waste ten of the best years of her life being hopelessly in love with a married man. No, you mark my words, Dr Ashworth, she’s mad about power. Some women are; not all women want to marry, and I think Miss Christie simply loves being in charge here, running the palace, looking after Carrie, helping the Bishop, meeting all the Church dignitaries and all the aristocratic guests like the Starmouths. In my opinion,’ said Mrs Cobden-Smith decisively. ‘Miss Christie’s merely an unusual example of a modern woman who’s wedded to her career.’
Having conquered my
fou rire
I could see now that Mrs Cobden-Smith’s theory was not so absurd as I had supposed; it was certainly more attractive than Lady Starmouth’s wild assertion of lesbianism. However before I could make any comment Mrs Cobden-Smith exclaimed: ‘Ah, there’s Carrie – downstairs in time for luncheon, thank God! And there’s Willy with George. Will you excuse me, Dr Ashworth? I must see George eats his horsemeat.’
She set off briskly across the lawn, and as soon as I was alone I became aware that I was uncomfortably hot. I decided to cool off in my room before lunch while I reviewed the evidence produced in such profusion by my interviews.
By the time I reached the terrace Mrs Cobden-Smith had disappeared with the Colonel and George, but Mrs Jardine was waiting for me with her warmest smile. Now that I knew more about her the smile seemed poignant, and again I was aware of reality submerging itself beneath illusion in the heat of that Starbridge noon.
‘How are you, Mrs Jardine?’ I said as I mounted the steps to the terrace. ‘I was sorry to hear you were feeling so tired.’
‘Oh, I’m much better now, thank you! So stupid about my insomnia, I must have had too much coffee by mistake last night, and then after I’d gone to bed I started thinking about your poor wife and the baby and … Well, you know how it is, I dare say, when one’s thoughts go round and round, especially in the early hours of the morning, and suddenly I felt so frightened, I don’t know why, I do get moments of panic sometimes, especially when the weather’s so hot. Do you think there might be a storm coming, Dr Ashworth? The air’s very sultry, so close and threatening, and I feel as if something dreadful’s going to happen.’
The sky was cloudless and although the air was hot there was little humidity. I said gently, ‘I agree it’s very warm – shall we go inside?’ and I gestured to indicate she should precede me into the house but Mrs Jardine hesitated, looking uncertainly up and down the terrace. ‘I was wondering if we should have drinks out here,’ she said, ‘but I can’t make up my mind. Alex never drinks at midday but my brother and sister-in-law do and so do the Starmouths. Do you drink at midday, Dr Ashworth?’
‘Not usually, no.’ Beyond the open French windows Miss Christie and the butler were entering the drawing-room. I heard Miss Christie say: ‘No, it’s too hot outside, Shipton,’ and the butler set down his tray of glasses on a side-table.
‘Lyle says it’s too hot out here,’ said Mrs Jardine, relieved that the decision had been taken out of her hands. She called to Miss Christie: ‘Dr Ashworth doesn’t drink cocktails at midday either, dear, so we’ll be one extra for lemonade.’
‘Yes, I’d anticipated that,’ said Miss Christie, coming out on to the terrace to join us. ‘Good morning again, Dr Ashworth. I hope you’ve been enjoying sunbathing in a clerical suit.’
‘I have indeed,’ I said. ‘In fact the morning’s been so enjoyable that I’m resolved to have an equally enjoyable afternoon. Will you come for a drive with me after lunch?’
Miss Christie had given an inch and I had taken a yard. At least no one could accuse me of wasting my opportunities, but Miss Christie showed signs of regretting the conceded inch. Without hesitation she said: ‘I’m not a free agent, Dr Ashworth. I have my duties
Having conquered my
fou rire
I could see now that Mrs Cobden-Smith’s theory was not so absurd as I had supposed; it was certainly more attractive than Lady Starmouth’s wild assertion of lesbianism. However before I could make any comment Mrs Cobden-Smith exclaimed: ‘Ah, there’s Carrie – downstairs in time for luncheon, thank God! And there’s Willy with George. Will you excuse me, Dr Ashworth? I must see George eats his horsemeat.’
She set off briskly across the lawn, and as soon as I was alone I became aware that I was uncomfortably hot. I decided to cool off in my room before lunch while I reviewed the evidence produced in such profusion by my interviews.
By the time I reached the terrace Mrs Cobden-Smith had disappeared with the Colonel and George, but Mrs Jardine was waiting for me with her warmest smile. Now that I knew more about her the smile seemed poignant, and again I was aware of reality submerging itself beneath illusion in the heat of that Starbridge noon.
‘How are you, Mrs Jardine?’ I said as I mounted the steps to the terrace. ‘I was sorry to hear you were feeling so tired.’
‘Oh, I’m much better now, thank you! So stupid about my insomnia, I must have had too much coffee by mistake last night, and then after I’d gone to bed I started thinking about your poor wife and the baby and … Well, you know how it is, I dare say, when one’s thoughts go round and round, especially in the early hours of the morning, and suddenly I felt so frightened, I don’t know why, I do get moments of panic sometimes, especially when the weather’s so hot. Do you think there might be a storm coming, Dr Ashworth? The air’s very sultry, so close and threatening, and I feel as if something dreadful’s going to happen.’
The sky was cloudless and although the air was hot there was little humidity. I said gently, ‘I agree it’s very warm – shall we go inside?’ and I gestured to indicate she should precede me into the house but Mrs Jardine hesitated, looking uncertainly up and down the terrace. ‘I was wondering if we should have drinks out here,’ she said, ‘but I can’t make up my mind. Alex never drinks at midday but my brother and sister-in-law do and so do the Starmouths. Do you drink at midday, Dr Ashworth?’
‘Not usually, no.’ Beyond the open French windows Miss Christie and the butler were entering the drawing-room. I heard Miss Christie say: ‘No, it’s too hot outside, Shipton,’ and the butler set down his tray of glasses on a side-table.
‘Lyle says it’s too hot out here,’ said Mrs Jardine, relieved that the decision had been taken out of her hands. She called to Miss Christie: ‘Dr Ashworth doesn’t drink cocktails at midday either, dear, so we’ll be one extra for lemonade.’
‘Yes, I’d anticipated that,’ said Miss Christie, coming out on to the terrace to join us. ‘Good morning again, Dr Ashworth. I hope you’ve been enjoying sunbathing in a clerical suit.’
‘I have indeed,’ I said. ‘In fact the morning’s been so enjoyable that I’m resolved to have an equally enjoyable afternoon. Will you come for a drive with me after lunch?’
Miss Christie had given an inch and I had taken a yard. At least no one could accuse me of wasting my opportunities, but Miss Christie showed signs of regretting the conceded inch. Without hesitation she said: ‘I’m not a free agent, Dr Ashworth. I have my duties
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