Faintley Speaking

Chapter Two

MARK

‘The way of an eagle in the air; the way of a serpent upon a rock; the way of a ship in the midst of the sea.’

Proverbs XXX. 19

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Mark was angry with his parents. At thirteen he considered himself old enough to tour France on his bicycle with his friend Ellison. That his parents… his mother in particular… should condemn him instead to a fortnight at the seaside village of Cromlech seemed the height of unreasoning injustice. That Ellison’s parents had been equally obstructive served only as a mild palliative, and, anyway, Ellison was not staying in Cromlech, so that Cromlech was quite intolerable.

Mark brooded, kicking a stone in front of him down the rough path which led from the panoramic cliff-top to the beach. Two further insults smouldered in his breast. Not only was a teacher from his school staying at his hotel, but, through the treachery of Mark’s father, Mark had been compelled to accept an invitation from this loathsome interloper to visit the cathedral town of Torbury, a complete waste of a whole fine day. What was worst of all, the wretched teacher was a woman!

‘Hope her beastly breakfast chokes her!’ thought Mark, referring to his teacher. ‘Silly clot!’ He swung his towel moodily at a clump of sea-pinks. ‘My last bathe for twenty-four hours, I expect! Hope I get cramp and drown! That’ll show them!’

His thoughts continued along an already well-worn track. If only it had been a decent master… Mr Taylor, perhaps, or Mr Roberts… he would not have minded so much; but of course it would have to be old Semi-Conscious! Faintley! What a name! Fancy anybody with a name like that not changing it! Of all the cissy-sounding names ever inherited by human beings, Faintley seemed to Mark, during these embittered hours, the most ridiculous and undesirable.

The path wound right and left in its serpentine progress down the cliff. Sometimes it broke into a cascade of broad, uneven steps, and occasionally, at a bend, there was a seat and a view of the coast. Mark, intent on his wrongs, and also on his swim, ignored these amenities and flopped his rubber-shod feet uncompromisingly downhill.

Trees and shrubs grew thickly; ferns appeared in modest, dim, damp places; over the bay the gulls swooped, hovered and cried. There was a very faint mist on the sea. In spite of himself, Mark began to feel better. He glanced at his wrist-watch, a present for a respectable end-of-the-year report (although even that old Semi-Conscious had tried to muck up with her usual bit of sarcasm and a C where Mark would have awarded himself a B minus). He noted that the time was half-past six. Breakfast at the hotel was not until nine. He would swim for about twenty minutes… it was too cold to stay in long in the early morning… and then when he was dressed he would walk along the sands to the far arm of the bay. He had spotted a path which led over the further headland. It might be a private path. He jolly well hoped it was… a spot of trespassing would just about fit his mood.

But his mood was altering rapidly. It occurred to him that he and Ellison had brought to perfection… or near it; you could not pull it off with Snotty Joe, the senior assistant… the art of losing the teachers-in-charge on school outings. It would be rather a rag to lose Faintley, and have a day out by himself. He had plenty of money. He had been saving it secretly for weeks in the hope of making that cherished trip to France.

He decided he would show his father and Miss Faintley that you could take a horse to Torbury but you could not get it into the Cathedral if it did not want to go!

Almost happy at last, Mark took the last flight of steps with a leap and a stumble, and began to plough through dry sand. He pulled off his sweater and shorts, remembered to unstrap his wrist-watch, kicked off his shoes. The fresh air played round his bare shoulders. Gosh… it was cold! He had better get in quick! The tide was making, so that was all right, thank goodness. It was not a good thing in those waters to swim on an outgoing tide. Mark summoned his resolution… his thin body was sensitive to cold… took a breath and dashed boldly forward and into the icy, green sea.

He had been swimming for about twenty minutes and was lazily floating on his back when an addition to his first plan occurred to him. Suppose he could contrive, somehow or other, to make old Semi-Conscious look a fool! He realized that the close co-operation of one’s form-mates was usually necessary to ensure the success of such an enterprise, nevertheless he toyed with the idea and had arrived at the unchivalrous stage of visualizing Miss Faintley, in the hands of two large vergers, being frog-marched in ignominy from the Cathedral when, turning over with the intention of taking a final quick swim before making for the shore, he became aware that his privacy had been invaded by a young woman. Mark was in no mood for this. He despised the whole sex, and had no intention of sharing the sea with an Amazonian girl, particularly with one who obviously could give him forty yards in a hundred and still beat him.

He dog-paddled into shallow water and waded out, but the young woman swam towards him and called out cheerfully:

‘Hullo! How did you find it?’

‘Cold,’said Mark.

