To Fear a Painted Devil by Ruth Rendell Read Free Book Online Page A

forty-seven and fifty-two, but the fine lines which the sun showed up were no longer apparent, and the sprinkling of white hairs was lost in the fair. Probably still attractive to women, he reflected.
    ‘One party after another,’ he said. ‘Must come expensive.’
    ‘Tamsin has her own income, you know, from hergrandmother. She and Patrick are first cousins so she was his grandmother, too.’
    ‘But she was the favourite?’
    ‘I don’t know about that. He had already inherited his father’s business so I daresay old Mrs. Selby thought he didn’t need any more.’
    ‘You seem to know a lot about them.’
    ‘I suppose I do. In a way I’ve been a sort of father confessor to Tamsin. Before they came here they had a flat in Nottingham. Tamsin was lost in the country. When I gave that talk to the Linchester Residents’ Association she bombarded me with questions and since then—well, I’ve become a kind of adopted uncle, Mrs. Beeton and antiquarian rolled into one.’
    Greenleaf laughed. Marvell was the only man he knew who could do women’s work without becoming old-womanish.
    ‘You know, I don’t think she ever really wanted that house. Tamsin loves old houses and old furniture. But Patrick insists on what are called, I believe, uncluttered lines.’
    ‘Tell me, don’t you
mind
coming to Linchester?’ Always fascinated by other people’s emotions, Greenleaf had sometimes wondered about Marvell’s reactions to the new houses that had sprung up on his father’s estate.
    Marvell smiled and shrugged.
    ‘Not really. I’m devoutly thankful I don’t have to keep the old place up. Besides it amuses me when I go to parties. I play a sort of mental game trying to fix just where I am in relation to our house.’ When Greenleaf looked puzzled he went on, ‘What I mean is, when I’m at Tamsin’s I always think to myself, the ha-ha came down here and here were the kitchengardens.’ Keeping a straight face he said, ‘The Gages’ house now, that’s where the stables were. I’m not saying it’s appropriate, mind.’
    ‘You’re scaring me. Makes me wonder about my own place.’
    ‘Oh, you’re all right. Father’s library and a bit of the big staircase.’
    ‘I don’t believe a word of it,’ the doctor said and added a little shyly, ‘I’m glad you can make a game of the whole thing.’
    ‘You mustn’t think,’ said Marvell, ‘that every time I set foot on Linchester I’m wallowing in a kind of maudlin
recherche du temps perdu
.’
    Greenleaf was not entirely convinced. He finished his whisky and remembered belatedly his excuse for the visit.
    ‘And now,’ he said, at ease on his own home ground, ‘how’s the hay fever?’
    I f the doctor had not perfectly understood Marvell’s Proustian reference, he had at least an inkling of its meaning. On Edward Carnaby it would have been utterly lost. His French was still at an elementary stage.
    Jo-jo monte. Il est fatigué. Bonne nuit, Jo-jo. Dors bien!
    He looked up towards the ceiling and translated the passage into English. Funny stuff for a grown man, wasn’t it? All about a kid of five having a bath and going to bed. Still, it was French. At this rate he’d be reading Simenon within the year.
    Bonjour, Jo-jo. Quel beau matin! Regarde le ciel. Le soleil brille
.
    Edward thumbed through the dictionary, looking for
briller
.
    ‘Ted!’
    ‘What is it, dear?’ It was funny, but lately he’d got into the habit of calling her dear. She had taken the place of his wife in all ways but one. Sex was lacking but freedom and security took its place. Life was freer with Free, he thought, pleased with his pun.
    ‘If you and Cheryl want your lunch on time you’ll have to do something about these wasps, Ted.’ She marched in, brisk, neat, womanly, in a cotton frock and frilled apron. He noted with pleasure that she had said lunch and not dinner. Linchester was educating Freda.
    ‘I’ll do it right now. Get it over.’ He closed the