At Bertram's Hotel by Agatha Christie Read Free Book Online

they rushed around to committees and tried to appear bustling and competent, or they dyed their hair gentian blue, or wore wigs, and their hands were not the hands she remembered, tapering, delicate hands - they were harsh from washing up and detergents...
    And so - well, so these people didn't look real. But the point was that they were real. Selina Hazy was real. And that rather handsome old military man in the corner was real - she had met him once, although she did not recall his name - and the Bishop (dear Robbie!) was dead.
    Miss Marple glanced at her little clock. It was eight-thirty. Time for her breakfast.
    She examined the instructions given by the hotel - splendid big print so that it wasn't necessary to put one's spectacles on.
    Meals could be ordered through the telephone by asking for room service, or you could press the bell labelled Chambermaid.
    Miss Marple did the latter. Talking to room service always flustered her.
    The result was excellent. In no time at all there was a tap on the door and a highly satisfactory chambermaid appeared. A real chambermaid looking unreal, wearing a striped lavender print dress and actually a cap, a freshly laundered cap. A smiling, rosy, positively countrified face. Where did they find these people?
    Miss Marple ordered her breakfast. Tea, poached eggs, fresh rolls. So adept was the chambermaid that she did not even mention cereals or orange juice.
    Five minutes later breakfast came. A comfortable tray with a big pot-bellied teapot, creamy-looking milk, a silver hot water jug. Two beautifully poached eggs on toast, poached the proper way, not little round hard bullets shaped in tin cups, a good-sized round of butter stamped with a thistle. Marmalade, honey, and strawberry jam. Delicious-looking rolls, not the hard kind with papery interiors - they smelled of fresh bread (the most delicious smell in the world!). There were also an apple, a pear, and a banana.
    Miss Marple inserted a knife gingerly but with confidence. She was not disappointed. Rich deep yellow yolk oozed out, thick and creamy. Proper eggs!
    Everything piping hot. A real breakfast. She could have cooked it herself but she hadn't had to! It was brought to her as if - no, not as though she were a queen - as though she were a middle-aged lady staying in a good but not unduly expensive hotel. In fact - back to 1909. Miss Marple expressed appreciation to the chambermaid who replied smiling, “Oh, yes, madam, the chef is very particular about his breakfasts.”
    Miss Marple studied her appraisingly. Bertram's Hotel could certainly produce marvels. A real housemaid. She pinched her left arm surreptitiously.
    “Have you been here long?” she asked.
    “Just over three years, madam.”
    “And before that?”
    “I was in a hotel at Eastbourne. Very modern and up-to-date - but I prefer an old-fashioned place like this.”
    Miss Marple took a sip of tea. She found herself humming in a vague way - words fitting themselves to a long-forgotten song. “Oh, where have you been all my life...”
    The chambermaid was looking slightly startled.
    “I was just remembering an old song,” twittered Miss Marple apologetically. “Very popular at one time.”
    Again she sang softly. “Oh where have you been all my life...”
    “Perhaps you know it?” she asked.
    “Well -” The chambermaid looked rather apologetic.
    “Too long ago for you,” said Miss Marple. “Ah well, one gets to remembering things - in a place like this.”
    “Yes, madam, a lot of the ladies who stay here feel like that, I think.”
    “It's partly why they come, I expect,” said Miss Marple.
    The chambermaid went out. She was obviously used to old ladies who twittered and reminisced.
    Miss Marple finished her breakfast, and got up in a pleasant leisurely fashion. She had a plan ready made for a delightful morning of shopping. Not too much - to overtire herself. Oxford Street today, perhaps. And tomorrow Knightsbridge. She planned ahead happily.
    It