‘Oh, I don’t know. It doesn’t seem bad to me.’ She turned from him, ducked into a wave and went out to sea like a torpedo. Mark watched in envious admiration; then, afraid that she might turn, and, seeing him watching, imagine that he admired her prowess, he picked up his towel and began to rub his hair. He was dry and dressed in a very few minutes, but by the time he had tramped along the sand to the opposite side of the bay (it was much farther off than he had supposed) the tide was so high that it was impossible to get round the bend and climb up the headland path.

He turned and walked back along the beach. The girl was still in the sea. Mark, in spite of a strong natural aversion to females, had the instincts of a sportsman. He stood at the edge and waved. The girl caught sight of him and came swimming in.

‘I say,’ shouted Mark, ‘it isn’t safe to stay in much longer. The tide’s nearly turning, I think.’

‘Thanks for telling me. Where are you staying?’

‘The Whitesand.’

‘Good. So are we.’

‘I haven’t seen you there.’

‘Came late last night in my cabin cruiser and turned up at the Whitesand at two a.m. Had to knock them up. They weren’t pleased. Well, see you later on, I expect.’

She made for the shore. Mark shuffled away through loose sand, sat down on the first set of steps, shook surplus sand out of his shoes and tramped stolidly skywards towards breakfast. Her cabin cruiser! It only needed that! And he had to go to Torbury Cathedral with the Faintley!

The beginning of the excursion with Miss Faintley was fully as futile and exasperating as Mark had known it would be. To begin with, although the bus ride took fully an hour and three-quarters, Miss Faintley refused to travel on top.

‘No, Street,’ she said, ‘I dislike the smell of stale tobacco smoke.’ And, to Mark’s intense annoyance, she even gave him a slight but unmistakable push to ensure that he really did go inside the bus.

‘All right. You wait,’ thought Mark. He insisted upon taking the gangway seat and upon paying Miss Faintley’s fare as well as his own. He was so ruffled that he contemplated paying full fare for himself by way of asserting his independence, but reconsidered this rash plan and paid a half-fare as usual. During the journey Miss Faintley chatted unceasingly. Mark gave her half his attention. The other half was busy with plans of escaping as soon as he possibly could. It ought to be fairly easy. Torbury was a big place. There would be bookshops on the way to the Cathedral. The Faintley would be certain to want to look at books. She always did, even on school outings; yes, even on the one to the Science Museum, Mark reminded himself.

‘Excuse me, but I want to buy a film for my camera,’ he said, when at last they got off the bus and were passing a chemist’s shop.

‘Very well, Street. I’ll be looking in the window next door. There seem to be some interesting books.’ Miss Faintley seemed pleased, Mark thought.

There were several people in the chemist’s shop. Mark waited to be served, and, whilst he was waiting, he saw that his way of escape was assured. The shop had a second entrance from a street at the back. He obtained his film and left by this further door. Out in the street, he turned and hurried back towards the bus station. A bus was just moving off. He leapt on board, climbed to the top and discovered that the bus was turning into the very street in which he had abandoned his teacher. He looked out of the window, but there was no sign of Miss Faintley.

‘Gone in to browse and forgotten all about me, the silly ass,’ thought Mark.

‘Where do you want, sonny?’ inquired the conductor. Mark replied (with a vague recollection of the map which Miss Faintley had insisted upon showing him):

‘The river. Do you go there?’

The conductor said, ‘Twopenny half,’ and clipped him a ticket. Mark got off at the bridge, stood himself a stodge at a café… fish and chips, apple pie and ice cream… and then went for a two-shilling steamer trip. He spent a thoroughly satisfactory day, had tea at the same café upon his return, and had prepared a convincing, innocent-sounding story for his parents by the time he got back to the hotel. There was only one snag. He had no idea of what Miss Faintley’s story would be. His parents, however, were out when he arrived, so he bathed and changed and went down to the lounge, hoping to find Miss Faintley and try out on her the rather reproachful remarks he had concocted.

‘I’d no idea where you’d got to,’ he would say, ‘so after I’d looked for you… not knowing Torbury and it being such a whacking big place… where did you get to, Miss Faintley? I mean, I know I must have kept you waiting a jolly long time while I bought my film, but the shop was simply packed with people, and once I’d gone in I didn’t much like to walk out again without buying anything… they might think I’d shop-lifted something…’

By this time Miss Faintley would have interrupted to give her version, Mark hoped, and the rest of the conversation would follow accordingly. Unfortunately, Miss Faintley was not in the lounge, and the story, as told to Mark’s parents at dinner, did not seem nearly as convincing as Mark had hoped. However, Mark’s father (with who knows what personal recollections of boyhood!) stemmed the tide of his wife’s remonstrances.

