"Gill, B.M. - Death Drop" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gill B M)

"What? Yes. But then they all say that."

"Did David say anything to you that you particularly remember?"

She gave the question some thought before replying. "He'd come into the infirmary sometimes -- with one excuse or another -- and if there wasn't anyone else there he'd chat about this and that. Nothing I particularly remember."

"Did he ever talk about his mother?"

"Only in the same way that you and she were part of the same time -- the old days, he used to say, as if he were Methusalah."

The old days. Ruth. During the time in Gloucestershire she had been well. The marriage had been strong then, too, slipping a little perhaps, but not perceptibly.

"Did he ever mention London?"

"He said you had a flat in London -- that he went there with you for holidays -- when he wasn't travelling around with you. You took him to some exotic places."

"Only in the line of business -- selling electronic equipment to a worldwide market. He did a lot of waiting around. Measles once in a hotel in Florence . . . Did he mention that?"

"No. I think he was selective. He remembered the good things. Who chose Marristone Grange for him?"

"His mother -- during the last few months of her illness. Her brothers went to Marristone. In those days, I gather, it flourished. At any rate they survived." It was bitter.

She contemplated him silently. Waiting for it.

It came. "Tell me about Marristone -- Marristone today."

A vision of Brannigan rose up to haunt her. "What do you want to know?"

"Everything I don't already know. When I went to see it, it seemed to be adequate. The age range was wide. It catered for single parent families insofar that it didn't close down at holiday time. David was too old for prep school and he didn't have his name down for any of the better public schools. Ruth's brothers had done well there academically. The fact that the school is smaller now seemed a point in its favour. It was a convenient solution to a difficult problem. Obviously I didn't look deeply enough. David seemed happy. He didn't complain. Was there reason for complaint?"

She didn't answer straight away but got up and lit herself a cigarette and then offered the box to him. He shook his head.

Did ebullient children grow into quiet children? she wondered. The infirmary had been sanctuary for David -- but not only for David. A quiet room-- a little mothering. Was he any different from the rest? That look about the eyes -- some of the others had it, too, the introspective ones. The only time he had been with her for a longish period was recently when he had mumps. And that had been a genuine physical illness. At the end of it some of the old ebullience had bubbled up again, until the very last day when he was due back in the main school. But the infirmary was a holiday -- no child liked work. They all reacted in the same way -- well, perhaps not in quite the same way. He had become white and very withdrawn. Reason for complaint?

She drew on her cigarette. "Children endure boarding-school. It isn't a natural way of life. Some of them endure it better than others. When the young ones come -- the seven-and eight-year-olds --- they cry. If the housemaster's wife is any good at her job she mops them up and pets them a bit and makes them feel better. When they're David's age -- eleven going on twelve -- they don't cry. They put up with it. They make themselves as tough as their nature lets them. When they're older than that they start to get important -- they boss the other kids around -- they're part of the hierarchy then, the upper part. When the time comes to leave they say 'Good old Marristone, wouldn't have missed it for the world'."

"You haven't answered me. We're talking about David, not the children in general."

She sighed. "I know. I don't think I can answer you. If I had taught him every day in class I might be able to answer you. I'm a matron. My duties are limited. I saw David when he was sick with mumps and I patched him up once or twice after rugger." She hesitated. "And once after a fight about rugger. He'd been to the States with you and told one of the boys that baseball was better. The boy thumped him. I thought he'd thumped him too hard and I told Brannigan. Brannigan said it was too trivial to report to him -- that I should have told Hammond, David's housemaster."

Brannigan, Fleming thought, was probably right. David had been thumped in his other schools for one reason or another and had done some thumping back.

"There isn't a fag system, is there?"

"No."

"No organised bullying?"

"If there is it's undercover."