Closed Casket: The New Hercule Poirot Mystery (Hercule Poirot Mystery 2) by Sophie Hannah Read Free Book Online Page B

an honour for a humble man like himself to be secretary to the great Athelinda Playford, Claudia rather pointedly started a conversation of her own with Kimpton. Dorro took the opportunity to berate Harry for having failed to intercede on her behalf when Kimpton had attacked her—‘Steady on, old girl! Hardly an attack, eh? Little bit of harmless teasing!’—and soon we were not one large group but many small ones, all conducting separate conversations.
    Mercifully, the first course arrived not long afterwards, served ineptly by a red-eyed Phyllis. I noticed that Scotcher made a point of breaking away from his conversation with Poirot and turning to thank her fulsomely as she put down his portion of what Lady Playford described as ‘good old traditional English mutton broth’. The way she said it made me think it must be her favourite thing to eat in the world. It smelled delicious, and I tucked in as soon as was decent.
    The conversation died down as we applied ourselves to eating. Beside me, a loud creak came from Orville Rolfe’s chair as he adjusted his position. ‘Is your chair all right, Catchpool?’ he asked. ‘Mine is wobbly. There was a time when a chap making a chair would build it to last. Not any more! Everything made nowadays is flimsy and disposable.’
    ‘Many people say so,’ I replied tactfully.
    ‘Well?’ said Rolfe. It was evidently a habit of his to demand an answer immediately after receiving one.
    ‘I agree with you,’ I said, hoping that would put an end to the matter. I felt as uncomfortable as I would have if we were discussing his size, and irritated that I should be embarrassed while he seemed perfectly all right.
    He finished his soup before anybody else, looked around and said, ‘Is there more? I don’t know why modern bowls are made so small—do you, Catchpool? This one’s shallow enough to be a side plate.’
    ‘I think they are probably a standard size.’
    ‘Well?’ Rolfe adjusted his position again, giving rise to more loud creaking. I prayed his chair would last for the duration of the meal.
    Joseph Scotcher was still talking to Poirot about Lady Playford’s books. ‘As a detective, you more than most will find them a delight,’ he said.
    ‘I am looking forward to reading many during my stay here,’ Poirot told him. ‘It was my intention to read one or two before I arrived, but alas, it was not to be.’
    Scotcher looked concerned. ‘I hope you have not been unwell,’ he said.
    ‘No, nothing of that sort. I was engaged to offer my opinion on a case of murder in Hampshire and … let us say, it became complicated and frustrating.’
    ‘I trust your efforts were successful in the end,’ said Scotcher. ‘A chap like you is surely a stranger to failure.’
    ‘Which novel of Lady Playford’s would you recommend that I read first?’ Poirot asked.
    That was interesting, I thought. Like Scotcher, I could not imagine Poirot failing to solve a case, and I had expected him to say something about the business in Hampshire having reached a satisfactory conclusion. Instead, he had altogether changed the subject.
    ‘Oh, you
must
start with
Shrimp Seddon and the Lady in the Suit
,’ said Scotcher. ‘It’s not the first, but it’s the most straightforward and, in my humble opinion, the best introduction to Shrimp. It’s also the first one I read, so I am sentimental about it for that reason.’
    ‘No,’ said Michael Gathercole. He had been talking to Lady Playford and Sophie Bourlet, but now he addressed Poirot. ‘One must read them in chronological order.’
    ‘
Oui
, I think I would prefer to do so,’ Poirot agreed.
    ‘Then, like Michael here, you must be frightfully conventional,’ said Lady Playford with a twinkle in her eye. ‘Joseph’s clever theory is that it’s
better
to read books in the wrong order, if they are a series. He says—’
    ‘Let him tell us himself, since we have the benefit of his company tonight,’ said Claudia. ‘We will have