Dr Leidner greeted me in his nice kind manner. I saw his eyes go quickly and anxiously to his wife’s face and he seemed to be relieved by what he saw there. Then he sat down at the other end of the table, and Mr Mercado sat down in the vacant place by Mrs Leidner. He was a tall, thin, melancholy man, a good deal older than his wife, with a sallow complexion and a queer, soft, shapeless-looking beard. I was glad when he came in, for his wife stopped staring at me and transferred her attention to him, watching him with a kind of anxious impatience that I found rather odd. He himself stirred his tea dreamily and said nothing at all. A piece of cake lay untasted on his plate.
There was still one vacant place, and presently the door opened and a man came in.
The moment I saw Richard Carey I felt he was one of the handsomest men I’d seen for a long time—and yet I doubt if that were really so. To say a man is handsome and at the same time to say he looks like a death’s head sounds a rank contradiction, and yet it was true. His head gave the effect of having the skin stretched unusually tight over the bones—but they were beautiful bones. The lean line of jaw and temple and forehead was so sharply outlined that he reminded me of a bronze statue. Out of this lean brown face looked two of the brightest and most intensely blue eyes I have ever seen. He stood about six foot and was, I should imagine, a little under forty years of age.
Dr Leidner said: ‘This is Mr Carey, our architect, nurse.’
He murmured something in a pleasant, inaudible English voice and sat down by Mrs Mercado.
Mrs Leidner said: ‘I’m afraid the tea is a little cold, Mr Carey.’
He said: ‘Oh, that’s quite all right, Mrs Leidner. My fault for being late. I wanted to finish plotting those walls.’
Mrs Mercado said, ‘Jam, Mr Carey?’
Mr Reiter pushed forward the toast.
And I remembered Major Pennyman saying: ‘I can explain best what I mean by saying that they all passed the butter to each other a shade too politely.’
Yes, there was something a little odd about it…
A shade formal…
You’d have said it was a party of strangers—not people who had known each other—some of them—for quite a number of years.
Chapter 6
First Evening
After tea Mrs Leidner took me to show me my room.
Perhaps here I had better give a short description of the arrangement of the rooms. This was very simple and can easily be understood by a reference to the plan.
On either side of the big open porch were doors leading into the two principal rooms. That on the right led into the dining-room, where we had tea. The one on the other side led into an exactly similar room (I have called it the living-room) which was used as a sitting-room and kind of informal workroom—that is, a certain amount of drawing (other than the strictly architectural) was done there, and the more delicate pieces of pottery were brought there to be pieced together. Through the living-room one passed into the antiquities-room where all the finds from the dig were brought in and stored on shelves and in pigeon-holes, and also laid out on big benches and tables. From the antika-room there was no exit save through the living-room.
Beyond the antika-room, but reached through a door which gave on the courtyard, was Mrs Leidner’s bedroom. This, like the other rooms on that side of the house, had a couple of barred windows looking out over the ploughed countryside. Round the corner next to Mrs Leidner’s room, but with no actual communicating door, was Dr Leidner’s room. This was the first of the rooms on the east side of the building. Next to it was the room that was to be mine. Next to me was Miss Johnson’s, with Mr and Mrs Mercado’s beyond. After that came two so-called bathrooms.
(When I once used that last term in the hearing of Dr Reilly he laughed at me and said a bathroom was either a bathroom or not a bathroom! All the same, when you’ve got used to taps and proper plumbing, it seems strange to call a couple of mud-rooms with a tin hip-bath in each of them, and muddy water brought in kerosene tins, bathrooms!)