The Shortest Journey Read Online Free Page A

of course, I remember now.’
    My memories of Sam Fisher were of a rather
disagreeable man, lazy and (when he had the opportunity) dishonest.
Colonel Rossiter had eventually dismissed him – not for either of
these faults but because once, after spending a rather long
lunch-hour in the local pub, Sam Fisher had been ‘insubordinate’.
Annie appeared to have forgotten the circumstances of her brother’s
departure from the Manor and seemed genuinely pleased at the
thought of reuniting, as she saw it, two old friends.
    ‘That will be nice for you,’ I said, with that sort
of over-emphatic warmth that we use when we are not quite sincere.
‘And I believe you told me that he’s been doing very well in
Australia. It must be a beautiful country. Does he have a family
over there?’
    A shadow crossed her face. ‘His wife went off and
left him a couple of years ago and took their daughter with her.
I’ve never seen my niece, only photos. But he’s well rid of his
wife – a flighty piece from what I’ve heard. Sam’s always been
respectable, like me. Yes, he’s done very well for himself. Got his
own business, a garage – always been good with his hands, well, you
remember that. And, then, of course, there’s the Church
    It seemed that Sam Fisher was a born-again something
or other. She went on at some length about his standing in the
local community and this rather evangelical church. I let the words
flow over me as I so often did when Annie was in full flood and
made polite murmuring noises that seemed to satisfy her.
    ‘I’ll pop down and see Mrs Rossiter this afternoon,’
she said, ‘and give her the good news. Sam said he’d be hiring a
car while he’s here so we can take her for a drive up over the
hill. Have a nice cream tea out somewhere.’
    ‘I’m sure she’d like that,’ I said, feeling once more
a touch of guilt that it was Annie, who had so little, who was
going to give Mrs Rossiter this treat and not I, who had so much.
Perhaps the same thoughts were going through Annie’s mind, for she
gave a small nod of satisfaction.
    ‘Well, I must be getting on,’ she said. ‘Can’t stand
here talking all day.’
    She moved over to the counter with her Catherine
Cookson and I went rather morosely to scan once more the biography
shelves in case something exciting had materialised in the last
five minutes.
    Later, as I was cutting up some heart for the
animals, I tried to analyse just why I disliked Annie so much.
    ‘I suppose it’s her manner, really,’ I told Foss, who
was weaving round my ankles, uttering low meat-demanding cries.
‘I’m sure she has a heart of gold and she is truly devoted to Mrs
Rossiter. It’s just that she always seems to put me in the wrong –
as if there’s some lack of consideration in me. I suppose I’m the
selfish one – just wanting poor Mrs Rossiter to be there when I
feel like going to see her, but not every day, like Annie. I expect
Mrs Rossiter has left her something in her will. I don’t suppose
Thelma would do anything for her – too fond of money on her own
account.’
    I broke off and gave a sudden cry. Foss had stopped
weaving and, impatient with my dilatoriness, had jumped on to my
shoulder (with his claws out to help him balance) to get a closer
view of the food. I lifted him carefully off and rubbed my shoulder
ruefully.
    ‘All right,’ I said, ‘I’ll get on with the matter in
hand.’
     
    A few days later I picked a large bunch of primroses
and a few violets (I know they never last in water but I couldn’t
resist their delicate mauve faces) and took them along to West
Lodge for Mrs Rossiter. In the entrance hall I met Mrs Wilmot, the
Matron, who greeted me effusively.
    ‘And who’s the lucky person who’s going to have those
beautiful flowers? Such a lovely posy, quite like a painting!’
    ‘They’re for Mrs Rossiter, actually.’
    ‘Well now, she has got a visitor – but, of course,
you are old friends, aren’t you? It’s Mrs Douglas,