The Bloody Wood by Michael Innes Read Free Book Online Page A

better.’
    ‘You mean that she would like you to marry a millionaire or a nobleman?’ Appleby was coming not at all to care for this conversation.
    ‘Not necessarily. But she thinks Bobby is no good.’
    Appleby put down his glass, and looked round for his wife. But Judith was at the other end of the room with Diana Page, with whom she seemed to be in rather more than casual talk. And Charles Martineau had moved into a window embrasure with Bobby. The two men were studying some map or plan laid out on a large table there. The picture, Appleby suddenly saw, was very much that of a landed proprietor, anxious to do nothing on his estate without canvassing the interest and approval of his heir. It did seem as if the Martineaus, in most things so profoundly at one, differed in this one area of their concern.
    ‘In that particular relation,’ Martine said.
    ‘I beg your pardon?’ Appleby supposed that his attention must have strayed.
    ‘I don’t mean that Aunt Grace supposes Bobby to be a frightful cad or anything.’ Martine appeared to perceive that her conversation had been unamiable. ‘She just doesn’t see him at Charne. And I don’t think she sees me at Charne – although, of course, it is only the marriage that could make that a possibility. Even, you see, although she is much fonder of me than I deserve.’
    Appleby again found himself wondering why all this was being thrown at him. There was nothing impulsive about Martine. But he ranked, he supposed, as an old friend of the family – and with the family, too, Judith had that tenuous actual relationship. So perhaps the proposal was to enlist the Applebys’ support for some plot which Martine was hatching. Appleby was far from thinking this a good idea. He was about to find some form of words to make this clear when Martine went off at another tangent.
    ‘Do you know Barbara Gillingham?’ she asked.
    ‘No. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of her.’
    ‘She’s coming tomorrow. Aunt Grace has asked her. She’s a sprightly widow.’
    ‘Really?’ Appleby looked at his watch, not much concerned that this wasn’t wholly polite. ‘By Jove! It’s getting quite late.’
    ‘Aren’t you interested in Mrs Gillingham?’
    ‘Well, no – or not greatly, just at the moment. I’ve no doubt she’s a charming woman, whom it will be a pleasure to meet.’
    ‘How stuffy of you, Sir John! Or is it, rather, just how discreet? You don’t even want to know her age?’
    ‘My dear Martine, I’ve no objection to being told her age. Indeed, I’ll ask you, if you like. How old is this Mrs Gillingham?’
    ‘I don’t really know.’ It seemed to amuse Martine to give this answer. ‘Perhaps she’s what they call of uncertain age. Or perhaps she’s precisely not that. She’s definitely not beyond child-bearing.’ Martine Rivière paused on this. She was looking serious again. ‘And that is why she interests my aunt.’
    ‘It certainly isn’t why she interests your uncle – if she does interest him.’
    ‘Not at present, Sir John. But my Aunt Grace is a far-sighted woman.’

 
     
6
    ‘The Pendletons are coming for the weekend,’ Judith Appleby said. She and her husband were walking on the terrace after breakfast next morning.
    ‘The young ones – or Edward and Irene?’
    ‘Edward and Irene.’
    ‘Oh, dear! Well, that won’t be much more fun for the bored young people on the spot. They don’t seem too pleased with each other, would you say? Incidentally, Mrs Gillingham is coming too.’
    ‘Who on earth is Mrs Gillingham?’
    ‘I thought you might know. If she’s who, or what, Martine says she is, then I can tell you why the Pendletons are coming. And, for that matter, why we’ve come. When Grace, I mean, is so very ill.’ Appleby glanced up at the house. ‘Let’s go a bit farther afield,’ he said. ‘Into the wood.’
    ‘Yes, let’s do that.’ Judith walked for some paces in silence. ‘You think it’s odd having guests at