The Curious Incident at Claridge's by R.T. Raichev Page A
Authors: R.T. Raichev
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but sleep was out of the question. Perhaps if she were to start reading, she might be able to go to sleep? That was the effect P.D. James often had on her.
Olivia was at the end of her tether. Nicholas was becoming quite impossible. He didnât even pretend to like her. He treated her abysmally. What was it he said about the garden party at Fane Park, which she had actually quite enjoyed? Two ghastly hours of sheer banality, during which I heard not one single remark worthy of remembrance . Olivia felt certain he said these things on purpose, to upset her. She pressed her handkerchief against her lips once more. If perhaps they had had children, things might have been different?
Nicholas found himself at a loose end too often, that was the trouble. His life lacked purpose and direction. Now, if they were in the country permanently , if they lived at Tradescant Hall and Nicholas had a position to maintain, things might be different. Yes . It would be an entirely different kettle of fish. Nicholas would be kept busy. He wouldnât like it, but he would soon enough accept his various responsibilities.
Nicholas had a sense of duty, she must give him that. He wouldnât be able to keep rushing to London all the time, no matter what delights awaited him there. (Oliviaâs Roman nose wrinkled fastidiously.) Besides, he would soon be fifty. One didnât expect the calls of the flesh to continue for much longer, though of course there was no guaranteeâmen were different from women in that respectâlook at her father-in-law, making a fool of himself in his sixties marrying that girl! Still, she felt confident that once her husband became âSir Nicholas Tradescantâ, things would change, gradually, if not overnight ⦠When would that be, though?
Olivia looked at the clock as though in anticipation of an answer. Twenty to one. Divorce was not something she was prepared to consider. No, divorce was most certainly not on her agenda. But her father-in-law might live to be a hundred. Tradescants were notoriously long-lived. I wish he were dead, she thought. Oddly enough, it was her father-in-lawâs housekeeper who had died that morning. Mrs Meltonâsome such name. (Olivia could never remember the names of servants.) The woman seemed to have killed herself. Mrs Mowbray, that was it. Her father-in-law had made a complete recovery, or so sheâd been given to understand ⦠He would never kill himself ⦠Never ⦠Could he perhaps be ⦠assisted ? A death could be made to look like suicide â¦
Olivia Tradescant must have dozed off because the next moment she heard herself say, âIt wouldnât really matter. He never seems frightfully happy, so it would be an act of kindness, helping him out of his misery.â
She appeared to be talking to an accomplice of some sort, a shadowy figure whose face she couldnât see.
8
The Rendezvous
The girlie had said yes in the end, as he had been sure she would. She didnât want trouble. Of course she didnât. She knew perfectly well which side of her bread was buttered. She was no fool. She knew what would happen if she tried to be difficult, if she refused to meet him. She knew that all he needed to do was pick up the phone and ring Scotland Yard. The poisoning of Sir Seymour Tradescant, with his great wealth and links to royalty, would be front-page news and the police would certainly listen to what he had so say. She was well aware that he could provide the police with the kind of detail that would leave little doubt that he was a plausible eyewitness.
He could tell the police the exact time Penelope and the pantaloonâSir Seymourâhad been at Claridgeâs. He could describe the silver box. He could tell them about the reference to Maybrick Manorâor something very similarâand to the âMasterââabout the request for a cab too. When the police did check with Claridgeâs, his story
Olivia was at the end of her tether. Nicholas was becoming quite impossible. He didnât even pretend to like her. He treated her abysmally. What was it he said about the garden party at Fane Park, which she had actually quite enjoyed? Two ghastly hours of sheer banality, during which I heard not one single remark worthy of remembrance . Olivia felt certain he said these things on purpose, to upset her. She pressed her handkerchief against her lips once more. If perhaps they had had children, things might have been different?
Nicholas found himself at a loose end too often, that was the trouble. His life lacked purpose and direction. Now, if they were in the country permanently , if they lived at Tradescant Hall and Nicholas had a position to maintain, things might be different. Yes . It would be an entirely different kettle of fish. Nicholas would be kept busy. He wouldnât like it, but he would soon enough accept his various responsibilities.
Nicholas had a sense of duty, she must give him that. He wouldnât be able to keep rushing to London all the time, no matter what delights awaited him there. (Oliviaâs Roman nose wrinkled fastidiously.) Besides, he would soon be fifty. One didnât expect the calls of the flesh to continue for much longer, though of course there was no guaranteeâmen were different from women in that respectâlook at her father-in-law, making a fool of himself in his sixties marrying that girl! Still, she felt confident that once her husband became âSir Nicholas Tradescantâ, things would change, gradually, if not overnight ⦠When would that be, though?
Olivia looked at the clock as though in anticipation of an answer. Twenty to one. Divorce was not something she was prepared to consider. No, divorce was most certainly not on her agenda. But her father-in-law might live to be a hundred. Tradescants were notoriously long-lived. I wish he were dead, she thought. Oddly enough, it was her father-in-lawâs housekeeper who had died that morning. Mrs Meltonâsome such name. (Olivia could never remember the names of servants.) The woman seemed to have killed herself. Mrs Mowbray, that was it. Her father-in-law had made a complete recovery, or so sheâd been given to understand ⦠He would never kill himself ⦠Never ⦠Could he perhaps be ⦠assisted ? A death could be made to look like suicide â¦
Olivia Tradescant must have dozed off because the next moment she heard herself say, âIt wouldnât really matter. He never seems frightfully happy, so it would be an act of kindness, helping him out of his misery.â
She appeared to be talking to an accomplice of some sort, a shadowy figure whose face she couldnât see.
8
The Rendezvous
The girlie had said yes in the end, as he had been sure she would. She didnât want trouble. Of course she didnât. She knew perfectly well which side of her bread was buttered. She was no fool. She knew what would happen if she tried to be difficult, if she refused to meet him. She knew that all he needed to do was pick up the phone and ring Scotland Yard. The poisoning of Sir Seymour Tradescant, with his great wealth and links to royalty, would be front-page news and the police would certainly listen to what he had so say. She was well aware that he could provide the police with the kind of detail that would leave little doubt that he was a plausible eyewitness.
He could tell the police the exact time Penelope and the pantaloonâSir Seymourâhad been at Claridgeâs. He could describe the silver box. He could tell them about the reference to Maybrick Manorâor something very similarâand to the âMasterââabout the request for a cab too. When the police did check with Claridgeâs, his story
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