Free A Dead Man in Malta by Michael Pearce Page A

old!’
    ‘Have you been here all day?’
    He looked at his watch again.
    ‘I suppose I have been,’ he said, surprised.
    ‘And eaten nothing all day?’
    ‘I had some breakfast. I think.’
    ‘I’ll bet you didn’t. You’d better come in and have a cup of tea with us. And a biscuit.’
    ‘I don’t want to be a bother—’
    ‘You’re not. We’re making a pot anyway.’
    ‘Ah, but you’ve been on your feet all morning.’
    ‘So have you.’
    ‘Yes, but—’
    ‘What is it you used to tell us? Don’t go too long without getting something inside you!’
    ‘It’s the sugar. You need the sugar.’
    ‘And so do you.’
    She shepherded him into the nurses’ room.
    ‘This is Mr Seymour. No, he’s not a new doctor. He’s a policeman.’
    ‘A policeman?’
    Dr Malia looked puzzled. Then his face cleared.
    ‘Oh, I know,’ he said. ‘It must be to do with those poor people. Have you got anywhere yet?’ he asked Seymour.
    ‘I’ve only just started, really.’
    ‘Yes. And it must all be very strange to you, coming out from England.’
    ‘Not too strange. In fact, oddly familiar.’
    ‘Yes. That’s what they all say.’
    A nurse put a cup of tea in his hand.
    ‘Hello, Dr Malia! Do you remember me? Bettina?’
    ‘No, I don’t think—yes, I do! I remember your quecija . You chose—I think I’m right—a thermometer. And that was right, wasn’t it? Because you became a nurse.’
    ‘Quite right! What a memory you’ve got!’
    ‘Or was it your mother?’
    ‘It was probably my mother, too,’ said Bettina laughing. ‘And is she well?’
    ‘Oh, very much so. Retired now, of course. But she still wants to know everything that’s going on in the hospital. I’ll tell her I met you.’
    ‘Oh, please! Yes, do that. A remarkable woman, your mother. An excellent nurse!’
    ‘Hear that?’ Bettina said to the room at large. ‘It runs in the family.’
    ‘There’s been a bit of a falling off lately,’ said one of the other nurses.
    ‘Tell me about the quecija ,’ said Seymour.
    ‘It takes place on a child’s first birthday. You get together a tray of small things, a pen, rosary, thimble, or even some money, and put them in front of the child. And whatever he or she picks up is supposed to tell you what sort of future it will have. What it will do in life.’
    ‘I see, yes.’
    ‘Mostly, it’s an excuse for a party. We’re great on parties in Malta.’
    ‘It’s time we had one here.’
    ‘It is. Would you like to come, Mr Seymour? And you, of course, Dr Malia!’
    ‘I would very much like to.’
    ‘And we’ll invite Bettina’s mum so that you can meet her again.’
    ‘That would be very nice.’
    ‘Another biscuit for you, Dr Malia?’
    ‘I’ve already had one—’
    ‘Have two. That’s an order. Medical advice!’
    Dr Malia laughed. ‘Probably better advice than anything a doctor could give.’
    ‘And I’ll get Berto to speak to Jacopo, and he will give you a lift home—’
    ‘I don’t like to bother—’
    ‘Ssh! Jacopo has got nothing to do. And you know he always likes to have a chat with you. And ,’ said Melinda, ‘he has a new baby! He will want to tell you all about that!’
    ‘A new one? Another? But that’s—’
    ‘Five. Perhaps you’d better give him some advice.’
    ‘It’s no good giving advice to Jacopo,’ said Bettina. ‘You’d do better to give it to his wife.’
    ‘I would like to talk to Jacopo.’
    ‘More medical advice,’ said Melinda. ‘This time from me. You’re overdoing things, you know. You’re looking rather tired.’
    ‘I don’t sleep as well at nights,’ Dr Malia confessed.
    ‘No, my mother doesn’t either,’ said Bettina. ‘You don’t when you get old. But she doesn’t spend half the night wandering round, like you do.’
    ‘I’m not really wandering round at night. I’m just starting the next day early,’ protested Dr Malia.
    ‘Well, I don’t know about that,’ said Melinda. ‘I think you sometimes forget to