such—well, awkward circumstances.’
‘Awkward circumstances?’ said Greenleaf, drawn unwillingly from his dreams of the Riviera.
‘I don’t mean money-wise.’ Oliver winced but Nancy went on: ‘The whole thing was so funny, Patrick dying like that. I expect you’ll all think I’ve got a very suspicious mind but I can’t help thinking it was …’ She paused for effect and sipped her gin. ‘Well, it was fishy, wasn’t it?’
Greenleaf looked at the floor. The legs of his chair had caught in one of the Numdah rugs. He bent down and straightened it.
‘I don’t know if I ought to say this,’ Nancy went on. ‘I don’t suppose it’s common knowledge, but Patrick’s father …’ She lowered her voice. ‘Patrick’s father committed suicide. Took his own life.’
‘Oh, dear,’ said Bernice comfortably.
‘I really don’t know who it was told me,’ Nancy said. She picked up the plate of canapés and handed it to Marvell. To his shame Oliver saw that only half a cocktail onion topped the salmon mayonnaise on each of them. ‘Do have a savoury, won’t you?’
Marvell refused. The plate hovered.
‘Somebody told me about it. Now who was it?’
‘It was me,’ Oliver said sharply.
‘Of course it was. And Tamsin told you. I can’t imagine why.’
All childish innocence, she looked archly from face to face.
Marvell said: ‘I’m afraid I’m being obtuse, but I can’t quite see what Patrick’s father’s suicide had to do with his son dying of heart failure.’
‘Oh, absolutely nothing. Nothing at all. Youmustn’t think I was insinuating anything about Patrick. It’s just that it’s one of the funny circumstances. On its own it would be nothing.’
Oliver emptied his glass and stood up. He could cheerfully have slapped Nancy’s face. ‘I think we’re boring our guests,’ he said, bracketing himself with his wife and trying to make his voice sound easy. ‘Another drink, Max? Bernice?’ Marvell’s glass was still full. ‘What about you, darling?’
‘Oh, really!’ Nancy burst out laughing. ‘You don’t have to be so discreet. We’re all friends. Nothing’s going to go beyond these four walls.’
Oliver felt himself losing control. These people
were
discreet. Would it, after all, ruin his career, damn him as a social creature, if in front of them he were to bawl at Nancy, strike her, push her out of the room?
He stared at her, pouring sherry absently until it topped over the glass and spilled on the tray.
‘Damnation!’ he said.
‘Oh, your table!’ Bernice was beside him, mopping with a tiny handkerchief.
‘Linda Gaveston was here today,’ Nancy said. ‘She told me something very peculiar. No I won’t shut up, Oliver. I’m only repeating it because I’d be very interested in having an opinion from a medical man. You know that funny little man who’s a commercial traveller? The one who lives in the chalets?’
‘Carnaby,’ said Marvell.
‘That’s right, Carnaby. The one who was so difficult at the party. Well, the day before Patrick died he came into Waller’s shop and what d’you think he triedto buy?’ She waited for the guesses that never came. ‘Cyanide! That’s what he tried to buy.’
Greenleaf stuck out his lower lip. They had only been in the house half an hour but he began to wonder how soon he could suggest to Bernice that it was time to leave. His drink tasted thin. For the first time since he had given up smoking as an example to his patients he longed for a cigarette.
‘Waller wouldn’t sell anyone cyanide and maybe he managed to get it …’ She drew breath. ‘Elsewhere,’ she said with sinister emphasis. ‘Now why did he want it?’
‘Probably for killing wasps,’ said Marvell. ‘It’s an old remedy for getting rid of wasps.’
Nancy looked disappointed.
‘Linda overheard the conversation,’ she said, ‘and that’s just what this fellow Carnaby said. He said he wanted it for wasps. Linda thought it was pretty
‘Awkward circumstances?’ said Greenleaf, drawn unwillingly from his dreams of the Riviera.
‘I don’t mean money-wise.’ Oliver winced but Nancy went on: ‘The whole thing was so funny, Patrick dying like that. I expect you’ll all think I’ve got a very suspicious mind but I can’t help thinking it was …’ She paused for effect and sipped her gin. ‘Well, it was fishy, wasn’t it?’
Greenleaf looked at the floor. The legs of his chair had caught in one of the Numdah rugs. He bent down and straightened it.
‘I don’t know if I ought to say this,’ Nancy went on. ‘I don’t suppose it’s common knowledge, but Patrick’s father …’ She lowered her voice. ‘Patrick’s father committed suicide. Took his own life.’
‘Oh, dear,’ said Bernice comfortably.
‘I really don’t know who it was told me,’ Nancy said. She picked up the plate of canapés and handed it to Marvell. To his shame Oliver saw that only half a cocktail onion topped the salmon mayonnaise on each of them. ‘Do have a savoury, won’t you?’
Marvell refused. The plate hovered.
‘Somebody told me about it. Now who was it?’
‘It was me,’ Oliver said sharply.
‘Of course it was. And Tamsin told you. I can’t imagine why.’
All childish innocence, she looked archly from face to face.
Marvell said: ‘I’m afraid I’m being obtuse, but I can’t quite see what Patrick’s father’s suicide had to do with his son dying of heart failure.’
‘Oh, absolutely nothing. Nothing at all. Youmustn’t think I was insinuating anything about Patrick. It’s just that it’s one of the funny circumstances. On its own it would be nothing.’
Oliver emptied his glass and stood up. He could cheerfully have slapped Nancy’s face. ‘I think we’re boring our guests,’ he said, bracketing himself with his wife and trying to make his voice sound easy. ‘Another drink, Max? Bernice?’ Marvell’s glass was still full. ‘What about you, darling?’
‘Oh, really!’ Nancy burst out laughing. ‘You don’t have to be so discreet. We’re all friends. Nothing’s going to go beyond these four walls.’
Oliver felt himself losing control. These people
were
discreet. Would it, after all, ruin his career, damn him as a social creature, if in front of them he were to bawl at Nancy, strike her, push her out of the room?
He stared at her, pouring sherry absently until it topped over the glass and spilled on the tray.
‘Damnation!’ he said.
‘Oh, your table!’ Bernice was beside him, mopping with a tiny handkerchief.
‘Linda Gaveston was here today,’ Nancy said. ‘She told me something very peculiar. No I won’t shut up, Oliver. I’m only repeating it because I’d be very interested in having an opinion from a medical man. You know that funny little man who’s a commercial traveller? The one who lives in the chalets?’
‘Carnaby,’ said Marvell.
‘That’s right, Carnaby. The one who was so difficult at the party. Well, the day before Patrick died he came into Waller’s shop and what d’you think he triedto buy?’ She waited for the guesses that never came. ‘Cyanide! That’s what he tried to buy.’
Greenleaf stuck out his lower lip. They had only been in the house half an hour but he began to wonder how soon he could suggest to Bernice that it was time to leave. His drink tasted thin. For the first time since he had given up smoking as an example to his patients he longed for a cigarette.
‘Waller wouldn’t sell anyone cyanide and maybe he managed to get it …’ She drew breath. ‘Elsewhere,’ she said with sinister emphasis. ‘Now why did he want it?’
‘Probably for killing wasps,’ said Marvell. ‘It’s an old remedy for getting rid of wasps.’
Nancy looked disappointed.
‘Linda overheard the conversation,’ she said, ‘and that’s just what this fellow Carnaby said. He said he wanted it for wasps. Linda thought it was pretty
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