Ritual in the Dark Read Online Free PDF Page B

reasons.
    Sorme suppressed the comments that rose to his lips. Nunne was not the person to make them to. Nunne startled him suddenly by saying:
    Anyway, I doubt whether she’d be any good in bed.
    Sorme glanced at him. The cigarette was hanging loosely from the side of his mouth. He said:
    No, I dare say you’re right.
    It began to rain again. He sat there listening to the steady click of the windscreen wipers, then said suddenly:
    By the way, who’s that delicious blonde girl in the photograph?
    Which photograph?
    I walked into a bedroom while I was looking for the lavatory. The first on the right. There was a photo of a lovely little blonde on the table.
    Oh, that’d be Caroline. Her niece. I haven’t met her. Why?
    All delicious little blondes interest me.
    You are a cow, aren’t you? Always on the lookout for sex.
    Sorme laughed. They were passing Hendon aerodrome. To change the subject, he said:
    By the way, did you say you fly a plane?
    Yes. Got one down at a place near Leatherhead. You must come over for a weekend. I’ll take you for a trip.
    Your own?
    My father’s actually. He never uses it.
    Turn left here, please. It’s by that next lamp-post.
    The car stopped with a jerk; this time Sorme had braced himself for it. He said:
    Well, I owe you quite a lot for this evening.
    No you don’t. I owe you a lot. I’d have been bored stiff on my own. Have you got any booze in your room?
    I’m afraid not. At least, only some beer.
    Excellent. Let’s drink that. Or are you too tired?
    Not at all, Sorme said. Come on up.
    As they opened the front gate, Sorme said quietly:
    Don’t make a noise until we get into my room.
    Are they asleep already?
    No, probably watching the TV.
    They tiptoed up the stairs, Nunne walking in front. A door below opened; a woman’s voice called:
    Is that you, Mr Sorme?
    Yes.
    Oh.
    The door closed again.
    Sorme switched on the light and closed the door.
    You don’t know how lucky you are to have no landlady. I detest landladies.
    He lit the gas fire and turned it on full. The room was small and had too much furniture in it. Two cheap suitcases, bound with string, stood near the door. The table was completely occupied by the remains of a meal and an empty drawer. A large cardboard soap-carton, half full of books, stood in the washbasin in the corner. Sorme took off his overcoat and hung it in the wardrobe. Nunne was seated on the bed; he lit a cigarette:
    I had an awfully nice landlady in Hamburg.
    Sorme took the empty drawer and fitted it back into its place in the sideboard.
    I’ve had too many landladies. I’ve had so many that now even pleasant landladies make my flesh crawl. That’s the main advantage of this new place—the landlady doesn’t live on the premises. Even the decentest landladies end by persecuting me.
    Don’t be neurotic, Gerard.
    You’d be neurotic if you’d had as many as I have. Stupid, petty-minded old cats who leave little notes in your room. They don’t like visitors after ten o’clock. They don’t like you to have women in your room. You never know when some triviality’s going to upset them and make them give you notice. If I were a dictator I’d open concentrations camps for landladies. Mean, trivial, materialistic old sods. They poison our civilisation.
    He moved the carton of books on to the floor, and let the hot tap run, then washed two glasses, and dried them with the hand towel.
    Poor Gerard. You ought to find yourself a flat.
    Sorme took a quart bottle of ale from the bottom of the wardrobe, and poured into the two glasses. He handed one to Nunne, saying: Cheers.
    Nunne took a sip, and set it down on the table. He said:
    I’m sorry I’m going away just as we’re getting acquainted.
    Sorme sat in a wooden chair near the fire; he said sententiously: There’ll be plenty of time.
    Without a doubt. Give me your new address, will you? and I’ll give you mine.
    They exchanged address books; both wrote silently for a moment. The warmth made