Out Of The Past by Patricia Wentworth Read Free Book Online Page A

have to sit down and think again. There might be a good deal less of her high-and-mightiness by the time he was through with her. Carmona too. What business had she to sit there at her own table in what almost amounted to complete silence? More attractive than she used to be, and perfectly composed, but scarcely saying a word. If it hadn’t been for himself and Pippa, with old Maisie Trevor’s constant trivial flow in the background, they might have passed for a company of ghosts. The prospect of just sitting round in that cluttered drawing-room was too much for him. Make a move to the terrace, and there was always a possibility of breaking the party up.
    Since no one answered his invitation, he repeated it.
    As far as Colonel Trevor was concerned, you took your exercise in the open air, and when you had taken it you came into the house and sat down in a civilized manner. He observed stiffly that he had not yet read the Times, and left it at that.
    Esther Field said,
    “I think not, Alan.”
    Carmona said nothing at all.
    To everyone’s surprise, Adela Castleton rose to her feet.
    “It is rather hot in here,” she said. As she moved towards, the window, Esther Field spoke in a shaky voice,
    “Adela, do you think—should you not have a wrap? Is it really wise?”
    She had leaned sideways to catch at the folds of a floating skirt. Adela smiled down at her with an air of assurance.
    “Oh, yes, Esther.”
    Esther Field let go of the filmy stuff.
    Lady Castleton came out upon what was by day a singularly hideous terrace adorned with a number of massive urns. In the evening light the effect was softened, the harsher outlines blurred. The old figureheads in the garden below loomed up with a certain air of mystery. The sea beyond the cliff had begun to darken. In an hour or two the breeze would carry a chill. Now it was a breath of enchantment.
    Adela Castleton said,
    “You are quite right—the air is delightful. Shall we go down towards the sea?”
    There were steps that led to the garden. She moved towards them, catching up her floating black. Alan followed her, puzzled. It was quite obvious that she wished to speak to him. A great many women had had the same wish in the past, and had made some such opportunity.
    A light breeze after a hot day, dusk and the scent of flowers or the tang of the sea—there was nothing he didn’t know about it. But Adela Castleton—that did puzzle him.
    When they were about half way down the garden, its cement paths still giving out the heat, she stopped and said in an authoritative manner,
    “You have been upsetting Esther. Is that what you came back for?”
    He was lighting a cigarette, its red tip glowed. He put away the packet before he answered her. Then he said,
    “You are a good friend. Of course anyone could see she had been crying—but you know, she cries very easily. We had been talking about my father.”
    “Yes, I know that. I also know what you said to her.”
    He blew out a little cloud of smoke.
    “Oh—she told you?”
    “Yes, she told me. I went into her room before dinner and found her crying bitterly.”
    “About this Life of my father? I naturally don’t want her to be distressed about it, but if there is to be a Life at all, it must be a faithful one. My father had a good many sides to his character. The side Esther knew wasn’t the only one. He was very fond of her—who wouldn’t be—but she was not the only woman in his life.”
    “I suppose not. Do you really mean to make that public?”
    He sketched a deprecatory gesture.
    “I don’t know what Esther told you, but this is how it is. There is a boom in Penderel Fields. Unfortunately, we possess very few of them—as far as I know, only some sketches and his portrait of Esther. And I don’t see her consenting to part with that.”
    “Why should she?”
    “I’m not saying that she should. She values it very much, and I wouldn’t dream of asking her to make such a sacrifice.”
    She said