Confessions from a Haunted House. Timothy LeaЧитать онлайн книгу.
to be set aside. It was all rather hurtful really.
‘I hope it all works out for the best for the both of you,’ said Harper winsomely. ‘Say Sid, would it be awful inconvenient if we passed through the city of London on the way to the house? I’m supposed to see a solicitor very urgently. That’s really why I’m here.’
I could see Sid’s mug settling in to an unhelpful expression so I stepped in quickly. ‘Of course not, Harper. No trouble at all. Are these all your bags?’
I ignored Sid’s nasty frown and followed her pointing arm.
‘Just that one on the top. I’m afraid it’s a little difficult to reach.’
‘The big one?’ I asked.
‘That’s right.’ It was about the size of a cabin trunk yet having the shape of a folded mattress secured by straps. It was balanced on top of a lot of other stuff as if the baggage men had been playing sand castles. Eager to prove that the spirit of English chivalry was not dead I sprang onto the conveyor belt. ‘OK I’ll get it.’
I suppose, in a way, I was right. I did get it. Right in the mush. Hardly had I started grappling with the pile of bags than some thoughtless sod tried to drag his golf clubs out from underneath me and brought the whole lot down. For a few seconds I performed a grape-treading motion whilst staggering backwards under the weight of Harper’s enormous case. Then I collapsed and was swept down the opening where the conveyor belt re-loops. I caught a glimpse of Sid turning round to look for me and then he was snatched from view by the rubber flaps. It was a horrible experience. I can think of a million better ways of spending Christmas. Hardly had I wriggled clear of the golf clubs than another ton of luggage showered down on me from out of the darkness. Bits and pieces of things were sticking into me from all angles. I felt like a new temp at the office Christmas party. Not only that, but as if I had been taken back to my childhood. It was like being on the magic train at Arding and Hobbs which took you to Father Christmas’s grotto. Round the bend I went and there at the end of the tunnel I could see light. Still struggling, I copped a twelve-inch strip of rubber in the cakehole and emerged to find not Father Christmas but Sid. The expression on his face made previous attempts at depicting loathing seem almost half-hearted. ‘You—!’ he began.
He did not have time to finish because an elderly gent in a checked suit elbowed him aside and attempted to retrieve his golf clubs. Normally he would have had my blessing but on this occasion most of the clubs were wedged up my trouser leg – head first. I found out the latter bit when Colonel Blimp gave a vicious wrench which achieved a hole in one – a hole in one of my trouser legs.
‘Where are my balls!?’ he kept shouting. I felt like asking the same question but was prevented by the fact that I was still screaming in agony. The conveyor belt stopped and Sid hauled me off.
As usual he was a tower of support. ‘You stupid twit!’ he hissed, blushing scarlet. ‘Why do you always have to make an exhibition of yourself? I can’t stand the humiliation.’
I stood up and four golf balls rolled out of my trouser legs – two from each side. Colonel Blimp fell on them greedily.
Sid was so worked up that he actually carried one of the bags until we were through customs. Then it was back to me and a tight-lipped silence ensued as we walked back across the ramp to the car park. They walked, I staggered. It was strange but, looking back, I think that that is when I first had the sensation of foreboding. It was not just that Sid’s face was black as the clouds looming overhead but something more. Something indefinable. The car park was cold and gloomy and a sneaky wind was chasing an old fag packet amongst the concrete pillars. There was nobody to be seen and yet I had the feeling that we were being watched. We came to an intersection and I turned my head to look up one of the aisles of parked cars. Just for a second, a figure was framed in the square of light at the end of the row. Then it disappeared. Maybe I am imagining all this because of what happened later but I don’t think so.
After three wrong turnings we found the car and I saw Sid looking towards Harper expectantly. He obviously reckoned that she was going to be impressed with his new toy. ‘Is this your automobile, Sid?’ she asked. ‘Gee. I never knew you were in the antique business.’ Sid’s face dropped a couple of miles.
‘This is a British automobile, Harper,’ he said sternly, really spelling it out. ‘Not one of your blooming great American mouth organs on wheels. We call them cars, as well.’
Harper seemed quite unconcerned. ‘I suppose it is kinda cute,’ she said, after reflection. ‘Back in the States we have something about twice the size of this we call a compact.’
The boot was locked so I put the bags down and went to Sid for the key. He was still trying to sell Harper on the car. ‘This model was the pride of the range, you know. There were people crying outside the factory when they brought in the new version.’
‘Yes,’ I said smartly. ‘All the people who had bought the old one.’ Harper laughed agreeably at my little sally but I could see that it had not gone down too well with Sid. ‘Put the bags in the boot!’ he snapped.
‘The boot?’ said Harper, looking at my feet.
‘He means the trunk,’ I explained.
‘I mean the boot,’ snarled Sid. ‘Harper is in England now. Home of the English language. Elephants have trunks, cars have boots!’ Harper and I exchanged a glance and I went back to the baggage. It was strange but I could have sworn that I had left the vanity case on top of the large bag. Now it was on the ground. I did not think much about it at the time. Later, I did.
The boot was not big enough for all the baggage so I took the vanity case in the back with me. Harper was in the front with Sid. We handed over a few rupees to Sid’s mate and were soon heading for Harper’s first taste of British driving conditions: the traffic jam into London that starts shortly after you leave the airport. Harper looked at Sid’s nut and I realized with a sinking heart that she was about to ask the inevitable question. ‘What did you do to your head, Sid?’
‘I didn’t do anything to it. He did.’ He nodded at me over his shoulder and I smiled winsomely. This was obviously the moment for a change of subject.
‘What does the solicitor want to see you about, Harper?’ I asked.
Her big blue eyes sparkled with excitement. ‘I don’t really know anything yet. It’s something to do with the English branch of the family. I’ve never met any of them. The Deneuves who live near Dartmoor. Do you know them?’
‘I know Dartmoor,’ I said. It might have been my imagination but I thought I saw Sid’s shoulders flinch. Rumour had it that a not too distant relation in the Noggett family did a stretch on the moor for robbing a bank. One of the last brushes with money that the family ever had. ‘Harper, there’s one thing I don’t understand,’ I continued. ‘Are you saying that your name is Deneuve? I thought Aunty Eileen had married somebody called Eikelberger.’
‘It’s kinda complicated,’ replied Harper, giving me the undivided attention of her melting mince pies. ‘Before Eileen married Dwight Eikelberger she was married to my father. I was his child by a previous marriage. Mom died when I was very young. When poor pop died I was the only Deneuve left.’
‘So we’re not really related at all,’ I mused, relishing the good news. ‘There’d be nothing to prevent us getting married.’
Sid groaned. ‘Only the fact that you’ve only known each other for ten minutes.’ He shoved an irritable hand into the glove compartment and fed himself a fag. A fresh feeling of unease held me in its grip. Now Sid was going to find out about the lighter. I fiddled for my own lighter – but too late. Sid pressed his fingers against the spot where he expected to find the lighter and then into the hole. As he looked down, puzzled, there was a little flash and he tore his hand away with a piercing scream. It quite made me jump, it did. Not as high as Sid though. His bandaged nut made a dent in the roof of the car. Poor old sod. With anyone else you would have felt sorry for him. After that the journey continued with a lot more silence and Harper trying to find a landmark