Murder at Renard's (Rose Simpson Mysteries Book 4) by Margaret Addison Read Free Book Online

you?’
    Rose felt herself blush and, much to her annoyance, she saw Sylvia smile.
    ‘Well,’ said Rose hurriedly. ‘I doubt whether Lady Celia’s that fond of you. But please, Sylvia, will you stop your complaining?’ Rose sighed and tried a different approach. ‘Oh, do cheer up, do. You should be pleased that Lady Celia hasn’t your figure. You are getting to wear Monsieur’s gorgeous gowns after all, and after tonight I doubt whether you will ever lay eyes on the lady again.’
    Later Rose was to remember those very words spoken so casually and in haste, words designed to lift Sylvia’s spirits and make her more accommodating. They were to prove true, but in such an awfully appalling way that had she had any inkling of the tragedy to come she would never have uttered them. They would have remained unsaid, instead of floating in the air in Madame Renard’s little box room of an office already distinctly overcrowded with its disgruntled sales assistant, its anxious designer and the harassed seamstress pulling her hair out with it all.   
     
    ‘Darling, have you been waiting long?’
    Lady Celia Goswell, not waiting for an answer to her question, arrived at the table in the Lyons Corner House in something of a rush. She deposited somewhat clumsily onto its surface a number of packages done up in brown paper and string which fought for space with the cutlery. A number of other parcels slipped from her grasp and rolled onto a convenient chair, while others still had toppled onto the floor. Evidence, if evidence was needed, of a successful shopping excursion. Lady Celia herself, seemingly oblivious or uncaring of the fate of her various purchases, sunk her large frame thankfully into a vacant chair, and in her enthusiasm and eagerness to do so, managed to upset the sugar bowl. Her companion, who was already well established at the table, had a look of weary resignation as he put aside the newspaper he had been reading and rose from his seat. He gave her a look which indicated that such an occurrence was not unusual, and set to retrieving the wayward packages and summoning the waitress to address the sugar bowl.
    ‘Oh, it’s so noisy and crowded in here, everyone jostling around and in an awful hurry. It’s hard to make oneself heard or make any progress across the room. Downstairs is worse. I can’t for the life of me think why you didn’t choose somewhere else for us to have lunch.’
    ‘You know very well why, my dear,’ answered Bertram Thorpe, her companion. ‘The prices here meet my pocket.’ He regarded her with a touch of annoyance. ‘And I say, did you have to be so late? You know full well that I have only an hour for lunch and I’ve been waiting for you nearly twenty minutes. I was about to order on your behalf.’
    ‘Well, you may as well have done. Now what shall I have? I daresay the cold consommé followed by the stewed lamb will do me very well. And then, if we have time I’ll have the pear tart … although perhaps I’ll abstain from having a pudding just this once. I want to fit into my dress. It took ages to be measured for it and really I don’t know why they bothered, it was such a frightful thing. Now,’ she regarded Bertram fondly, ‘don’t go on so, darling. I have so much to tell you. And it won’t be the end of the world if you do go back a little bit late, will it? You do work for your uncle after all. Tell him I wanted to talk to you about changing my will or setting up a charitable trust or some such thing. That’s what solicitors do, isn’t it?’
    ‘Amongst other things, yes,’ Bertram said returning to his chair, the packages now in some sort of order. ‘I’m not so very sure that the law is the life for me, you know, Celia,’ he said, having regained some of his usual humour, ‘I’m not certain that I’m cut out for it.’
    ‘Well, after we’re married you won’t have to work at all, will you? Not if you don’t want to.’
    There followed an awkward