Megan muttered something and went past him into the house. Symmington sighed.

“A grown-up girl is a great responsibility with no mother to look after her. She’s too old for school, I suppose.”

He looked towards me rather suspiciously.

“I suppose you took her for a drive?”

I thought it best to leave it like that.

Chapter Eleven

Eleven

I

On the following day I went mad. Looking back on it, that is really the only explanation I can find.

I was due for my monthly visit to Marcus Kent… I went up by train. To my intense surprise Joanna elected to stay behind. As a rule she was eager to come and we usually stayed up for a couple of days.

This time, however, I proposed to return the same day by the evening train, but even so I was astonished at Joanna. She merely said enigmatically that she’d got plenty to do, and why spend hours in a nasty stuffy train when it was a lovely day in the country?

That, of course, was undeniable, but sounded very unlike Joanna.

She said she didn’t want the car, so I was to drive it to the station and leave it parked there against my return.

The station of Lymstock is situated, for some obscure reason known to railway companies only, quite half a mile from Lymstock itself. Halfway along the road I overtook Megan shuffling along in an aimless manner. I pulled up.

“Hallo, what are you doing?”

“Just out for a walk.”

“But not what is called a good brisk walk, I gather. You were crawling along like a dispirited crab.”

“Well, I wasn’t going anywhere particular.”

“Then you’d better come and see me off at the station.” I opened the door of the car and Megan jumped in.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“London. To see my doctor.”

“Your back’s not worse, is it?”

“No, it’s practically all right again. I’m expecting him to be very pleased about it.”

Megan nodded.

We drew up at the station. I parked the car and went in and bought my ticket at the booking office. There were very few people on the platform and nobody I knew.

“You wouldn’t like to lend me a penny, would you?” said Megan. “Then I’d get a bit of chocolate out of the slot machine.”

“Here you are, baby,” I said, handing her the coin in question. “Sure you wouldn’t like some clear gums or some throat pastilles as well?”

“I like chocolate best,” said Megan without suspecting sarcasm.

She went off to the chocolate machine, and I looked after her with a feeling of mounting irritation.

She was wearing trodden over shoes, and coarse unattractive stockings and a particularly shapeless jumper and skirt. I don’t know why all this should have infuriated me, but it did.

I said angrily as she came back:

“Why do you wear those disgusting stockings?”