house.’
The girl replied that they were currently short-staffed, that she was
ever
so sorry about the oversight but if Miss Gilchrist cared to come to the office in a week’s time she was sure somebody would be available to accompany her around the property. (Huh! Rosy thought, terrified I might nick something prior to probate – take a picture off the wall and replace it with another, I suppose!) A time was fixed. And she started to hasten back to the dramas of Stanley’sheated domain but was waylaid by Leo clearly eager for a chat.
‘I shouldn’t go in there,’ he warned, ‘not just yet at any rate. He and Smithers have had a set-to and the old boy’s having the vapours. Talk to me instead.’ He beamed ingratiatingly.
‘Why?’
‘Thought you might have something to report about “things”.’
Rosy hesitated, and then briefly gave him an account of her meeting with Donald and what the latter had revealed about Marcia’s startling allusion to the coal scuttle. She was on the point of mentioning the SOE connection, but discretion prevailed and she merely said, ‘It was obviously a reference to something worrying her
then
and which presumably has some special significance now. It’s all pretty odd.’
‘The husband sounds a bit odd too,’ said Leo darkly. ‘Are you sure he was in America when it happened?’
‘Whatever do you mean?’ Rosy exclaimed.
‘What I say. It’s nearly always somebody known to the victim, i.e. husband or boyfriend. If he is so keen to marry this smart American bird the existence of a flamboyant ex-wife popular on the casino circuit might be a bit of a liability. For all their sophistication, Americans can be pretty strait-laced about these things, especially “old money” Bostonians. And although Marcia’s reputation might have been a bit wild – from what you’ve suggested – I doubt if
his
past was exactly like driven snow. Who knows what jolly tales your aunt might have had up her sleeve! I bet she could have scuttled his Priscilla chances if she had wanted. Definitely a potential hazard I should say, and getting rid of her could smoothhis matrimonial prospects no end … Mark my words!’ He grinned smugly.
‘What nonsense you talk,’ Rosy replied irritably. ‘Total fantasy. I hope you don’t treat your poor Mr Gladstone to such lurid speculation. Entertainment for the examiners, no doubt, but hardly likely to secure that doctorate.’
He saluted her in mock deference. ‘Yes, ma’am! I stand corrected. Just trying to be helpful, that’s all.’
‘Well go to someone else’s aid. I’ve got work to do,’ she retorted, and continued in the direction of Stanley’s lair.
She opened the door to be greeted by a barrage of protest: ‘Have you
any
idea what I have been subjected to?’ stormed her boss. ‘He actually had the gall to suggest I omit the third footnote in my appendix as it was redundant to all but the culturally blinkered! And then when I naturally started to put him right on that particular point, do you know what he said? Can you
imagine
?’
Rosy shook her head knowing speech to be pointless.
‘He
said
: “In fact I rather question the point of the appendix at all – it’s not as if anyone is likely to read it.” I can assure you, Rosy, the fellow is totally off his head! There’s nothing for it, he will have to go. Can’t you arrange it?’
She sighed. ‘Probably not. But I
could
arrange a nice gin and tonic. It’s nearly twelve o’clock. Would that do?’
He fixed her with a pitying glare. ‘No it will
not
do. The tonic is flat and Mrs Burkiss still refuses to yield her keys to the broom cupboard. Thus, until we can obtain said articles all drink is out of the question.’
‘Then in that case she will have to go as well,’ Rosy replied briskly.
Later that afternoon she just had time to get to the Royal Academy for the closing hours of its Lautrec exhibition. The paintings had been ravishing, the crowds less so; and
The girl replied that they were currently short-staffed, that she was
ever
so sorry about the oversight but if Miss Gilchrist cared to come to the office in a week’s time she was sure somebody would be available to accompany her around the property. (Huh! Rosy thought, terrified I might nick something prior to probate – take a picture off the wall and replace it with another, I suppose!) A time was fixed. And she started to hasten back to the dramas of Stanley’sheated domain but was waylaid by Leo clearly eager for a chat.
‘I shouldn’t go in there,’ he warned, ‘not just yet at any rate. He and Smithers have had a set-to and the old boy’s having the vapours. Talk to me instead.’ He beamed ingratiatingly.
‘Why?’
‘Thought you might have something to report about “things”.’
Rosy hesitated, and then briefly gave him an account of her meeting with Donald and what the latter had revealed about Marcia’s startling allusion to the coal scuttle. She was on the point of mentioning the SOE connection, but discretion prevailed and she merely said, ‘It was obviously a reference to something worrying her
then
and which presumably has some special significance now. It’s all pretty odd.’
‘The husband sounds a bit odd too,’ said Leo darkly. ‘Are you sure he was in America when it happened?’
‘Whatever do you mean?’ Rosy exclaimed.
‘What I say. It’s nearly always somebody known to the victim, i.e. husband or boyfriend. If he is so keen to marry this smart American bird the existence of a flamboyant ex-wife popular on the casino circuit might be a bit of a liability. For all their sophistication, Americans can be pretty strait-laced about these things, especially “old money” Bostonians. And although Marcia’s reputation might have been a bit wild – from what you’ve suggested – I doubt if
his
past was exactly like driven snow. Who knows what jolly tales your aunt might have had up her sleeve! I bet she could have scuttled his Priscilla chances if she had wanted. Definitely a potential hazard I should say, and getting rid of her could smoothhis matrimonial prospects no end … Mark my words!’ He grinned smugly.
‘What nonsense you talk,’ Rosy replied irritably. ‘Total fantasy. I hope you don’t treat your poor Mr Gladstone to such lurid speculation. Entertainment for the examiners, no doubt, but hardly likely to secure that doctorate.’
He saluted her in mock deference. ‘Yes, ma’am! I stand corrected. Just trying to be helpful, that’s all.’
‘Well go to someone else’s aid. I’ve got work to do,’ she retorted, and continued in the direction of Stanley’s lair.
She opened the door to be greeted by a barrage of protest: ‘Have you
any
idea what I have been subjected to?’ stormed her boss. ‘He actually had the gall to suggest I omit the third footnote in my appendix as it was redundant to all but the culturally blinkered! And then when I naturally started to put him right on that particular point, do you know what he said? Can you
imagine
?’
Rosy shook her head knowing speech to be pointless.
‘He
said
: “In fact I rather question the point of the appendix at all – it’s not as if anyone is likely to read it.” I can assure you, Rosy, the fellow is totally off his head! There’s nothing for it, he will have to go. Can’t you arrange it?’
She sighed. ‘Probably not. But I
could
arrange a nice gin and tonic. It’s nearly twelve o’clock. Would that do?’
He fixed her with a pitying glare. ‘No it will
not
do. The tonic is flat and Mrs Burkiss still refuses to yield her keys to the broom cupboard. Thus, until we can obtain said articles all drink is out of the question.’
‘Then in that case she will have to go as well,’ Rosy replied briskly.
Later that afternoon she just had time to get to the Royal Academy for the closing hours of its Lautrec exhibition. The paintings had been ravishing, the crowds less so; and
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