A Death in the Loch by Caroline Dunford Read Free Book Online

cheeks was also false and she had a sparkling necklace around her neck. Even if it was real, it was definitely not the time of day for such a thing. She was, as Merry would later put it, ‘no better than she ought to be’. My mother would simply have sniffed and snubbed her. I, on the other hand, offered her the rolls. She paid no attention to me as she took one of the larger ones. Her hand hovered over the tray for a second. A glance around the table and she withdrew it. Greedy too, I thought.
    The other four diners were all men in suits. None of them were in the least flamboyant. The woman among them stood out like a parrot in a field of sheep. The atmosphere in the room was strangely tense. The woman and the man in charge seemed relaxed enough, but the five men, including Bertram, were all sitting on the edges of their seats. Bertram’s face had the bemused, worried expression I had so often seen when workmen came to tell him yet again that another part of his cursed estate had been found to be falling down again. I suspected he felt out of his depth and somewhat lost, like the rest of us, at what was actually going on. At least I had something to do. Merry’s arms, I noted with alarm, were beginning to shake with effort, so when the footman appeared I tried to catch his eye to get him to take over from her. He ignored me – as footmen usually do with maids, above stairs, and tried to whisper in Rory’s ear, but Rory’s furious face made him back off immediately. Rory set the ladle down in the soup. He tapped me on the shoulder, gesturing that I should take over and left with the footman. I placed the roll tray on the buffet and ignoring Rory’s suggestion took the soup tureen from Merry. She gave me a silent look of gratitude. I flicked my eyes at the woman, but Merry served the man at the top of the table first, only spilling a few drops on the tablecloth. Bertram coughed and she immediately realised her faux pas. The woman, however she looked, should have been served first.
    ‘So sorry,’ Merry muttered under her breath and in a shaking hand lifted the ladle once more. She managed to lift it without shaking too badly when Rory walked back into the room. Merry, startled mid-serve, emptied her ladle neatly into the lap of the woman, who shot to her feet with a screech. [5] Rory’s flaming eyes met mine. It was clear he thought it was all my fault.
    The man at the head of the table began to dab ineffectually at the woman’s lap area with his napkin, which made her screech even louder, like a kettle on the boil. She knocked his hand brusquely away and rushed for the door, pushing past Merry and I. On the way she caught Merry by the shoulder and sent her flying. I only retained hold of the soup tureen by a supreme effort of will and by planting my feet in a most unladylike pose. Poor Merry ended up on the buffet, rolls flew everywhere, and we were treated to a distinct flash of Merry’s underwear. Bertram’s eyes grew wide as saucers and one of the other men stifled, none too effectively, a guffaw. Poor Merry scrambled to her feet and fled.
     
     
     
    [2] I confess I often feel if only men would stay longer in the smoking room we could all get on with things so very much more effectively. There would also be much more taking of tea and the place would be generally tidier, men being in both their persons and about themselves generally untidy. Take Bertram’s beard, for instance. Actually, please take Bertram’s beard. It is ghastly!
    [3] The more perceptive of you will note I do not refer to her as a lady.
    [4] I use the term ‘representative’ because I had no idea who he represented, simply that he was one of the discreet fellows who worked for King and Country in capacities that generally bypassed lesser mortals such as myself.
    [5] And she did sound akin to a parrot!

Chapter Eight:
    Messages (too many of ’em)
    Of course, Rory handled the situation in cool, professional manner. He put the rolls tray