‘It’s all right, Margaret. Nothing’s happened. The only thing is… where has Miss Faintley got to? She certainly isn’t in here, and dinner goes off at nine.’

Miss Faintley was not at breakfast, either. Mark did not go for an early swim; it was raining. He met the girl who had spoken to him the morning before, and found that she was accompanied by a quietly-discomforting old woman as yellow as the gamboge in Mark’s paint-box and as extravagantly dressed as a macaw. The younger woman came up to him after breakfast.

‘The rain’s stopped. I’m going in. Coming?’ Mark thought he might as well. He said as much, and went upstairs to get his things. When he came back into the hotel vestibule the manager was there, talking to his father. Both turned to Mark. ‘What about this Miss Faintley who took you out yesterday? You know she hasn’t come back to the hotel,’ the manager said. Mark said he was sorry. He did know, but had no helpful observations to offer.

‘I suppose you mean she hasn’t paid,’ he said. ‘She’s a teacher at our school, so I suppose she’ll pay all right, in the end, you know.’

‘I hope so, but that isn’t what’s worrying us, sonny. I’ve rung the hospital and the police station at Torbury. Neither knows anything about her.’

‘Any reason to suppose there’s any funny business?’ asked Mark’s father.

‘No, but one has to inquire when guests don’t come back at night. Have you known the lady long, Mr Street, may I ask?’

‘I forgot when she first came,’ Mark replied at a glance from his father. ‘Nobody at school likes her much,’ he added, ‘but you don’t seem to think of her doing anything queer. Of course, she might have got drowned,’ he added helpfully. At this moment his acquaintance of the previous morning, her handsome frame draped in slacks and a Sloppy Joe, came to the foot of the stairs. She carried a waterproof bag. Thankfully Mark gathered up his own belongings and followed the girl to the swing-door. In less than ten minutes they were both in the water.

‘What’s the trouble?’ the girl asked, as both of them surfaced. ‘The manager looked a bit jaundiced, I thought… or is that my imagination?’

Mark explained, quite truthfully, exactly what had happened on the previous day.

‘Of course, if I’d known, I wouldn’t have left her,’ Mark concluded.

‘Why not? You couldn’t have known she would drop out like that. Where do you suppose she’s got to?’

‘I don’t know. I keep wondering. She’s an awful ass, but… well, I mean, it isn’t the asses who disappear usually, is it? It’s people who are making a getaway. I’m sure Miss Faintley isn’t one of those. She wouldn’t have pluck enough, for one thing. I say, what’s your name?’

‘Laura Menzies. I know yours. I saw it in the visitors’ book when we arrived. You’re Mark Street, aren’t you? I’ll call you Mark and you’d better call me Laura.’

‘All right,’ agreed Mark. ‘Race you to the diving-raft!’

He gave himself a generous lead by setting off as the words left his mouth, but Laura Menzies beat him easily and had hoisted herself on to the raft by the time he had threshed his way to it and was holding on to the side.

‘Not bad,’ she said casually. ‘I expect you do most of your swimming in a public bath, don’t you?’

Mark admitted that he did, and clambered out to sit beside her.

‘I say,’ he said, ‘old Faintley, you know. What do you honestly think? I mean, if she’d been run over she’d have been taken to hospital, and what was funniest… only I haven’t told anybody yet… you know that bookshop she went to when I left her to buy my film? Well, she wasn’t there any more. I mean, she wasn’t inside, either, because I could see in from the top of the bus. At the time I thought what a bit of luck, but now I’m beginning to wonder whether she might have thought it wasn’t a bad idea to push off by herself after all.’

‘There’s something in that.’

‘I think so, too. After all, why did she want to take me out in the first place? It wasn’t as though I’d got nothing else to do. You don’t suppose…’ he hitched himself round to look at her instead of continuing to watch his own feet gently scuffling in the sea… ‘you don’t suppose she was using me for some kind of cover? I’ve read of things like that. Do you think she could have got mixed up with some sort of gang, and took me with her to put them off the scent?’

‘You said she wasn’t the type,’ Laura pointed out. ‘Look here, I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll push over to Torbury myself after lunch and have a snoop round.’

‘The police will have done that already, I expect.’

‘Not until they’ve had a talk with you. You’re the only direct source of information.’

‘Oh, heck!’ said Mark, dismayed. Like many boys of his age, he was afraid of policemen. He always imagined they might pounce on him for something done in school in which he had had no hand, and that the usual code would oblige him to take the rap and tell no tales. ‘I can’t tell them a single thing except what I’ve told you and my father and the manager, and none of it helps at all. I don’t see,’ he added, voicing his chief grievance, ‘why it had to be me this happened to. We’ve always lost the teachers on school outings, and nothing has ever happened to any of them before, or to any of us, either!’

