I know we dined on the train, but railway meals are seldom memorable. Lathom grumbled and left his portion half-eaten, and I said something about his acquiring a taste for hedgehog-broth and stewed toadstools — some silly remark which he took as a deadly insult.
At Newton Abbot we changed into the local, and dawdled through Teigngrace, Heathfield and Brimley Halt, taking over half an hour about it, till we were turned out, twenty minutes late, on the platform at Bovey Tracey. It was a quarter-past ten and dark, but the smell of the earth came up pleasantly, with a welcome suggestion of rain in the air. I stood on the platform, clutching an attaché case in one hand and the bag with the beef and sausages in the other, while Lathom transacted some occult business with a man outside. Then he came back, saying briefly, ‘I’ve got a man to take us,’ and we stumbled out to where an aged taxi thrummed mournfully in the gloom. Lathom bundled in, and I parked my bags at his feet.
‘What the devil’s that?’ he said crossly.
‘The grub, fathead,’ said I, following him in.
‘Oh, yes, of course, I’d forgotten,’ he said. ‘Come on, let’s get going, for God’s sake!’
Being used to Lathom, I ignored his irritability. We jolted off.
The taxi had a churchyard smell about it, and I mentioned the fact. Lathom slammed the window down with an impatient grunt. I remarked, foolishly, that he didn’t seem very enthusiastic about the trip. He said:
‘Oh, don’t talk so much.’
It seemed to me that the prospect of seeing Harrison again had rather got on his nerves, and I looked forward to an exasperating weekend.
‘Vous l’avez voulu, Georges Dandin,’ I reflected, and lit a cigarette resignedly. The narrow road heaved and sank between dark hedges, but climbed on the whole, wriggling determinedly up and round to the ridge. A dim light or so and a cluster of black roofs announced civilisation, and Lathom roused himself to say: ‘Manaton — there’s a good view from here by daylight.’
‘We shan’t be long now, then, I suppose,’ said I.
He did not reply, and I suddenly became aware that I could hear him breathing. Once I had noticed it, I couldn’t seem to shut my eyes to the sound. It was like hearing your own heartbeats in the night — when they seem to grow louder and louder, till they fill the silence and keep you from going to sleep. The breaths seemed quite to rasp my ear, they were so heavy and so close.
‘Eh!’ said Lathom, unexpectedly. ‘What did you say?’
What had I said? It must have been ages ago, for Manaton was well behind us now, and the car was nosing her broken-winded way steadily down and down, with deep cartruts wringing her aged bones. I recollected that I had said I supposed we shouldn’t be long now.
‘Oh, no,’ said Lathom. ‘We’re nearly there.’
We bounced on in silence for ten minutes more; then creaked to a standstill. I put my head out. Dim fields, trees and the tinkling of a distant stream coming remotely up on a puff of south-west wind. No light. No building.
‘Is this it?’ I asked, ‘or has the engine conked?’
‘What?’ said Lathom, irritably. ‘Yes, of course this is it. What’s the matter? Push along — we don’t want to stay here all night.’
I wrestled with the door and edged out. Lathom close at my heels. He paid the driver, and the car began to move off, lurching on down the slope to find a place to turn.
‘Here!’ said I; ‘have you got the beef?’
‘Oh, hell,’ said Lathom, ‘I thought you had it.’
I plunged after the taxi, reclaiming the food, and came back to where Lathom was standing. His hurry seemed to bave left him. He was striking a match and having a little trouble with it. The car, a hundred yards off, choked, crashed its gears, burbled, choked again, burbled, choked, and came thudding up on bottom gear. It passed us, labouring and bumping, moved up into second, hesitated into top, and its red rear light vanished, showed, jerking, vanished and span slowly skywards.
‘Ready?’ said Lathom.
I did not point out that I had been patiently waiting for him to make a move, but grasped the bags and followed.
‘We’ve got a field to cross,’ he explained, holding a gate open for me.
We staggered along for a little. Then he stopped and I bumped up against him.
‘Over there,’ he said.
I looked, and saw a patch of extra darkness, between the darkness of some tree-stems.
‘There’s no light,’ I said. ‘Is he expecting you? I hope he won’t be annoyed with me for coming.’
‘Oh, he won’t be annoyed,’ said Lathom, shortly. ‘He’s gone to bed, I expect. Early bird. Up with the lark and down with the sun and all that. It doesn’t matter. We can forage round for ourselves.’
A few more minutes, and we stood at the door of the shack. You know what it’s like — indeed, all England knows by now — a low, two-roomed cottage, ugly, built of stone, with a slate roof. Only one story — what in Scotland they call a but and ben. The windows were unshuttered, but not a spark of light showed through them — no candle, not so much as the embers of a fire.
Lathom gave an ejaculation.
‘He must have gone to sleep,’ he muttered. I was fumbling for the handle of the door, but he pushed me aside, and I heard the latch click open. He paused, staring into the dark interior.
‘I wonder if he’s gone wandering off and got lost somewhere,’ he said, hesitating on the threshold.
‘Why not go in and see?’ I countered.
‘I’m going to.’ He stepped in and the unmistakable rattle of matches in the box told me that he was getting a light. He was clumsy about it, and only after several futile scratches and curses did the small flame flare up; he held it high, and for a moment I saw the living-room — a kitchen-table cluttered with crockery, a sink, an empty hearth, and a jumble of painting gear, clumped in a corner. Then the match flickered and burnt his fingers, and he dropped it, but made no effort to strike another.
‘Juggins!’ said I, defiantly, for this cheerless welcome was getting on my nerves. ‘Here — isn’t there a candle or anything?’
I hunted through my pockets for a petrol lighter. This gave a steadier light, by which I found and lit a bedroom candle on a bracket just behind the door. The untidy room leaped into existence again. I set the candle down on the table, beside the sordid remnants of a meal. A chair lay overturned on the floor. I righted it mechanically and looked round. Lathom was still standing just inside the door; with his head cocked sideways, as though he were listening.
‘Well, I’m damned,’ said I, ‘this is very cheerful. If Harrison—’
‘Listen a minute,’ he said, ‘I thought I heard him snoring.’
I listened, but could hear nothing except a tap dripping into the sink.
‘Looks to me as if he’d gone out,’ I said. ‘How about starting the fire up? I’m chilly. Where’s the wood?’
‘In the basket,’ said Lathom, vaguely.
I investigated the basket, but it was empty.
‘Oh, well,’ I said, ‘let’s have a drink and get to bed. If Harrison comes in later, you’ll have to do the explaining.’