our anniversary, didn’t she? Last month – when you took her for drinks at Harry’s Bar?’
‘She did ask me, yes. Dear Aunt Nellie. She said she had little patience with the tin or aluminium nonsense, which, apparently, is what people send on tenth wedding anniversaries, but how about eighteenth-century silver or Icelandic crystal or one of her precious medieval tapestries? I said – now what did I say?’ Payne tapped his forehead with his forefinger. ‘No, I can’t remember.’
‘I am sure you can. What did you say, Hugh?’
‘I said – um – we’ve got enough silver, darling, we keep breaking things, so crystal would be wasted on us, and nothing in our house really goes with medieval tapestries. But she insisted she must give us something . It wouldn’t do for her not to give us a tenth wedding anniversary present. So I said, if I remember correctly, that dear Antonia and I have been at something of a loose end lately, in fact, we are bored out of our wits, so what we’d like best, darling, is a mysterious murder.’
‘You actually said that?’
‘OK, I didn’t say “dear Antonia”.’
‘But you did say we’d like a murder?’
‘It was all light-hearted badinage.’ Payne reached out for his pipe. ‘If you want my honest opinion, I don’t believe Aunt Nellie’s behind it. She is too old to be bothered. A Murder Weekend is an elaborate thing, the devil to organise and get going, and it involves one too many people and “staying in character” and so on … And would Sybil de Coverley have placed her island at Aunt Nellie’s disposal?’
‘She might have done.’
He couldn’t imagine his aunt staging amateur theatricals on an island in the middle of the sea. Not at her age. Out of the question.
‘Perhaps someone else is doing the staging?’ Antonia insisted. ‘They may have employed the services of a professional?’
‘Too far-fetched,’ Payne said.
‘Somebody whose metier is Murder Weekends, perhaps?’
‘Too far-fetched.’
‘Perhaps it’s all Sybil’s doing. She may be planning to commit a murder with the sole object of having her brother blamed for it?’
Payne nodded. ‘She certainly managed to create the impression that brother John is of a hopelessly loony cast of mind if not dangerously unhinged … The kind of chap who would get obsessed with Batman comics … Yes, that’s perfectly possible.’
‘She went out of her way to poison our minds against him … I’m sure I’ve seen a letter like this somewhere,’ Antonia said suddenly. ‘ In a book . An Agatha Christie or somewhere.’
‘It occurs to me, my love, that we may have been presented with a rag-bag of disparate ideas from various detective stories,’ Payne said. ‘The gentlewoman who knows too much but is reluctant to let on … Ten people on an island … A letter whose signature reads “enigma” and whose purpose is to taunt and provoke the detective … I wouldn’t be at all surprised if, on arriving at Sphinx Island, we were greeted with a body in the library. What a bore that would be.’
‘Clichés … Yes … All clichés … You are absolutely right …’ Something was stirring at the back of Antonia’s mind – what was that name Sybil de Coverley had mentioned and then looked as though she wished she hadn’t?
‘Hate clichés … But perhaps these are deliberate clichés?’
‘Not necessarily. We may be dealing with someone who is incapable of original thought.’
‘A general lack of definition is at the moment the keynote to the Sphinx Island affair … Why do you keep looking at the clock?’
‘I need to go and buy some millinery … Care to come? Or will you think it a bore?’
‘No, not at all. Splendid idea. As you know,’ said Payne, ‘I am awfully good at hats.’
8
A MIND TO MURDER
It was at the hat shop, one of her regular haunts in Beauchamp Place, that Antonia remembered. ‘I believe Sybil referred to a woman called
‘She did ask me, yes. Dear Aunt Nellie. She said she had little patience with the tin or aluminium nonsense, which, apparently, is what people send on tenth wedding anniversaries, but how about eighteenth-century silver or Icelandic crystal or one of her precious medieval tapestries? I said – now what did I say?’ Payne tapped his forehead with his forefinger. ‘No, I can’t remember.’
‘I am sure you can. What did you say, Hugh?’
‘I said – um – we’ve got enough silver, darling, we keep breaking things, so crystal would be wasted on us, and nothing in our house really goes with medieval tapestries. But she insisted she must give us something . It wouldn’t do for her not to give us a tenth wedding anniversary present. So I said, if I remember correctly, that dear Antonia and I have been at something of a loose end lately, in fact, we are bored out of our wits, so what we’d like best, darling, is a mysterious murder.’
‘You actually said that?’
‘OK, I didn’t say “dear Antonia”.’
‘But you did say we’d like a murder?’
‘It was all light-hearted badinage.’ Payne reached out for his pipe. ‘If you want my honest opinion, I don’t believe Aunt Nellie’s behind it. She is too old to be bothered. A Murder Weekend is an elaborate thing, the devil to organise and get going, and it involves one too many people and “staying in character” and so on … And would Sybil de Coverley have placed her island at Aunt Nellie’s disposal?’
‘She might have done.’
He couldn’t imagine his aunt staging amateur theatricals on an island in the middle of the sea. Not at her age. Out of the question.
‘Perhaps someone else is doing the staging?’ Antonia insisted. ‘They may have employed the services of a professional?’
‘Too far-fetched,’ Payne said.
‘Somebody whose metier is Murder Weekends, perhaps?’
‘Too far-fetched.’
‘Perhaps it’s all Sybil’s doing. She may be planning to commit a murder with the sole object of having her brother blamed for it?’
Payne nodded. ‘She certainly managed to create the impression that brother John is of a hopelessly loony cast of mind if not dangerously unhinged … The kind of chap who would get obsessed with Batman comics … Yes, that’s perfectly possible.’
‘She went out of her way to poison our minds against him … I’m sure I’ve seen a letter like this somewhere,’ Antonia said suddenly. ‘ In a book . An Agatha Christie or somewhere.’
‘It occurs to me, my love, that we may have been presented with a rag-bag of disparate ideas from various detective stories,’ Payne said. ‘The gentlewoman who knows too much but is reluctant to let on … Ten people on an island … A letter whose signature reads “enigma” and whose purpose is to taunt and provoke the detective … I wouldn’t be at all surprised if, on arriving at Sphinx Island, we were greeted with a body in the library. What a bore that would be.’
‘Clichés … Yes … All clichés … You are absolutely right …’ Something was stirring at the back of Antonia’s mind – what was that name Sybil de Coverley had mentioned and then looked as though she wished she hadn’t?
‘Hate clichés … But perhaps these are deliberate clichés?’
‘Not necessarily. We may be dealing with someone who is incapable of original thought.’
‘A general lack of definition is at the moment the keynote to the Sphinx Island affair … Why do you keep looking at the clock?’
‘I need to go and buy some millinery … Care to come? Or will you think it a bore?’
‘No, not at all. Splendid idea. As you know,’ said Payne, ‘I am awfully good at hats.’
8
A MIND TO MURDER
It was at the hat shop, one of her regular haunts in Beauchamp Place, that Antonia remembered. ‘I believe Sybil referred to a woman called
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