Catherine Narracott
The Wife
The hotel is gripped by fear now. Many of the guests have retreated to hide in their rooms. The ones that haven’t are louder than ever, frantically demanding they be allowed to leave, which we all know is impossible.
Since Bruno Crane’s intrusion my room is no sanctuary.
So I’ve spent most of the afternoon sitting quietly in the library, hiding from the frenetic atmosphere elsewhere, watching the snowfall beyond the windows begin to lighten.
As I gaze about the room I catch the eye of the young doctor, Charlie Levitt.
A shock: he must have come in here without my noticing.
His look seems particularly malevolent. I reach for a book as a distraction and also to hide behind.
I think of all my unpleasant interactions with him so far in this place.
I shiver. He is still an unknown quantity.
Just before dinner, those guests that can be tempted from their rooms are called into the great hall for an announcement.
‘The weather is improving,’ the hotel manager says. ‘I want to reassure all of our valued guests that the Swiss police should be here tomorrow morning – at the latest. They have sent a climbing team up the mountain. And a team of engineers is already at work on the derailed train in the tunnel.’
A couple of people send up weak cheers, but then: ‘How many more people will be dead by then?’ a woman cries.
This encourages a man to shout: ‘There’s a maniac on the loose! You expect us just to wait here?’
‘Armons-nous!’ from another man.
‘He’s right,’ the first woman calls. ‘If you aren’t going to protect us, we should arm ourselves.’
Perhaps more disturbing, though, are the few guests who now choose to behave as though all that has happened has been a mere inconvenience in the middle of their holiday.
‘Will we be able to go skiing?’ asks one man, standing up. ‘The gondola will be open again, surely? All this fresh powder going to waste …’
‘I’m afraid not, sir,’ says the manager. ‘With the conditions – the heavy snowfall in such a short space of time, and the wind, there is a very great risk of avalanches. We must make sure that it is entirely safe before we allow you to go out.’
The man tuts crossly and sits back in his seat.
All this violence, all this death: and they can talk as though it didn’t really happen. I suppose it is because it didn’t really happen to them.
‘How are you feeling, my dear?’ I start a little; I hadn’t seen Miss Marple standing so near to me.
‘Odd,’ I say. ‘Very odd. Frightened, of course. I agree with those guests … who knows what might still happen before the police get here? But also … I don’t know who I am now.
I came here as one thing – a wife – and I will leave as another.
I’m not sure who I am without all of that.
I wasn’t always happy with my husband, he could be rather cruel – I’m sorry if that’s a dreadful thing to say – but it is all I was ever brought up to be.
That,’ I say, with real feeling, ‘might be the most frightening thing of all. I feel like a climbing plant that has had its support removed. But thank you,’ I say.
‘For everything. You have been such a comfort to me, here.’
She nods solemnly. ‘You’re welcome, my dear. And I can understand all of that well. But, you know, I think you are stronger than you realise.’
Back in my room once more, I step out onto the balcony and realise it is no longer snowing. Up above me the sky is huge and luminous with stars.
Several hours later, the small hours of the morning, I wake to the sound of someone entering my room. Footsteps crossing the boards, coming closer and closer.
My breath is caught in my throat, my heart pounding so hard I think I might be sick, or faint.
I close my eyes and try to summon all my courage.
I am going to need it. Little sheltered Catherine Narracott, forced to prove her mettle at last. I think of Miss Marple’s words to me earlier: ‘I think you are stronger than you realise.’ The moment has come, just as I knew it would.
Fate has caught up with me at last. This, then, is how all of this ends.