Chapter 3 third chapter

Mrs. Oliver drove into the patio of Bolloden's flats.The parking lot was already full of six cars.Mrs. Oliver was hesitating when a car backed out and drove off.She immediately and skillfully parked the car into the empty space. She got out of the car, slammed the door shut, stood still and looked up at the sky.The row of buildings was newly built, using the vacant land left by a coal mine that had been bombed in the previous war.Mrs. Oliver speculated: This area may have been the entire section of Great West Road, first to make people forget the "Skylark Feather Blade" chestnut legend, and then decide where you build the apartment building.The row of apartments appears to be highly functional, but whoever designed them obviously paid little attention to aesthetics.

These are the hectic times.After get off work, there are many people and vehicles coming and going in and out of the courtyard. Mrs. Oliver looked down at her wrist. It was ten to seven.Just in time, she figured it out herself.This is the time for working girls to come back; or to do a new job, put on strange-looking leggings or clothes that you think are fashionable; or, take a good rest at home or wash underwear and stockings.Anyway, this is a very reasonable time to try your luck.In this row of apartments, the east and west sides are exactly the same, and there is an automatic door in the middle.Mrs. Oliver chose the left, but immediately realized her mistake. The numbers on this side were 100 to 200.She made a U-turn to the other end.

Number sixty-seven is on the sixth floor.Mrs. Oliver pressed the elevator button.The elevator door opened with a disgusting clang like a yawning mouth, and Mrs. Oliver hurried into the yawning cavern.She has always been afraid of new elevators. With a bang, the elevator doors closed again.Rising sharply, almost immediately stopped again. (It was scary enough!) Mrs. Oliver fled like a frightened rabbit. She looked at the wall, then walked down the corridor to the right.She came to a door with the metal number sixty-seven inlaid in the center.Just when she stopped, the word seven on the door fell down and hit her foot.

"I don't think I'm welcome here," said Mrs. Oliver to herself, and taking a step back against the pain, picked up the number carefully, and nailed it back to the door. She rang the bell.Maybe everyone has gone out. Almost immediately, however, the door opened, and there stood a tall, handsome woman in a well-tailored jacket, a very short skirt, a white silk blouse, and well-dressed feet.Her black hair was neatly combed, and her face was well made-up but not very visible, which somehow made Mrs. Oliver feel a little flustered. "Well," said Mrs. Oliver, plucking up the courage to show the most modest response. "Excuse me, is Miss Restarick there?"

"No, sorry, she's out. Can I leave a message for her?" Mrs. Oliver said "Oh" again.She's going to do a trick first.She took out a brown paper bag that was not properly wrapped. "I promised to give her a book," she explained. "I wrote it, and she hasn't read it. I hope I'm not mistaken. She won't be back anytime soon?" "I dare not say that. I don't know if she has anything to do tonight." "Oh. Are you Rui Xi? Miss He Lan?" The girl showed a look of surprise. "Yes, it's me." "I have seen your lord," said Mrs. Oliver. "I am Mrs. Oliver. I write books." She added this with the same apologetic expression of her former identity.

"Come in and sit down, please?" Mrs. Oliver readily accepted, and Claudia Reese Holland led her into the drawing room.The rooms in this row of apartments are all of one type with faux rough wood veneers on the walls.Tenants can hang some modern paintings or any decorations as they like.There are fixed cupboards, bookshelves and other simple furniture in the room, a long back sofa and a foldable table.Plus, tenants can add their own knick-knacks.Some personal tastes of the occupants can also be seen in the room; a giant clown poster is pasted on the wall, and a stenciled picture of a monkey dangling on a fern branch is pasted on the other wall.

"I'm sure Norma will be delighted to read your book, Mrs. Oliver. Would you like something to drink? Sherry? Gin?" The girl had the brisk air of the best secretary, and Mrs. Oliver declined her hospitality. "You have a great view here," she said, looking out the window, blinking as the setting sun was hitting her directly. "Indeed, but it's not interesting if the elevator is broken." "I never thought that elevator would go wrong. Looks very, very—very tough." "It was installed recently, but it's not much better," Claudia said. "It's often repaired here and there."

The other girl walked into the room as she spoke. "Cuntia, do you know that I put—" She stopped and looked at Mrs. Oliver. Claudia immediately introduced them. "Frances Jarley—Mrs. Oliver. Mrs. Arland Oliver." "Oh, what a pleasure," said Frances. She is a tall and thin girl with long black hair and a pale gray face with heavy make-up. Her eyebrows and eyelashes are a little winged, which are accentuated by thick eye cream.She was wearing tight purple trousers and a thick sweater, a perfect contrast to the brisk, shrewd Claudia. "I sent Norma Resderick a book, and I promised her," said Mrs. Oliver.

"Yes!—what a pity she's in the country." "Haven't you come back yet?" Certainly, a silence can be felt.Mrs. Oliver felt an exchange of glances between the two girls. "I thought she was working in London," said Mrs. Oliver, with an air of genuine surprise. "Uh, yes," Claudia said, "she works for an interior design company, and she's sometimes sent out into the country to deliver designs." With a slight smile, she explained, "The three of us are here separately. Live different lives. There is no certainty about going in and out, and I don’t bother to leave messages with each other, but I will definitely remember to give her the book when she comes back.”

Such a casual explanation is the easiest way to get rid of things. Mrs. Oliver rose. "Then, thank you very much." Claudia walks her to the door. "I'll tell my father I've met you," she said. "He's a fan of detective stories." After closing the door, she returned to the living room. The girl Frances was leaning against the window. "I'm sorry," she said, "did I make a mistake?" "I just told her Norma was out. Frances shrugged her shoulders. "I can't figure it out. Claudia, where is that woman? Why didn't she come back on Monday? Where did she go?"

"I can't think of it either." "Didn't she live at home? Didn't she go back for the weekend?" "No. I called, of course to inquire." "I don't think it's going to be a big deal, . . . anyway, she—she's a little weird." "It's not necessarily more strange than others." But the tone was not very sure. "Well, of course, of course she's weird," said Frances. "Sometimes she makes me shudder. There's something wrong with her, I tell you." Suddenly, she burst out laughing. "Norma's not normal! You know something is wrong with her, Claudia, even if you won't admit it. I guess you're too loyal to your boss."