person tortured long ago,’ Conrad said.
‘And you think it’s trendy to hang it here in the
dining room?’ Elsa demanded, outraged. ‘You think diners
want to look at that thing while they’re eating?’
‘I’m told it has adorned this room for centuries
and it hardly becomes me to remove it now, madam.’
His attitude and the abomination on his wall
confirmed Elsa’s dislike of the man and all he represented.
She returned to the table, determined to put the
monstrous mask out of her mind if she could. But despite
her revulsion she found herself drawn morbidly towards it.
Again and again her eyes strayed that way, repelled but
fascinated. Over dinner she spoke far less than usual.
The two men adjourned to the bar afterwards
while Elsa made use of a vestibule payphone to call her
lover Alex in Edinburgh. He’d been expecting her back
that evening, of course, and sounded surprised when she
explained about the plane being grounded due to a bit of
fog and a craven English pilot.
‘There hasn’t been a mention of fog on any of the
radio weather reports,’ he said. ‘In fact they talk of high
winds and rain.’
‘Well, you can take it from me there’s something
thicker here than a Scotch mist and that spineless bastard
Roland Sadler refuses to fly in it,’ she told him. ‘Which
means I’m stuck in a great bloody awful castle of a place
run by a slimy toad with a club-foot.’
50