Cast For Death Read Free Page A

Venice and Mont Blanc. He had never been out of Greece before.
    ‘Haven’t you a coat?’ Patrick asked, as they went to the car. A sharp wind blew round the airport buildings.
    ‘I have one for the rain in my baggages,’ said Manolakis.
    ‘You’ll need to wear it for the warmth,’ said Patrick.
    ‘Your city is very fine from the sky,’ said Manolakis. ‘I have seen Windsor Castle and the Thames river.’
    ‘We’re so near, I thought you might like to see a bit more of London now, before we go to Oxford,’ said Patrick.
    ‘That would please me very much,’ said Manolakis. ‘I would like to see the Tower of London, please.’
    ‘The Tower!’ Patrick had anticipated a sentimental trip to the Elgin marbles in the British Museum, but had not foreseen this. ‘I’ve never been there myself,’ he confessed. ‘Right. The Tower it shall be. You’ll see quite a bit of London on the way.’ Then he had an idea. ‘We’ll go by boat,’ he said. That would make a fine introduction to the splendours of the capital.
    The Greek was clearly impressed as they drove through Hyde Park, past Buckingham Palace and down Whitehall; Patrick explained everything as they went along.
    They left the MGB in a car park, and Patrick urged Manolakis to put his raincoat on, for it would be breezy on the river. Before embarking, they found a pub which looked suitably atmospheric, and over their beer and ham sandwiches Patrick enquired about Manolakis’s wife and three children; all had sent him affectionate messages, and so had his sister. Then they went down to Waterloo Bridge to catch the boat.
    The voyage was a good idea. Sunlight filtering through the wispy clouds emphasised the varying hues of all the buildings as they passed. Patrick pointed out the most notable, and when they approached the Tower he launched fluently into a description of the young Elizabeth in the rain, a tale equal to any Greek legend. Patrick himself was quite moved as they passed within the huge walls wherein so much tragedy had dwelt. There were groups of schoolchildren on holiday walking around, and a number of tourists, but so early in the year it was not crowded and they could move about freely. Manolakis was impressed by the vast suits of armour for horse and man; it was all rather different from the Archaeological Museum in Heraklion.
    ‘We go back by river?’ he asked eagerly.
    So they did. Patrick pointed out a police river patrol boat as it went by.
    ‘Last time I was in London I saw a dead man taken out of the river,’ he said.
    Manolakis made clicking sounds with his tongue.
    ‘Who was it?’ he asked.
    ‘I don’t know. Some suicide. He had red hair,’ said Patrick. Until this moment he had almost forgotten the incident.
    ‘You did not ask the name?’
    ‘No. There was nothing I could do. It was no concern of mine,’ said Patrick.
    ‘It is not like you. Not wanting to know why,’ said Manolakis.
    ‘Plenty of people jump into the river,’ said Patrick. ‘You can’t wonder about them all.’
    ‘We do not have many suicides in Greece,’ said Manolakis.
    While they talked he was gazing about him.
    ‘So big,’ he said. ‘So very big. And beautiful.’
    Patrick felt proud. Manolakis was right: London was, indeed, a beautiful city.
    ‘We’ll go to the Houses of Parliament another day,’ he said. ‘And Westminster Abbey.’ He felt a sudden lightening of spirit; the slight depression brought on that morning by the accident with the dog had gone.
    ‘”Latest swindle case,”’ read Manolakis as they passed a newspaper seller. ‘What is swindle?’ His English was so good that Patrick was surprised by the question. He explained. ‘Ah yes. I write him down when we get to the car,’ said the Greek.
    ‘Do you still carry that notebook around with you?’
    ‘Oh yes. He is very useful,’ said Manolakis. He had a habit of noting down new colloquialisms whenever he met them and then producing them, used perfectly in context, soon