When in Rome by Ngaio Marsh Read Free Book Online Page B

not at all,’ Alleyn said. ‘I’ve never been here for more than three or four days at a time and I’m not a systematic sightseer.’
    ‘No?’
    ‘No. I want things to occur and I’m afraid spend far too much time sitting at a caffè table waiting for them to do so which of course they don’t. But who knows? One of these days the heavens may open and big drama descend upon me.’
    Alleyn was afterwards to regard this as the major fluke-remark of his career. At the moment he was merely astonished to see what an odd response it drew from Barnaby Grant. He changed colour, threw an apprehensive glance at Alleyn, opened his mouth, shut it and finally said ‘Oh,’ without any expression at all.
    ‘But today,’ Alleyn said, ‘I hope to improve my condition. Do we, by any chance, visit one of your Simon’s haunts? That would be a wonderful idea.’
    Again Grant seemed to be about to speak and again he boggled. After a sufficiently awkward pause he said: ‘There’s some idea of it. Mailer will explain. Excuse me, will you.’
    He turned away. All right, Alleyn thought. But if you hate it as much as all this, why the hell do you do it?
    He moved on to Sophy Jason, who was standing apart and seemed to be glad of his company. We’re all too old for her, Alleyn thought. Perhaps the nephew of Lady Braceley will meet the case but one doubts it. He engaged Sophy in conversation and thought her a nice intelligent girl with a generous allowance of charm. She looked splendid against the background of azaleas, Rome and a pontifical sky.
    Before long Sophy found herself telling Alleyn about her suddenly-bereaved friend, about this being her first visit to Rome, about the fortunate accident of the cancellation and finally about her job. It really was extraordinary, she suddenly reflected, how much she was confiding to this quiet and attentive stranger. She felt herself blushing. ‘I can’t imagine why I’m gabbling away like this!’ she exclaimed.
    ‘It’s obliging of you to talk to me,’ Alleyn said. ‘I’ve just been, not exactly slapped back but slightly edged off by the Guest of Honour.’
    ‘Nothing to what I was!’ Sophy ejaculated. ‘I’m still cringing.’
    ‘But—isn’t he one of your publisher’s authors?’
    ‘He’s our great double-barrel. I was dumb enough to remind him that I had been presented by my boss. He took the news like a dose of poison.’
    ‘How very odd of him.’
    ‘It was really a bit of a facer. He’d seemed so unfierce and amiable on the earlier occasion and has the reputation in the firm of being a lamb. Aren’t we rather slow getting off our mark? Mr Mailer is looking at his watch.’
    ‘Major Sweet’s twenty minutes late and so are Lady Braceley and the Hon. Kenneth Dorne. They’re staying at the—‘ He broke off. ‘Here, I fancy, they come.’
    And here, in fact, they came and there was Mr Mailer, his beret completely off, advancing with a winning and proprietary air towards them.
    Alleyn wondered what first impression they made on Sophy Jason. For all her poise and obvious intelligence he doubted if the like of Sonia Braceley had ever come her way. Alleyn knew quite a lot about Sonia Braceley. She began life as the Hon. Sonia Dorne and was the daughter of a beer-baron whose children, by and large, had turned out disastrously. Alleyn had actually met her, many years ago, when visiting his Ambassadorial elder brother George at one of his official Residences. Even then she had what his brother, whom Alleyn tolerantly regarded as a bit of an ass, alluded to as ‘a certain reputation’. With the passage of time, this reputation had consolidated. ‘She has experienced everything,’ Sir George had weightily quipped, ‘except poverty.’
    Seeing her now it was easy to believe it. It’s the legs, Alleyn thought. More than the precariously maintained mask or the flabby underarm or the traitorous neck. It’s the legs. Although the stockings are tight as a skin they look as