question would have great significance. Within her mind she had two rigid lists of names: those that were socially acceptable; and those that transgressed that First Great Commandment of her life, 'Thou shalt not be common.'
'Melita,' Mrs Pargeter replied.
Miss Naismith was confused. Melita was such an unusual name that she had difficulty in deciding under which heading it should belong.
This confusion reflected a more general uncertainty in her reaction to Mrs Pargeter. Her first instinct had been to classify the newcomer immediately as socially inferior. And yet, the longer she spent with her, the more difficult Miss Naismith found it to classify Mrs Pargeter at all.
And the more she began to suspect, with a degree of foreboding, that there might be more to Mrs Pargeter than met the eye.
CHAPTER 4
By five to six Newth had changed from his white porter's jacket into the red one with rolled black lapels that he wore in his role as barman. The Schooner Bar was on the ground floor, the other side of the Entrance Hall from the Seaview Lounge. It also commanded a view over the greyness of the March sea.
Newth wiped down the veneered surface of the counter. Wiping it down had been his last action before lowering and locking the grille at lunchtime, but he knew how quickly dust could settle. Though only in his late forties, he had the bachelor fussiness of a much older man.
As he stretched to the far end of the counter, he felt a slight pain in his chest, and took a few deep breaths until it went away.
He reached under the bar for two sealed white plastic containers. From one he filled a dish with salted mixed nuts; from the other he filled a dish with stuffed green olives.
He looked at his watch. Two minutes to six. He withdrew a bunch of keys from his pocket; they were on a chain that was clipped to his belt. He found a small one and undid the padlock that held down the grille at the front of the bar. (Miss Naismith made a point of telling all her new residents that this grille was not for internal security. The very idea of such a thing would be an insult to the integrity of her guests and staff. No, it was a deterrent to burglary. There was, regrettably, 'a very unfortunate element' in Littlehampton, and she did not wish to encourage their criminality by having strong drink readily accessible.)
Newth pushed up the grille, again feeling a slight pang in his chest. Then he switched on the lights behind the bar and turned to the entrance to greet the first arrival, who he knew would be Miss Naismith.
'Good evening, Newth.'
It was one of the conventions of the Devereux that, although they all saw each other almost continuously, the day should be regularly punctuated by new greetings.
It was also a convention that the day should be punctuated by changes of clothes. Though few of the residents ever undertook a more strenuous expedition than a stroll along the Promenade, they usually changed before and after these outings. And, though 'changing for dinner' did not go to the extent of evening dress, none of them would appear in the evening in the same clothes that they had worn all day. None of them, that is, except for Mrs Mendlingham, who seemed to be drifting ever faster into a world of her own, a world characterised by odd slippers, stained cardigans and inside-out dresses.
'Can I get you a Perrier water, Madam?'
'Thank you, Newth,' said Miss Naismith, as she did at this time every evening.
And, as he did at this time every evening, Newth reached down under the counter for a green bottle, and from it filled a glass into which he had slipped two lumps of ice and a sliver of lemon. The pouring was done below the level of the counter, so that, if there had been anyone else present, they would not have observed that the bottle, rather than the bulb-like shape so heavily advertised by Perrier, demonstrated the squarer contours made popular by Gordon's Gin.
Newth passed across the glass of colourless fluid. It looked