В отеле "Бертрам"

УДК 372.8
ББК 81.2 Англ-93
 К 82

ISBN 978-5-9925-0947-2
 © КАРО, 2008

Кристи А.
К 82
В отеле «Бертрам»: Книга для чтения на английском
языке. — СПб.: КАРО, 2014. — 352 с.

ISBN 978-5-9925-0947-2

Мисс Марпл, отдыхающая в отеле «Бертрам», удивлена: кажется что время не властно над ним. Та же вышколенная и предупредительная прислуга, такие же вкусные завтраки и уютные
номера, как и во времена ее детства, кажется, даже публика та
же — вдовствующие герцогини, отставные военные, богатые и
знаменитые американцы...
А тем временем по Британии прокатилась волна дерзких
преступлений: ограбления банков, поездов, ювелирных магазинов. Скотленд-Ярд озадачен: всякий раз на месте преступления
свидетели замечают кого-то из постояльцев именно этого в высшей степени респектабельного отеля. Как всегда, тактично и ненавязчиво мисс Марпл помогает Скотленд-Ярду разобраться в
этом запутанном деле…
Книга предназначена для широкого круга читателей, изучающих английский язык. Интересные повороты сюжета и неожиданная развязка — в этом вся Агата Кристи. Для удобства читателей книга снабжена комментариями и словарем, помогающими
оценить всю прелесть языка и занимательность интриги.

УДК 372.8
ББК 81.2 Англ-93

In the heart of the West End, there are many quiet pockets, unknown to almost all but taxi drivers who traverse them

with expert knowledge, and arrive triumphantly thereby at
Park Lane, Berkeley Square, or South Audley Street.
If you turn off on an unpretentious street from the Park,
and turn left and right once or twice, you will find yourself
in a quiet street with Bertram’s Hotel on the right-hand
side. Bertram’s Hotel has been there a long time. During

the war, houses were demolished on the right of it, and a
little farther down on the left of it, but Bertram’s itself remained unscathed. Naturally it could not escape being, as
house agents would say, scratched, bruised, and marked,
but by the expenditure of only a reasonable amount of
money it was restored to its original condition. By 1955 it
looked precisely as it had looked in 1939 — dignified, un
ostentatious, and quietly expensive.

For Harry Smith
because I appreciate the scientific way he reads my books

Such was Bertram’s, patronized over a long stretch of
years by the higher echelons of the clergy, dowager ladies of
the aristocracy up from the country, girls on their way home
for the holidays from expensive finishing schools. (“So few
places where a girl can stay alone in London but of course it
is quite all right at Bertram’s. We have stayed there for years.”)
There had, of course, been many other hotels on the model
of Bertram’s. Some still existed, but nearly all had felt the wind
of change. They had had necessarily to modernize themselves,
to cater for a different clientele. Bertram’s, too, had had to
change, but it had been done so cleverly that it was not at all
apparent at the first casual glance.
Outside the steps that led up to the big swing doors stood
what at first sight appeared to be no less than a field marshal. Gold braid and medal ribbons adorned a broad and
manly chest. His deportment was perfect. He received you
with tender concern as you emerged with rheumatic difficulty from a taxi or a car, guided you carefully up the steps
and piloted you through the silently swinging doorway.
Inside, if this was the first time you had visited Bertram’s, you felt, almost with alarm, that you had reentered
a vanished world. Time had gone back. You were in Edwardian England1 once more.

1 Edwardian England — Англия времен короля Эдварда
VII (сына королевы Виктории (1841–1910)

There was, of course, central heating, but it was not
apparent. As there had always been, in the big central
lounge, there were two magnificent coal fires; beside them
big brass coal scuttles shone in the way they used to shine
when Edwardian housemaids polished them, and they were
filled with exactly the right-sized lumps of coal. There was
a general appearance of rich red velvet and plushy coziness.

The armchairs were not of this time and age. They were
well above the level of the floor, so that rheumatic old ladies had not to struggle in an undignified manner in order
to get to their feet. The seats of the chairs did not, as in so
many modern high-priced armchairs, stop halfway between
the thigh and the knee, thereby inflicting agony on those

suffering from arthritis and sciatica; and they were not all
of a pattern1. There were straight backs and reclining backs,
different widths to accommodate the slender and the obese.
People of almost any dimension could find a comfortable
chair at Bertram’s.
Since it was now the tea hour, the lounge hall was full.

Not that the lounge hall was the only place where you could
have tea. There was a drawing-room (chintzy), a smoking-room (by some hidden influence reserved for gentlemen only) where the vast chairs were of fine leather, two

1 were not all of a pattern — (зд.) были разной формы

writing-rooms, where you could take a special friend and
have a cozy little gossip in a quiet corner — and even write
a letter as well if you wanted to. Besides these amenities of
the Edwardian age, there were other retreats, not in any
way publicized, but known to those who wanted them.
There was a double bar, with two bar attendants, an American barman to make the Americans feel at home and to

provide them with bourbon, rye, and every kind of cocktail, and an English one to deal with sherries and Pimm’s
No. 1, and to talk knowledgeably about the runners at
Ascot1 and Newbury to the middle-aged men who stayed
at Bertram’s for the more serious race meetings. There was
also, tucked down a passage, in a secretive way, a televi
sion room for those who asked for it.
But the big entrance lounge was the favourite place for
the afternoon tea drinking. The elderly ladies enjoyed seeing who came in and out, recognizing old friends, and commenting unfavourably on how these had aged. There were
also American visitors fascinated by seeing the titled Eng
lish really getting down to their traditional afternoon tea.
For afternoon tea was quite a feature2 of Bertram’s.

