False Scent by Ngaio Marsh Read Free Book Online Page B

would have been a great pleasure to take you. I should have been proud.”
    “Oh hell!” said Anelida. She rushed at him and gave him an exasperated hug. He was much puzzled and hit her gently several times on the shoulder blades.
    The shop door opened.
    “Here,” Octavius said over the top of Anelida’s head, “is Dakers.”
    Coming from the sunshine into the dark shop, Richard had been given a confused impression of Anelida collaring Octavius in a high tackle. He waited for her to emerge, which she did after some fumbling with her uncle’s handkerchief.
    Octavius said, “If you’ll excuse me, Nell. Really, one
must
get on with one’s job.” He nodded to Richard and limped away into his back room.
    Richard was careful not to look at Anelida. “I came,” he said, “first to apologize.”
    “Not at all. I expect I behaved badly.”
    “And to say how very glad I am. Mary told me you had decided for the party.”
    “It was terribly kind of her to come. Unk was bewitched.”
    “We are being polite to each other, aren’t we?”
    “Better than flying into rages.”
    “May I call for you?”
    “There’s no need. Really. You’ll be busy with the party. Unk will be proud to escort me. He said so.”
    “So he well might.” Richard now looked directly at Anelida. “You’ve been crying,” he said, “and your face is dirty. Like a little girl’s. Smudged.”
    “All right. All right. I’m going to tidy it up.”
    “Shall I?”
    “No.”
    “How old are you, Anelida?”
    “Nineteen. Why?”
    “I’m twenty-eight.”
    “You’ve done very well,” Anelida said politely, “for your age. Famous dramatist.”
    “Playwright.”
    “I think with the new one you may allow yourself to be a dramatist.”
    “My God, you’ve got a cheek,” he said thoughtfully. After a moment he said, “Mary’s reading it. Now.”
    “Was she pleased about it?”
    “For the wrong reason. She thinks I wrote it for her.”
    “But — how could she? Still, she’ll soon find out.”
    “As I mentioned before, you don’t really know much as yet about theatre people.”
    Anelida said, to her own astonishment, “But I do know I can act.”
    “Yes,” he agreed. “Of course you do. You’re a good actress.”
    “You haven’t seen me.”
    “That’s what you think.”
    “Richard!”
    “At least I’ve surprised you into calling me by my name.”
    “But
when
did you see me?”
    “It slipped out. It’s part of a deep-laid plan. You’ll find out.”
    “When?”
    “At the party. I’m off, now.
Au revoir
, dear Anelida.”
    When he had gone, Anelida sat perfectly still for quite a long time. She was bewildered, undecided and piercingly happy.
    Richard, however, returned to the house with his mind made up. He went straight to Charles Templeton’s study. He found Charles and Maurice Warrender there, rather solemn, over a decanter of sherry. When he came in they both looked self-conscious.
    “We were just talking about you,” Charles said. “Have whatever it is you do have at this hour, Dicky. Lager?”
    “Please. I’ll get it. Should I make myself scarce so that you can go on talking about me?”
    “No, no.”
    “We’d finished,” Warrender said, “I imagine. Hadn’t we, Charles?”
    “I suppose we had.”
    Richard poured out his lager. “As a matter of fact,” he said, “I sidled in with the idea of boring you with a few observations under that very heading.”
    Warrender muttered something about taking himself off. “Not unless you have to, Maurice,” Richard said. “It arises, in a way, out of what you said this morning.” He sat down and stared at his beer mug. “This is going to be difficult,” he said.
    They waited, Warrender looking owlish, Charles, as always, politely attentive.
    “I suppose it’s a question of divided allegiances,” Richard said at last. “Partly that, anyway.” He went on, trying to put what he wanted to say as objectively as might be. He knew that he was floundering