Free The Wine-Dark Sea by Robert Aickman Page A

here, like you.’
    ‘What’s wrong with the valley?’ persisted Mimi, her manner, to Margaret’s mind, a little too tense.
    ‘Nothing so long as you stay, sister. Just nothing at all.’
    ‘Is there really a story?’ asked Margaret. Almost convinced that the whole thing was a rather dull joke, she was illogically driven to enquire by Mimi’s odd demeanour.
    ‘No story that I’ve heard of. It’s just the Quiet Valley and the locals don’t come here.’
    ‘What about you? If it’s so quiet why don’t you move?’
    ‘I like quiet. I’m not one to pick and choose. I was just telling you why there’s a trade recession.’
    ‘It’s perfectly true,’ said Margaret, ‘that there seems very little traffic.’ She noticed Mimi refasten the shirt button she had undone to cool herself. The man averted his eyes.
    ‘They all take the railroad. They scuttle through shut up like steers in a wagon.’
    Mimi said nothing, but her expression had changed.
    ‘There seem to be plenty of trains for them,’ said Margaret, smiling.
    ‘It’s the main line.’
    ‘One of the drivers waved to us. If what you say is true, I suppose he was glad to see us.’
    For the first time the man concentrated his unpleasing stare on Margaret.
    ‘Now as to that –’ His glance fell to the table and remained there a moment. ‘I was just wondering where you two reckon on spending the night.’
    ‘We usually find a farmhouse,’ said Margaret shortly.
    ‘It’s wild on the other side, you know. Wilder than here. There’s only one house between the tunnel and near Pudsley.’
    ‘So we noticed on the map. Would they give us a bed? I suppose it’s a farm?’
    ‘It’s Miss Roper’s place. I’ve never met her myself. I don’t go down the other side. But I dare say she’d help you. What you said just now –’ Suddenly he laughed. ‘You know how engine drivers wave at girls, like you said?’
    ‘Yes,’ said Margaret. To her apprehension it seemed that an obscene joke was coming.
    ‘Well, every time a train passes Miss Roper’s house, someone leans out of the bedroom window and waves to it. It’s gone on for years. Every train, mark you. The house stands back from the line and the drivers couldn’t see exactly who it was, but it was someone in white and they all thought it was a girl. So they waved back. Every train. But the joke is it’s not a girl at all. It can’t be. It’s gone on too long. She can’t have been a girl for the last twenty years or so. It’s probably old Miss Roper herself. The drivers keep changing round so they don’t catch on. They all think it’s some girl, you see. So they all wave back. Every train.’ He was laughing as if it were the funniest of improprieties.
    ‘If the drivers don’t know, how do you?’ asked Mimi.
    ‘It’s what the locals say. Never set eyes on Miss Roper myself. Probably a bit of line-shooting.’ He became suddenly very serious and redolent of quiet helpfulness. ‘There’s a Ladies Room upstairs if either of you would like it.’
    ‘Thank you,’ said Margaret. ‘I think we must be getting on.’ The back of her rucksack was soaked and clammy.
    ‘Have a cigarette before you go?’ He was extending a packet of some unknown brand. His hand shook like the hand of a drug addict.
    ‘Thanks,’ said Mimi, very offhand. ‘Got a match?’ He could hardly strike it, let alone light the cigarette. Looking at him Margaret was glad she did not smoke.
    ‘I smoke like a camp fire,’ he said unnecessarily. ‘You have to in my life.’ Then, when they had opened the door, he added, ‘Watch the weather.’
    ‘We will,’ said Margaret conventionally, though the heat had again smothered them. And once more they were toiling upwards beneath their heavy packs.
    They said nothing at all for several minutes. Then Mimi said, ‘Blasted fool.’
    ‘Men are usually rather horrible,’ replied Margaret.
    ‘You get used to that ,’ said Mimi.
    ‘I wonder if this really is called