A Fête Worse Than Death by Dolores Gordon-Smith

murmured Haldean. ‘Unforgivable. Talking about neighbours, what d’you think of Colonel Whitfield? I’d not really met him properly before today and . . .’
    â€˜Whitfield?’ said Sir Philip, coming into the room with Lawrence behind him. ‘We were just talking about him, weren’t we, Lawrence? Can I get you a drink, by the way?’
    â€˜I know Marguerite’s interested in the Colonel,’ said Lady Rivers, ‘which is why I wrote to you, of course, Mr Lawrence, but until he met Marguerite I would have said that it was Mrs Verrity who had caught his eye.’
    â€˜He’s done precious little about it if she has,’ said Sir Philip, pouring a glass of whisky for Lawrence. ‘Say when. Help yourself to soda. Mind you,’ he added warmly, ‘I wouldn’t blame him if he
was
keen on Mrs Verrity, even if she is a few years older than him. She must be the most attractive woman in the district. She’s got the most marvellous auburn hair. I can’t think how she does it at her age.’
    â€˜You might care to notice, Philip,’ said Lady Rivers acidly, ‘that Anne-Marie Verrity is only slightly younger than me and that even I haven’t succeeded in becoming completely grey.’
    â€˜Oh . . . er, no, of course not, my dear,’ said Sir Philip, regarding the pit which he had dug. ‘Completely grey, indeed! What an idea! Besides, it suits you. Very . . . becoming. Not that it would matter if you were, of course. Grey, that is. All over.’
    â€˜Who is Mrs Verrity, anyway?’ asked Haldean, throwing his uncle a lifeline. ‘I’ve heard her mentioned, of course, but I only met her this afternoon. She seemed a very capable sort of person. Is she English? I thought I heard the trace of an accent.’
    â€˜She’s French,’ said his uncle gratefully, ‘but she’s lived in England for years.’ He added soda water to his whisky and rocked the glass thoughtfully. ‘She married Michael Verrity, whose family owned Thackenhurst. You remember him, Alice? He was in the diplomatic corps and we ran into them in Cairo before the war. They got posted to Vienna for a time and I gather she made quite a stir in society there. Verrity was well on the way to making a name for himself when he fell ill and got sent home. He must have died about 1914 or was it ’15? Anyway, Mrs Verrity developed a taste for nursing and after his death set up a hospital near Auchonvillers. Ran it jolly well, too. As you say, she’s a capable woman.’
    â€˜You still find her slightly exotic though, don’t you, Mother?’ asked Isabelle.
    â€˜Well, I do, dear. I suppose a lot of it has to do with the way she dresses. She wears country clothes, admittedly, and nothing out of place, but such
style
! She looks more like someone from a magazine rather than a real person. The house is like that, too. Thackenhurst was always very pleasant but in a lived-in sort of way, but after the war I believe Mrs Verrity had someone down from London to design the rooms for her and it shows. It’s hard to realize it’s actually someone’s home. Of course she often has visitors and I suppose as she is French and lived in Vienna when it really
was
Vienna, she feels she has to make a show.’ She stood up and yawned delicately. ‘Oh dear. I think if you’ll excuse me I really must go upstairs. It’s been a long day. The fête was enough and then with this tragedy on top of it . . . I feel so sorry for Mrs Griffin. I must call in on her tomorrow. She only stepped in at the last minute because I asked her to and I can’t help but feel slightly responsible. Goodnight, everyone.’ She left the room.
    Haldean looked at Rivers. ‘Fancy a last pipe on the terrace?’
    â€˜Don’t mind if I do.’
    Together they went outside and strolled the length of the house, smoking in companionable silence. The moon