1Ascot — Аскот, деревня в южной Англии, где проводятся ежегодные скачки
2quite a feature — (зд.) это надо было видеть; на это стоило посмотреть

It was nothing less than splendid. Presiding over the
ritual was Henry, a large and magnificent figure, a ripe fifty,
avuncular, sympathetic, and with the courtly manners of
that long vanished species: the perfect butler. Slim youths
performed the actual work under Henry’s austere direction. There were large crested silver trays, and Georgian
silver teapots. The china, if not actually Rockingham and

Davenport, looked like it. The Blind Earl services were
particular favourites. The tea was the best Indian, Ceylon,
Darjeeling, Lapsang, etc. As for eatables, you could ask for
anything you liked —  and get it!
On this particular day, November the 17th, Lady Selina
Hazy, sixty-five, up from Leicestershire, was eating deli
cious well-buttered muffins with all an elderly lady’s relish.
Her absorption with muffins, however, was not so great
that she failed to look up sharply every time the inner pair
of swing doors opened to admit a newcomer.
So it was that she smiled and nodded to welcome Colonel Luscombe — erect, soldierly, race glasses hanging round

his neck. Like the old autocrat that she was, she beckoned
imperiously and in a minute or two, Luscombe came over
to her.
“Hello, Selina, what brings you up to Town?”
“Dentist,” said Lady Selina, rather indistinctly, owing
to muffin. “And I thought as I was up, I might as well go

and see that man in Harley Street1 about my arthritis. You
know who I mean.”
Although Harley Street contained several hundreds of
fashionable practitioners for all and every ailment, Luscombe did know whom she meant.
“Do you any good?2” he asked.
“I rather think he did,” said Lady Selina grudgingly.

“Extraordinary fellow. Took me by the neck when I wasn’t
expecting it, and wrung it like a chicken.” She moved her
neck gingerly.
“Hurt you?”
“It must have done, twisting it like that, but really I
hadn’t time to know.” She continued to move her neck gin
gerly. “Feels all right. Can look over my right shoulder for
the first time in years.”
She put this to a practical test and exclaimed.
“Why, I do believe that’s old Jane Marple. Thought she
was dead years ago. Looks a hundred.”
Colonel Luscombe threw a glance in the direction of

Jane Marple thus resurrected, but without much interest;

1 Harley Street — Харли-стрит, улица в Лондоне, где селились и принимали пациентов дорогие частнопрактикующие врачи
2 Do you any good? — (разг.) И как, помогло?

Bertram’s always had a sprinkling of what he called fluffy
old pussies.
Lady Selina was continuing.
“Only place in London you can still get muffins. Real
muffins. Do you know when I went to America last year
they had something called muffins on the breakfast menu.
Not real muffins at all. Kind of teacake with raisins in them.

I mean, why call them muffins?”
She pushed in the last buttery morsel and looked round
vaguely. Henry materialized immediately. Not quickly or
hurriedly. It seemed that, just suddenly, he was there.
“Anything further I can get you, my lady? Cake of any
kind?”

“Cake?” Lady Selina thought about it, was doubtful.
“We are serving very good seed cake, my lady. I can
recommend it.”
“Seed cake? I haven’t eaten seed cake for years. It is real
seed cake?”
“Oh yes, my lady. The cook has had the receipt for years.

You’ll enjoy it, I’m sure.”
Henry gave a glance at one of his retinue, and the lad
departed in search of seed cake.
“I suppose you’ve been at Newbury, Derek?”
“Yes. Darned cold, I didn’t wait for the last two races.
Disastrous day. That filly of Harry’s was no good at all.”

“Didn’t think she would be. What about Swanhilda?”

“Finished fourth.” Luscombe rose. “Got to see about

my room.”

He walked across the lounge to the reception desk. As

he went he noted the tables and their occupants. Aston
ishing number of people having tea here. Quite like old

days. Tea as a meal had rather gone out of fashion since

the war. But evidently not at Bertram’s. Who were all these

people? Two canons and the Dean of Chislehampton. Yes,

and another pair of gaitered legs over in the corner, a

Bishop, no less! Mere Vicars were scarce. Have to be at least

a canon to afford Bertram’s, he thought. The rank and file

of the clergy1 certainly couldn’t, poor devils2. As far as that

went, he wondered how on earth people like old Selina

Hazy could. She’d only got twopence or so a year to bless

herself with. And there was old Lady Berry, and Mrs.

Posselthwaite from Somerset, and Sybil Kerr — all poor as

church mice.

Still thinking about this he arrived at the desk and was

pleasantly greeted by Miss Gorringe, the receptionist Miss

Gorringe was an old friend. She knew every one of the cli
1 The rank and file of the clergy — (разг.) Рядовые служители церкви
2 poor devils — (разг.) бедняжки