Mortal Remains Read Online Free PDF Page A

Over-excitement, I expect. But in this heat I collapse every afternoon.’
    ‘You’ve been to Crete before?’
    ‘No, never. But to several islands and various parts of the mainland. I know Athens well.’
    ‘That’s where you learned Greek?’
    ‘No. I made a serious effort at home, since one feels so inadequate being unable to communicate,’ she said. ‘But it’s a difficult language. So many syllables. You don’t speak it?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘You had a dreadful experience this morning, I understand. The waiter who brought my breakfast up told me. They’ve been ordered not to discuss it, because of upsetting the visitors, but when I spoke to him in Greek, out it all came. He’d seen the body in some inner fastness of the hotel. It must have been a shock – he was only about fourteen. “The new English Kirios found him,” he said. That could only be you.’ She did not tell Patrick that she, too, had woken early and had seen him walk down to the beach. ‘Was it someone from the hotel?’
    ‘No. They don’t know where he was staying,’ Patrick said. ‘But he was a colleague of mine. A friend.’
    ‘Oh no! How awful! What a terrible thing!’
    Patrick recognised that he was suffering badly from a lack of human contact; he needed to talk.
    ‘Are you in a hurry, or shall we go past the hotel and see what lies round the headland?’ he asked her.
    ‘Let’s do that,’ she agreed, at once.
     
    The road wound on past their hotel parallel to the shore; on either side pines and olive trees sprouted from the dry soil, and there were occasional fields of carob bushes now being harvested. A woman dressed in black worked in one, her donkey standing beneath a tree. Some chickens scratched nearby. Soon they reached a stretch where there was room to park off the road in the shade of an olive. Far in the distance, across the gulf, high arid mountains, grey and tipped with wisps of cloud, met the wide sky. They got out of the car and stood under the tree, looking at the view.
    ‘Africa’s over there. Imagine it,’ said Patrick. ‘One forgets how close it is.’
    The sea beyond them was whipped up now into little waves, and a strong, very warm breeze blew around them.
    ‘Look at the sea. This is the hot wind from the desert,’ said Patrick’s companion.
    ‘The sirocco.’
    ‘Yes. Tell me about your poor friend.’
    ‘Yes, well, let me introduce myself first. My name’s Grant, Patrick Grant. I’m a university lecturer.’
    ‘And mine’s Ursula Norris. I’m an art historian,’ said the woman. She took off her dark glasses and regarded him steadily. Evidently she approved of what she saw, for she smiled warmly. Patrick smiled back. Then he told Miss Norris about Felix, but he did not mention the cruise.
    ‘I suppose he slipped while walking on the cliff. It looks a pleasant stroll along the promontory, but if one lost one’s footing—? There’s very little tide, to wash him in from further off,’ she said.
    Suddenly, Patrick realised what had bothered him earlier about this idea. Into his mind sprang the image of Felix, green-faced, hastily leaving the roof of St. Mark’s where they were both, as members of the same committee, inspecting the lead covering.
    ‘I can’t believe it happened like that,’ he said. ‘Felix suffered from vertigo. He’d never walk willingly near the edge of a cliff.’
    ‘Some boat, then? A dinghy? He might have hired one.’
    ‘It must have been something of the sort, I suppose.’ But if a tourist in a small boat didn’t come back, someone would look for him, surely? And Manolakis said no one was missing. ‘But if so, what on earth was he up to, out in a small boat alone wearing flannels and a jacket, and his Vincent’s tie?’ said Patrick.
    ‘Was he dressed like that?’
    ‘Yes.’
    Ursula was silent.
    ‘Was he married?’ she asked, at last.
    ‘Yes, but his wife never went away with him. She’s quite a tough nut,’ said Patrick.
    ‘She’s in for a