Spinsters in Jeopardy. Ngaio Marsh

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      Troy’s nerves jumped. Could he mean Carbury Glande, a painter whom she knew perfectly well who would certainly, if he appeared, greet her with feverish effusiveness? Mr Oberon no longer looked at her or at anyone in particular, yet she had the feeling that he talked at her and he was talking very well. Yes, here was a description of one of Glande’s works. ‘He painted it yesterday from the Saracens’ Watchtower: the favourite interplay of lemon and lacquer-red with a single note of magenta, and everything arranged about a central point. The esoteric significance was eloquent and the whole thing quite beautiful.’ It was undoubtedly Carbury Glande. Surely, surely, the operation must be over and if so, why didn’t Alleyn come and take them away? She tried to remember if Carbury Glande knew she was married to a policeman.

      Ginny Taylor said: ‘I wish I knew about Carbury. I can’t get anything from his works. I can only say awful philistinish things such as they look as if they were too easy to do.’ She glanced in a friendly manner at Troy. ‘Do you know about modern art?’ she asked.

      ‘I’m always ready to learn,’ Troy hedged with a dexterity born of fright.

      ‘I shall never learn however much I try,’ sighed Ginny Taylor and suddenly yawned.

      The jaws of everyone except Mr Oberon quivered responsively.

      ‘Lord, I’m sorry,’ said Ginny and for some unaccountable reason looked frightened. Robin Herrington touched her hand with the tip of his fingers. ‘I wonder why they’re so infectious,’ he said. ‘Sneezes, coughs and yawns. Yawns worst of all. To read about them’s enough to set one going.’

      ‘Perhaps,’ Mr Oberon suggested, ‘it’s another piece of evidence, if a homely one, that separateness is an illusion. Our bodies as well as our souls have reflex actions.’ And while Troy was still wondering what on earth this might mean his Sati gave a little yelp of agreement.

      ‘True! True!’ she cried. She dived, stretched out with her right arm and grasped her toes. At the same time she wound her left arm behind her head and seized her right ear. Having achieved this unlikely posture, she gazed devotedly upon Mr Oberon. ‘Is it all right, dearest Ra,’ she asked, ‘for me to press quietly on with my Prana and Pranayama?’

      ‘It is well at all times, dear Sati, if the spirit also is attuned.’

      Troy couldn’t resist stealing a glance at Ginny Taylor and Robin Herrington. Was it possible that they found nothing to marvel at in these antics? Ginny was looking doubtfully at Sati and young Herrington was looking at Ginny as if, Troy thought with relief, he invited her to be amused with him.

      ‘Ginny?’ Mr Oberon said quietly.

      The beginning of a smile died on Ginny’s lips. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said quickly. ‘Yes, Ra?’

      ‘Have you formed a design for today?’

      ‘No. At least … this afternoon …’

      ‘I thought, if it suited general arrangements,’ Robin Herrington said, ‘that I might ask Ginny to come into Douceville this afternoon. I want her to tell me what colour I should have for new awnings on the afterdeck.’

      But Ginny had got up and walked past Troy to Mr Oberon. She stood before him white-faced with the dark marks showing under her eyes.

      ‘Are you going, then, to Douceville?’ he asked. ‘You look a little pale, my child. We were so late with our gaities last night. Should you rest this afternoon?’

      He was looking at her as he had looked at Troy.

      ‘I think perhaps I should,’ she said in a flat voice.

      ‘I, too. The colour of the awnings can wait until the colour of the cheeks is restored. Perhaps Annabella would enjoy a drive to Douceville. Annabella Wells,’ he explained to Troy, ‘is with us. Her latest picture is completed and she is to make a film for Durant Frères in the spring.’

      Troy was not much interested in the presence of a notoriously erratic, if brilliant actress. She had been watching young Herrington, whose brows were drawn together in a scowl. He got up and stood behind Ginny looking at Oberon over the top of her head. His hands closed and he thrust them into his pockets.

      ‘I thought a drive might be a good idea for Ginny,’ he said.

      But Ginny had sunk down on the end of the Li-lo at Mr Oberon’s feet. She settled herself there quietly, with an air of obedience. Mr Oberon said to Troy: ‘Robin has a most wonderful yacht. You must ask him to show it to you.’ He put his hand on Ginny’s head.

      ‘I should be delighted,’ said Robin and sounded furious. He had turned aside and now added in a loud voice: ‘Why not this afternoon? I still think Ginny should come to Douceville.’

      Troy knew that something had happened that was unusual between Mr Oberon and his guests and that Robin Herrington was frightened as well as angry. She wanted to give him courage. Her heart thumped against her ribs.

      In the dead silence they all heard someone come quickly up the stone stairway. When Alleyn opened the door their heads were already turned towards him.

      III

      He waited for a moment to accustom his eyes to the glare and during that moment he and the five people whose faces were turned towards him were motionless.

      One grows scarcely to see one’s lifelong companions and it is more difficult to call up the face of one’s beloved than that of a mere acquaintance. Troy had never been able to make a memory-drawing of her husband. Yet, at that moment, it was as if a veil of familiarity was withdrawn and she looked at him with fresh perception.

      She thought: ‘I’ve never been gladder to see him.’

      ‘This is my husband,’ she said.

      Mr Oberon had risen and came forward. He was five inches shorter than Alleyn. For the first time Troy thought him ridiculous as well as disgusting.

      He held out his hand. ‘We’re so glad to meet you at last. The news is good?’

      ‘Dr Baradi will be able to tell you better than I,’ Alleyn said. ‘Her condition was pretty bad. He says she will be very ill.’

      ‘We shall all help her,’ Mr Oberon said, indicating the antic Sati, the bemused Ginny Taylor and the angry-looking Robin Herrington. ‘We can do so much.’

      He put his hand on Alleyn’s arm and led him forward. The reek of ether accompanied them. Alleyn was introduced to the guests and offered a seat but he said: ‘If we may, I think perhaps I should see my wife and Ricky on their way back to Roqueville. Our driver is free now and can take them. He will come back for me. We’re expecting a rather urgent telephone call at our hotel.’

      Troy, who dreaded the appearance of Carbury Glande, knew Alleyn had said ‘my wife,’ because he didn’t want Oberon to learn her name. He had an air of authority that was in itself, she thought, almost a betrayal. She got up quickly and went to Ricky.

      ‘Perhaps,’ Alleyn said, ‘I should stay a little longer in case there’s any change in her condition. Baradi is going to telephone to St Christophe for a nurse and, in the meantime, two of your maids will take turns sitting in the room. I’m sure, sir, that if she were able, Miss Truebody СКАЧАТЬ