cross ties; there will always be somebody who'll think that a couple of heavy stones and a drop out over the deepest part of the lake are an adequate way of disposing of all their empty cans and peelings and plate scrapings.
Now the gulls are starting to circle, taking a big interest. Definitely a bag of garbage, Angelica is thinking.
Walter's managed to get the hold that he needs, but now he's tugging and nothing's happening. He calmly changes his grip, and tries again.
"Come on, Walter," Angelica says. "Put me back in business."
She wouldn't have believed that he could move so fast as, with a rushing like that of fluid from a punctured sac, the rotten body comes slithering out in a wave of its own juices. The boathook is planted deep in its belly, a grotesque fifth limb that rears up into the air as it turns over.
Not a bag of garbage, then. Not unless you're really prepared to stretch the definition.
Finding it difficult to believe how controlled she's being, Angelica says, "Alina, the police constable's car is just across the square. Can you go and get him for me?"
But there's no reply.
Alina is no longer on the terrace.
FOURTEEN
The dead dog under the restaurant deck was to be a talking point for a couple of days, and then interest would shift elsewhere. Walter Hardy used the boathook to push it into the shallows, and then went off to borrow a small motor cruiser so that he'd be able to tow the carcase out to one of the marshy islands further down the lake. Here it could be wedged among the reeds, and would eventually be picked clean. For now the dog lay there, skinless like a rabbit and bloated with decay, awaiting his return. Angelica tried to avoid looking at it, but like the village children who gathered on the bank she found herself almost fascinated. Apart from some of its bones showing, it could have been some alien kind of embryo.
"It was probably hit on the road and then somebody threw it into the lake," Ross Aldridge, the young constable, told her. He was fair and quite softly spoken and actually a little shy looking, and he'd made a point of taking off his uniform cap when he talked to her. "Or else it just died of old age and the owners dumped it. I'll mark it down as a stray."
"So," Angelica said, "nobody's lost a dog around here?"
"If they have, they didn't report it. Without a collar, that's as far as we can go."
Needless to say, the boathook didn't go back to its place on the restaurant's wall. The planking was washed down with Jeyes fluid, and the deck was reopened to take advantage of the increasingly fine weather.
And towards the end of that week, Pete walked over from the yard to see for himself how Alina was doing.
Alina was serving morning coffee on the terrace. She was wearing what appeared to be a borrowed jacket in place of her own heavy overcoat and shawl, something light enough to allow her to carry on even though the sun might go behind a cloud every now and again. Down at the far end of the valley, there was still snow on the upper slopes of the mountains; they looked as if they'd been sugar dusted, with stone walls showing like fine, black veins above the treeline. Against this backdrop, the small Russian girl stood out on her open air stage and put all of her concentration into learning the role of a waitress.
Right now, she was clearing an empty table. From where she was standing, she wouldn't see him. She was backlit by the late morning sun, the diamond greys and blues of the lake and mountains behind her. She was beautiful, serene, a vision by a Dutch master - and, by the terms of their agreement, completely out of his reach.
The thought disturbed him.
He'd nothing to say to her; he didn't even plan to tell her that he'd been to see her. So why, exactly, he now found himself wondering, had he come out to look at her like this?
Nothing came.
He had no ready answer.
And so, feeling faintly and inexplicably troubled, he turned to head back to the yard.
FIFTEEN
"So
Now the gulls are starting to circle, taking a big interest. Definitely a bag of garbage, Angelica is thinking.
Walter's managed to get the hold that he needs, but now he's tugging and nothing's happening. He calmly changes his grip, and tries again.
"Come on, Walter," Angelica says. "Put me back in business."
She wouldn't have believed that he could move so fast as, with a rushing like that of fluid from a punctured sac, the rotten body comes slithering out in a wave of its own juices. The boathook is planted deep in its belly, a grotesque fifth limb that rears up into the air as it turns over.
Not a bag of garbage, then. Not unless you're really prepared to stretch the definition.
Finding it difficult to believe how controlled she's being, Angelica says, "Alina, the police constable's car is just across the square. Can you go and get him for me?"
But there's no reply.
Alina is no longer on the terrace.
FOURTEEN
The dead dog under the restaurant deck was to be a talking point for a couple of days, and then interest would shift elsewhere. Walter Hardy used the boathook to push it into the shallows, and then went off to borrow a small motor cruiser so that he'd be able to tow the carcase out to one of the marshy islands further down the lake. Here it could be wedged among the reeds, and would eventually be picked clean. For now the dog lay there, skinless like a rabbit and bloated with decay, awaiting his return. Angelica tried to avoid looking at it, but like the village children who gathered on the bank she found herself almost fascinated. Apart from some of its bones showing, it could have been some alien kind of embryo.
"It was probably hit on the road and then somebody threw it into the lake," Ross Aldridge, the young constable, told her. He was fair and quite softly spoken and actually a little shy looking, and he'd made a point of taking off his uniform cap when he talked to her. "Or else it just died of old age and the owners dumped it. I'll mark it down as a stray."
"So," Angelica said, "nobody's lost a dog around here?"
"If they have, they didn't report it. Without a collar, that's as far as we can go."
Needless to say, the boathook didn't go back to its place on the restaurant's wall. The planking was washed down with Jeyes fluid, and the deck was reopened to take advantage of the increasingly fine weather.
And towards the end of that week, Pete walked over from the yard to see for himself how Alina was doing.
Alina was serving morning coffee on the terrace. She was wearing what appeared to be a borrowed jacket in place of her own heavy overcoat and shawl, something light enough to allow her to carry on even though the sun might go behind a cloud every now and again. Down at the far end of the valley, there was still snow on the upper slopes of the mountains; they looked as if they'd been sugar dusted, with stone walls showing like fine, black veins above the treeline. Against this backdrop, the small Russian girl stood out on her open air stage and put all of her concentration into learning the role of a waitress.
Right now, she was clearing an empty table. From where she was standing, she wouldn't see him. She was backlit by the late morning sun, the diamond greys and blues of the lake and mountains behind her. She was beautiful, serene, a vision by a Dutch master - and, by the terms of their agreement, completely out of his reach.
The thought disturbed him.
He'd nothing to say to her; he didn't even plan to tell her that he'd been to see her. So why, exactly, he now found himself wondering, had he come out to look at her like this?
Nothing came.
He had no ready answer.
And so, feeling faintly and inexplicably troubled, he turned to head back to the yard.
FIFTEEN
"So
Similar Books
