Strangers in Company by Jane Aiken Hodge Page A

dark stair with Mrs. Adams. Mrs. Esmond, as was her habit, was talking loud and angrily. “Badly organised … asking for trouble.” She saw Mr. Hilton and fell suddenly silent.
    From behind and below came the professor’s voice. “Careful here,” he said. “It’s always tricky when you hit the light.” And then, “That’s it.” He emerged first, moving half-backwards, and Marian found herself thinking it was like him to take the most difficult place. One look at the inert figure that the three men laid gently on the grey raincoat told her that she had been right not to let Mr. Hilton hope.
    Suddenly, horribly, Mrs. Adams went into hysterics. “What do we do now?” she wailed.
    â€œI’m afraid we wait,” said Mike. “For the police.” And then, quickly. “Even for an accident, like this, they must of course be summoned.”
    â€œOf course,” said Mrs. Spencer, and moved forward quietly to lay her white handkerchief over the dead face.

Chapter Five
    They never did see the beehive tomb. By the time the police arrived the hills were casting heavy shadows across the valley. And when the inevitable questioning was over at last, dusk was in the air, and the level of hysteria in the party rising.
    The police had insisted on holding their examination up on the hill, where the body had lain until it was, mercifully, removed by a capable pair of young men with a stretcher, and Marian had found herself wildly imagining that these modern-looking Greeks in their neat uniforms perhaps believed in some primitive form of ordeal. Did they expect that poor little body to gush blood from nose and ears at a murderer’s approach?
    This was merely lunatic fantasy engendered by the grim hillside. In fact, it all seemed straightforward enough. Everyone knew that Mrs. Hilton had been staggering about in unsuitable shoes. Several people were sure that it was her candle that had gone suddenly out, presumably in some unexpected down draught. Everyone had heard her scream and fall, and if no one admitted to having been near her at the time, well, the police shrugged their shoulders. Down there, in the dark, it was hardly surprising. Mr. Hilton, coming slowly out of shock, explained about his shoelace and how he had momentarily lost touch with his wife before the disaster. “Very risky, down there,” he said, and went first red, then white.
    It was a very subdued party that checked in at the strikingly inappropriate modern hotel that loomed over Nauplia. Resigned now to waiting to the last to be assigned a room, Marian joined the professor, who was gazing out at an astonishing view of cliff and sea. “What do you think will happen?” she asked.
    â€œNothing, I should think. The tour must go on. That kind of thing. After all, tourism’s just about Greece’s number one industry. And it was so obviously anaccident. I imagine poor Hilton will stay here and be flown back with the body, if he wants, and, for the rest of us, it will just be pleasure as usual.”
    â€œIt seems heartless.”
    â€œBut practical. Like life. Aside from anything else, I heard Mike telling young Cairnthorpe that this hotel is booked solid for the whole season. We can’t stay on here, even if we want to.”
    â€œOh.” She hadn’t thought of that. “Where is Mike?”
    â€œWith the police still.” It was odd how his smile transformed the craggy face. And how had she failed to notice the clear blue of eyes that seemed to see right through her? What did they see?
    Monstrous to be thinking so frivolously at a time like this. And anyway Edvardson’s eyes had moved away from her. “Damnation!” he said. Behind them in the lobby, Hilton had been confronted, suddenly, with his wife’s luggage as well as his own and burst totally, uncontrollably into tears. “Someone should have thought of that.” Professor Edvardson