Carson's Conspiracy by Michael Innes Page B

than neurotic. It was probable that she would eventually go downhill, so that if she had the misfortune to reach her eighties it would be in a state of senile dementia. Appleby felt he had met such Cynthias in old age before – and commonly amid the sort of family misfortunes that lie on the fringes of crime. The Carsons’ son, although for some reason long resident in the USA, could be felt as her mainstay in point of an undistorted sense of reality. So if Robin was currently engaged in more or less ditching his parents – whether in favour of metal more attractive or for any other reason – he was a thoroughly unfilial and blameworthy young man.
    Thus did Sir John Appleby, a senior citizen tolerably well-seen in human nature, meditate dispassionately on the Carsons of Garford House. He was, as it happened, still doing so when a Rolls-Royce appeared unexpectedly on the drive. When it drew up before the front door it was Carl Carson who stepped out of it. For some seconds Appleby was far from pleased. He supposed that the awkward chap was paying what he’d dimly think of as a courtesy call. But this, he at once decided, was a false scent. Carson’s son had disappeared, and Carson, aware of the eminence from which Appleby had retired, had come to seek his advice. That must be it. It wasn’t a development Appleby exactly relished. But he reflected that the man might well be in considerable distress, and he hurried out to be properly welcoming.
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    â€˜I thought I’d just drop in on you,’ Carson said.
    â€˜Very nice of you, my dear Carson. Do sit down. Judith will be delighted.’
    This last was an unnecessary, and even slightly excessive assurance. When a man turns up on one, there is no call hastily to declare the enchantment of one’s wife. But Carson seemed pleased.
    â€˜Cynthia,’ he said with a certain solemnity, ‘had the pleasure of running into Lady Appleby yesterday.’
    â€˜Ah, yes – so Judith has told me. Mrs Carson spoke of your son, and of your expecting a visit from him.’
    â€˜Just so. And we’re a little surprised, as a matter of fact, that Robin hasn’t yet turned up on us. But there’s nothing out of the way about it; nothing out of the way, at all.’ Carson offered this information not so much easily as airily. ‘Boys will be boys, wouldn’t you say?’
    Literally received, this appeared to be a glimpse of the obvious, and its application in a larger sense to Robin Carson’s non-appearance at Garford was, at least as yet, not for Appleby to comment upon. So he remained silent.
    â€˜Only, you see, my wife is a little nervous about Robin,’ Carson pursued. ‘I don’t know whether you noticed the fact, but she’s decidedly of a nervous type. Highly strung, as they say. A splendid creature, Appleby, but undeniably highly strung.’
    This again was a shade difficult to respond to. It did seem fairly clear to Appleby that about Carson himself there hung a distinctly nervous air. And about this there was something indefinably complex. Was the man in a state of anxiety which for some reason – perhaps a notion of proper manly behaviour – he felt obliged to dissimulate? And was he conceivably off-loading this anxiety on his wife? There was a small puzzle here – but Appleby told himself it was a puzzle he felt no particular impulse to resolve.
    â€˜It’s no doubt natural,’ he said, ‘that Mrs Carson should be a little worried if your son has failed to turn up on an expected date.’
    â€˜Exactly that. And, of course, it’s all nonsense. Young people are so thoroughly independent nowadays, wouldn’t you say? Robin will judge a few days to be neither here nor there. He probably has a fish or two of his own to fry in London before coming down to dull old Garford.’
    â€˜It’s fortunate that you feel no unreasonable anxiety in the matter