need to sit down with him and make a list of his enemies.”
“Well,” said Dr. Muriel to Emily, “if it’s any use to you, you can put my name on the list.”
“Muriel!”
“Oh, look out. It’s Miriam Starling.”
“The one who lost her shoe at the last conference and had to hop?” Emily saw an elegant woman in a sleek black dress, waving at them from her seat in the lobby next to two other chic-looking women. She was embarrassed to realize she’d assumed that all academics must wear shabby tweed and crushed corduroy.
Dr. Muriel put her right hand on her cane for balance and hopped on her left foot, like a participant in a Legs, Bums and Tums class. “Hop, Emily! Hop! Miriam will find it amusing.”
Emily hopped. She was someone who was happy to go along with other people’s suggestions, so long as she didn’t feel they were taking advantage. And anyway, who doesn’t want to do something that might make another person laugh?
Miriam and the women who were with her stood and hopped, too. They didn’t just laugh, they guffawed. It was infectious. Soon Emily was laughing, too.
“The women with her are the German professors,” said Dr. Muriel. “I won’t go and say hello. If you stop and talk to one group, you end up talking to everybody, and I have never seen the place so busy.”
Men and women were sitting, standing, stooping, crouching and leaning in every available space
in the hotel, between leather sofas, armchairs, reproduction antiques and a grand piano. There was the low, buzzy noise of dozens of indistinguishable conversations.
“I suppose that’s what Twitter would sound like if you could hear it,” said Emily.
“Oh! But it’s like the anticipatory chatter before a concert in a large auditorium—such a happy sound. Now you make me want to try it.”
“Twitter? Well, don’t tell Gerald. He’ll want you to broadcast your thoughts about the conference.”
“I don’t mind doing that at all. But I shall broadcast telepathically, for the benefit of the psychics who are joining us for the first time.” Dr. Muriel kept silent and stared solemnly at Emily, as if testing her method.
Emily put her fingertips lightly to her temples, playing along. “You’re thinking…we should dump our suitcases and then get some lunch.”
“Marvelous! Peg was right, you do have the gift. It just needs a little development. I’ll meet you in the restaurant in ten minutes. If you get there before me, I’ll have a double helping of hashtags with sweet chili sauce.” Dr. Muriel disappeared into the crowd. But Emily could still hear her laughing.
After she had checked into her room, Emily went back downstairs to look around. The blue-suited man had managed to find himself a space to sit with his dogs in an area between the lobby and the hotel’s Riviera Lounge. Emily squeezed past a flushed woman with badly cut gray-blonde hair to reach him. She bent to pet the dogs.
“Elvis, Shirley and Eddie,” their owner told her. “I’m a psychic. Bobby Blue Suit, they call me.”
“I’m Emily. Your dogs are very sweet. Are they…do they help you in your work?”
Bobby tapped the end of his nose, signaling the need for discretion. “Can’t say too much. Got to keep the tricks of the trade pretty close. You got a dog, Emily? No! Don’t tell me…” He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. Then he opened his eyes again. “I’m going to say yes.”
