At Death's Door by Robert Barnard Page B

looking forward to seeing you.”
    Caroline was not struck by lightning for a liar. In the sitting room, Roderick was rubbing his hands. Clearly,Isobel was not intending to pay them a visit. Isobel was quite aware that in the last legal will of their father she stood to inherit the Rectory, while Roderick and Caroline inherited the estate, which included the royalties on the books. She thought this was a most unfair division, but she came down periodically to keep an eye on “her” property and to monitor the meteoric rise of property values in general in the area.
    Eventually they got through Isobel’s complaints about her husband, his absences, his stinginess, how she “never got out,” how their son was proving “a chip off the old block,” how she hadn’t bought a new dress in years, and a few more standard items from Isobel’s list of grievances. Eventually, exhausted, she asked how the Cotterels were.
    â€œOh, fine,” said Caroline. “Busy—what with Father and Becky. And we’ve actually got young people camping in the garden at the moment. Roderick’s half sister—oh, and yours too, of course . . . That’s right; Cordelia Mason.”
    There was a long pause while Isobel digested this and expatiated on it. Roderick could guess the broad outline of her remarks: Little hussy! What’s her game? What does she want out of us? Eventually, Caroline was allowed to explain further.
    â€œActually we get on very well. They’re both very nice. . . . Yes, there’s a boyfriend. . . . Well, she is twenty-seven, you know, Isobel. . . . She’s been digging around in your father’s papers. . . . I can’t see why not. She’s—she’s writing a book about her mother. . . . Why shouldn’t she have got a damehood? She’s a very fine actress. Are all knights chaste? . . . Actually she’s expected down here tomorrow.”
    Roderick groaned. He knew Isobel so much better than Caroline did. He’d been willing her not to say that very thing. The direction of the conversation immediately changed, and Caroline’s voice took on a tone of strained banter.
    â€œDo you? . . . So you think you might come, after all? . . . Don’t tell me you’re becoming a tuft hunter, Isobel. . . . Yes, it will be interesting to see her. . . . Oh, I admit we’re interested, too, though we’ve no reason to think she will actually call here. . . . So you will come? . . . You’ll stay at the Red Lion as usual? If they’ve got room, of course. . . . No, she’ll be staying there as well, I gather. . . . Then we’ll probably see you on Monday. . . . We’ll be looking forward to it.”
    Coming back into the sitting room, Caroline raised her eyebrows to heaven.
    â€œWell, I really let us in for that, didn’t I?”
    The next morning, Sunday, Roderick got up and made the tea as usual. He looked in on Becky, who was playing with her beads, and who gave him her smile of delight that her day had begun. The old man was still asleep, but Roderick let in a little light, which would probably mean he would have attained a sort of consciousness by breakfast time. At the front door he picked up the Observer from the mat and opened the door to let the cat in.
    Walking through the kitchen, he was struck by a thought and went back to the front door to check. He had been right. The jalopy, the old Volkswagen, had gone. He walked around the house to the lawn, but the tent was still there. So at least Cordelia and Pat had not taken off for good. But apparently their response to the arrival of Dame Myra had been to disappear for the day.

Chapter 6
    R ODERICK AND CAROLINE spent a very ordinary Sunday. They did not see any reason to alter their habits because Myra Mason was arriving