“Your car is ready, sir,” said a neuter voice; and before he could reply, saying that he hadn’t ordered a car, the connection was cut off. His frown cleared a moment later as he realized what must be the truth. They had sent one for him. He looked again at his watch. It was very early — uniquely early, from what he had seen of the country so far, but perhaps their inefficiency extended occasionally in the other direction.
He finished dressing and hurried downstairs. If the driver spoke enough English he would tell him to take a scenic route. But outside, to his surprise, a woman was waiting by the limousine in black uniform. She was short, very short, almost a dwarf, her features hidden beneath an enormous cap and two wings of dark hair through which he caught a flash of pale skin as she swung his door open and he climbed inside.
He sniffed as the door closed silently on him, sealing him in. The dim interior smelt strongly of perfume. Some kind of heavy flower. When she opened the driver’s door and sat, absurdly, behind the enormous wheel, barely able to see over the dashboard, he cleared his throat.
“How long will it take?”
She did not turn her head and her husky whisper seemed to sound more in his head than in his ears.
“It is difficult to say.”
Before she had finished speaking she was lifting her tiny, black-gloved hands to the wheel. The car started silently and moved forward, its wheels making no sound on the gravel-strewn forecourt of the hotel. He opened his mouth to speak but coughed as her perfume caught the back of his throat. What was it? It was getting stronger. The dusk-shadowed city was already flowing past, dimmer through the tinted windows, and her hands did not seem to be moving on the wheel.
“Will we perhaps be... too early?”
“No.”
Again she had not turned her head. He settled back against the too soft seat, reaching up to loosen his tie. The perfume was making him feel dizzy and he closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them again he cried out a little in surprise. He had been asleep for he didn’t know how long and the car had stopped on a causeway above what seemed to be a marsh, stretching away on either side into wavering mist. A pale light was flowing through the windows, seeming to come as much from the marsh as from the sky. For a moment he thought the chauffeuse had gone but she was still there, sitting absurdly behind the enormous wheel. He opened his mouth cautiously.
“What is wrong?”
“We are waiting,” came the husky whisper, and he cried out again in surprise. A man was standing by his car-window, very short, almost dwarvish, gazing at him through dull but protuberant eyes as his unseen hands fumbled softly and ineffectually at the doorhandle. The face was pale and bloated and long strands of greying hair were stuck to it, wavering down from a moist-looking scalp.
“My God!”
“It is Mr Robinson,” came the husky whisper. “He wishes to join you.”
“No!”
And the man was gone, seeming almost to wink out of existence in the marshlight. He must have ducked down, scuttled behind the back of the car. The perfume was stronger than ever in his nostrils, reeking with corrupt sweetness, but his heart was still pounding with fright and his head felt clear as a bell, throbbing with each heartbeat. Now he cried out again, almost fainting with shock as a man appeared at the opposite window, gazing in at him with dull but protuberant eyes as his unseen hands fumbled softly and ineffectually at the doorhandle.
“Mr Smith,” the whisper informed him. “He wishes to join you.”
He moaned, able to summon the will only to shake his head. But the man vanished as the first had done and he closed his eyes, moaning again.
“They are patient,” came the whisper through the stink of rotting lilies.