II
Vera Claythorne, in a third-class carriage with five other travellers in it,
leaned her head back and shut her eyes. How hot it was travelling by train
today! It would be nice to get to the sea! Really a great piece of luck getting
this job. When you wanted a holiday post it nearly always meant looking
after a
swarm1 of children—secretarial holiday posts were much more dif-
ficult to get. Even the agency hadn’t held out much hope.
And then the letter had come.
‘I have received your name from the Skilled Women’s
Agency together with their recommendation. I understand
they know you personally. I shall be glad to pay you the
salary you ask and shall expect you to take up your duties
on August 8th. The train is the 12.40 from Paddington and
you will be met at Oakbridge station. I enclose five £1 notes
for expenses.
Yours truly,
Una Nancy Owen.’
And at the top was the stamped address, Soldier Island, Sticklehaven,
Devon…
Soldier Island! Why, there had been nothing else in the papers lately! All
sorts of hints and interesting
rumours2. Though probably they were mostly
untrue. But the house had certainly been built by a millionaire and was
said to be absolutely the last word in luxury.
Vera Claythorne, tired by a recent
strenuous3 term at school, thought to
herself, ‘Being a games mistress in a third- class school isn’t much of a
catch…If only I could get a job at some decent school.’
And then, with a cold feeling round her heart, she thought: ‘But I’m
lucky to have even this. After all, people don’t like a Coroner’s Inquest,
even if the Coroner did
acquit4 me of all blame!’
He had even complimented her on her presence of mind and courage,
she remembered. For an inquest it couldn’t have gone better. And Mrs
Hamilton had been kindness itself to her—only Hugo—but she wouldn’t
think of Hugo!
Suddenly, in spite of the heat in the carriage she shivered and wished
she wasn’t going to the sea. A picture rose clearly before her mind. Cyril’s
head, bobbing up and down, swimming to the rock…Up and down—up and
down…And herself, swimming in easy practised strokes after him—cleav-
ing her way through the water but knowing, only too surely, that she
wouldn’t be in time…
The sea—its deep warm blue—mornings spent lying out on the sands—
Hugo—Hugo who had said he loved her…
She must not think of Hugo…
She opened her eyes and frowned across at the man opposite her. A tall
man with a brown face, light eyes set rather close together and an arrog-
ant, almost cruel mouth.
She thought to herself:
I bet he’s been to some interesting parts of the world and seen some in-
teresting things…
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