A Nice Class of Corpse by Simon Brett

Mrs Pargeter.'
    'I'm sure I will. I had a look round the town yesterday. Littlehampton seems a very nice little place.'
    Lady Ridgleigh did not appear completely convinced of the truth of the assertion. 'Some of it is very pleasant, certainly. Not as select, perhaps, as Rustington or Middleton-on-Sea. Or, of course, dear Bognor. Still, some of it is quite adequate. Other parts, I fear, are rather less salubrious.'
    'Oh?'
    'I am afraid so. The summer can be very distressing.'
    'Oh dear.'
    'Bank Holidays are particularly unpleasant. I make a point of not stirring outside the hotel's doors on Bank Holidays.'
    'Why?'
    'The tone is lowered considerably. There have even been instances of violence on the front.'
    'From whom?'
    Lady Ridgleigh's bony shoulders shuddered. 'I believe they call themselves "Hell's Angels".'
    'Oh dear.'
    'Yes,' Lady Ridgleigh straightened her back. 'It makes me so thankful that we have the Royal Family.'
    Mrs Pargeter could think of no appropriate rejoinder to this, and so started to read her Daily Mail . Lady Ridgleigh, feeling that she had displayed quite sufficient 'common touch' for one day, put her half-glasses back on, reopened her Times and found the 'Court and Social' page.
    The next arrival in the Seaview Lounge was Colonel Wicksteed, returning rather earlier than usual from his 'constitutional'. He rubbed his hands together as he came in.
    'Couldn't stay out long this morning. Damned cold.' He stopped short. 'Pardon my French, ladies.'
    Lady Ridgleigh's bony hand waved gracious forgiveness, and the Colonel deposited himself in his customary armchair in the bay window. The binoculars, around his neck when he entered, were at once raised to scan the slaty expanse of the sea.
    In a matter of moments, Mr Dawlish, somehow sensing his friend's return, entered and, with little bows to the ladies, took his seat opposite the Colonel. He arranged the rug about his thin knees.
    'Anything?'
    'No.' The Colonel lowered his binoculars to his lap. 'Not a thing.' He sighed. 'No.' Then a furtive expression crept across his face as, after looking round elaborately, he said in a hoarse whisper, 'Saw something this morning rather tickled me.'
    'Oh?'
    Mr Dawlish adopted an equally exaggerated whisper. The effect of both was to draw attention to what they were saying rather than to obscure it, but, with an amateur dramatic society prompter's confidence in his inaudibility, the Colonel continued.
    'Saw it in the newsagent – went in there to buy the Sporting — erm, erm . . . Horse and Hound and—'
    'Where is it?'
    'What?'
    ' Horse and Hound .'
    'Oh, erm, they hadn't got it. Anyway, in the newsagent, I happened to glance at some of those, er . . . you know, those things they have in there . . . bit near the knuckle . . .'
    'Gloves?' Mr Dawlish offered helpfully.
    'No, no. Postcards,' the Colonel hissed.
    'Oh yes. Postcards.'
    'Know the sort I mean?'
    'Of course.' Mr Dawlish nodded contentedly. ' "View of West Beach", "View of the Arun Estuary", "View of—" '
    'No, no, not those.' The Colonel leant forward and became even more elaborately conspiratorial. 'I mean, postcards with a bit of spice.'
    'I've never come across those,' said Mr Dawlish. 'Whatever will they think of next?'
    The Colonel shook his head impatiently, but decided to press on with his story. 'Anyway, one of these postcards had this picture of a . . . young woman . . . know what I mean?'
    Mr Dawlish nodded.
    'And she was extremely . . . what's the word?'
    'I've no idea,' replied Mr Dawlish with disarming honesty.
    'Well endowed . . . know what I mean?'
    'Oh yes.' Mr Dawlish nodded. 'Got lots of money for her old age.'
    'No, no. When I say "well endowed", I mean "well endowed" . . .' The Colonel dropped his voice even lower '. . . physically . Anyway, there she is, scantily clad, looking quite pleased with herself, sitting on the side of a bed – husband in bed asleep – and she's writing a letter . . . Bet you can't guess what the caption is . . .