‘I know,’ said Laura sympathetically. ‘But life’s like that. You do a thing three hundred and ninety-nine times, and get away with it, and then, the four-hundredth time, you’re in the mud up to the neck. It was always like that at school with me, and there never seemed any real reason. Come on. Let’s get back. I want my elevenses. Besides, I can see a fair-weather crowd getting in, and I do hate sharing a raft with dozens of belly-flopping divers.’

The police interview, which was conducted by a quiet man in plain clothes, was not in the least distressing. Mark explained how he had been invited out by Miss Faintley and that he and his father had agreed (after some resistance on Mark’s part) that the invitation must be accepted. Asked whether he had been surprised when he received the invitation, Mark replied that he had, and he had not, and clarified this by adding:

‘I shouldn’t have thought a lady teacher would want to take boys out in the hols., although some decent masters take you to France and Switzerland and Iceland and all that, but I wasn’t much good at Miss Faintley’s subject and fooled about a bit in form, so I should think she’d rather go out by herself when she had the chance. All the same, she was sort of educational – always improving our minds and being cultural and a lot of rot – so perhaps, as we were fairly near Torbury, and it’s got a cathedral and some old city walls and a museum, she might have thought it a good thing to take me, although really I should have thought she’d rather have done some kind of a ramble and picked things for botany. That’s supposed to be her subject.’

‘In other words, you don’t really know why you were invited out, and you didn’t want to go.’

‘Fair enough,’ muttered Mark, shuffling a little and giving his father a half-glance.

‘It’s all right, son. I’m as sick as you are that I made you go,’ said Mr Street. ‘Will that be all, Inspector?’

‘I’d just like a detailed description from Mark of how Miss Faintley was dressed, sir. He may have noticed some detail which I didn’t get from the hotel porter who saw them go out.’

‘Grey skirt, light-green blouse, dark-green cardigan, green-blue tweed jacket, no hat, dark-brown suede shoes, thick sort of stockings, gold wrist-watch on a thick gold bracelet thing… oh, and she’d put a ski-ing club badge in her lapel, two crossed skis and a circle of laurel leaves, but I don’t think she was really entitled to wear it.’

‘Why not?’ asked the inspector. ‘You’ve given me a first-rate description, and this bit about the badge and the wrist-watch may be extremely helpful. But why don’t you think she was entitled to this ski-ing badge?’

‘Well, Jenkins, who’s rather gifted at getting the teachers to talk about their holidays when we’re all getting browned-off in form, once asked Miss Faintley if she’d ever been in Switzerland, and Miss Faintley said she had never been nearer Switzerland than England.’

‘She might have been in Norway,’ the inspector pointed out. ‘Now, one last question: has Miss Faintley any distinguishing mark? You see, she might lose her watch or this badge…’

‘Or even her wig!’ said Mark, by now at ease and beginning to giggle.

‘… but a scar or a mole or a birthmark isn’t so easy to lose,’ the inspector gravely concluded. Mark sobered down.

‘She hadn’t got a scar, exactly,’ he observed, ‘but she had a little bald patch at the left side of her head about an inch and a half square. It was rather noticeable. She told us once that it was done in an air-raid when she was on an ack-ack site in the blitz. It got burnt, and the hair would never grow there again. So we didn’t rot her about it, although Smalley told us afterwards that he betted Miss Faintley got it trying to rush into an air-raid shelter quicker than anyone else, and bumped her head.’

‘What little toads boys are,’ said the inspector, indulgently. ‘Well, thank you, son. No doubt Miss Faintley will turn up like a shining penny before the morning. We’re not really worried about her.’ He winked at Mr Street. ‘And if she had been a gentleman we shouldn’t worry at all.’

Mark did not see why they should worry about ladies. There was to him, at his age, one definitely redundant sex.

‘I’m sorry we lost each other,’ he blurted out, ‘but honestly, she wasn’t in the bookshop where she’d said she’d be.’

‘All right, sonny. We’ve got her home address. That’s in the hotel register. So we can soon get to work on her relations to find out whether she went back home or not.’

‘That is if anybody’s there,’ said Mark’s father. ‘So many of these single middle-aged women seem to live alone. But possibly she was in digs.’

‘We’ll soon know,’ said the inspector. ‘Meanwhile, don’t you worry, sir. It wasn’t the lad’s fault, and I expect she’ll turn up all right, although it was only correct of the manager here to let us know.’