Fool Errant by Patricia Wentworth Read Free Book Online Page B

direction of the flower-stall, and twenty yards back again. Perhaps she meant to buy her chrysanthemum at the stall. He walked nearer to it, and when a girl stopped and bought flowers he broke into a cold perspiration. She was a pretty girl with red hair. She bought a sheaf of bronze chrysanthemums and ran past him as if she were afraid of losing her train.
    He heaved a sigh of relief. Quite definitely he did not want Loveday to have red hair. And then, right in front of him, coming towards him with a look of inquiry on her face, he saw a girl with a yellow chrysanthemum pinned conspicuously on the left of her coat. She was thinner than he had thought she would be, and older. But perhaps this was because she was made up so pale. He hadn’t, somehow, expected her to be made up at all. Why couldn’t girls leave their faces alone?
    The girl with the yellow chrysanthemum had rather bright blue eyes and very long black lashes. Her face was white with powder, and her mouth was painted a very brilliant shade of cerise. She wore a black coat with some grey fur on it, and a bright scarlet hat. The yellow chrysanthemum struck a vivid, jarring note.
    She came up to Hugo with the beginning of a smile. And then, just as she was about to speak, she began to cough; her hand went to her sleeve and out came a bright green handkerchief and a waft of scent. She pressed the handkerchief to her lips and went on coughing, but with less violence. After a moment she made an effort to speak.
    â€œMr. Hugo?”
    Then she began coughing again.
    â€œYes, I’m Hugo Ross. Are you—?”
    â€œLoveday Leigh.” The bright blue eyes looked up at him, and then were veiled in an affectation of embarrassment. “I’ve got such a shocking cold. You must excuse me.” Her voice was hoarse and weak. She coughed again.
    Something odd had happened to Hugo. His shyness was gone; he no longer felt the slightest inclination to stammer; he was coldly alert. He said,
    â€œI’m so sorry. Perhaps you’ll feel better when you’ve had some lunch. Where would you like to go?”
    Lunch for two would make rather a hole in his very small balance. He wondered what she would say.
    She looked over her shoulder and back again. Then she said, “I can’t stay.”
    â€œBut you must have lunch somewhere.”
    Another glance, slightly more coquettish.
    â€œOh, I’ve got an engagement.”
    â€œWith someone more fortunate?”
    She giggled, and then coughed again.
    â€œWell, if you won’t have lunch, what about a cup of coffee?”
    â€œI can’t—really.” She came dangerously near to saying “Reelly.”
    Hugo gazed at the yellow chrysanthemum.
    â€œWell, where shall we talk? You said you wanted to talk to me, didn’t you?”
    â€œOh, Mr. Hugo! How that sounds!”
    â€œYes, doesn’t it? But then I want to talk to you.”
    She slid a hand into his arm.
    â€œDo you really?”
    â€œOf course I do.”
    â€œWell, there’s a seat over there.”
    They went over to it and sat down. Station seats are not made for comfort; they are works more of necessity than of mercy. There was a dampness on the pavement and on the seat itself. There was a cold rushing draught. He continued to look at the chrysanthemum. He was conscious of some curiously mixed feelings. Anger was one of them.
    The girl fidgeted with the corner of her green handkerchief, looked sideways at him, and said, still in that weak, hoarse voice,
    â€œYou were sweet to me the other night.”
    â€œWas I? Was that why you wanted to see me?”
    â€œOf course . Didn’t you want to see me?”
    â€œVery much. But you had something to tell me, hadn’t you?”
    She laughed rather consciously and looked down. Her features were pretty in spite of their pallor; the down-dropped lashes were dark and silky.
    â€œHadn’t you something to tell me?” said