her life being hopelessly in love with a married man. No, you mark my words, Dr Ashworth, she’s mad about power. Some women are; not all women want to marry, and I think Miss Christie simply loves being in charge here, running the palace, looking after Carrie, helping the Bishop, meeting all the Church dignitaries and all the aristocratic guests like the Starmouths. In my opinion,’ said Mrs Cobden-Smith decisively. ‘Miss Christie’s merely an unusual example of a modern woman who’s wedded to her career.’
Having conquered my fou rire I could see now that Mrs Cobden-Smith’s theory was not so absurd as I had supposed; it was certainly more attractive than Lady Starmouth’s wild assertion of lesbianism. However before I could make any comment Mrs Cobden-Smith exclaimed: ‘Ah, there’s Carrie – downstairs in time for luncheon, thank God! And there’s Willy with George. Will you excuse me, Dr Ashworth? I must see George eats his horsemeat.’
She set off briskly across the lawn, and as soon as I was alone I became aware that I was uncomfortably hot. I decided to cool off in my room before lunch while I reviewed the evidence produced in such profusion by my interviews.
By the time I reached the terrace Mrs Cobden-Smith had disappeared with the Colonel and George, but Mrs Jardine was waiting for me with her warmest smile. Now that I knew more about her the smile seemed poignant, and again I was aware of reality submerging itself beneath illusion in the heat of that Starbridge noon.
‘How are you, Mrs Jardine?’ I said as I mounted the steps to the terrace. ‘I was sorry to hear you were feeling so tired.’
‘Oh, I’m much better now, thank you! So stupid about my insomnia, I must have had too much coffee by mistake last night, and then after I’d gone to bed I started thinking about your poor wife and the baby and … Well, you know how it is, I dare say, when one’s thoughts go round and round, especially in the early hours of the morning, and suddenly I felt so frightened, I don’t know why, I do get moments of panic sometimes, especially when the weather’s so hot. Do you think there might be a storm coming, Dr Ashworth? The air’s very sultry, so close and threatening, and I feel as if something dreadful’s going to happen.’
The sky was cloudless and although the air was hot there was little humidity. I said gently, ‘I agree it’s very warm – shall we go inside?’ and I gestured to indicate she should precede me into the house but Mrs Jardine hesitated, looking uncertainly up and down the terrace. ‘I was wondering if we should have drinks out here,’ she said, ‘but I can’t make up my mind. Alex never drinks at midday but my brother and sister-in-law do and so do the Starmouths. Do you drink at midday, Dr Ashworth?’
‘Not usually, no.’ Beyond the open French windows Miss Christie and the butler were entering the drawing-room. I heard Miss Christie say: ‘No, it’s too hot outside, Shipton,’ and the butler set down his tray of glasses on a side-table.
‘Lyle says it’s too hot out here,’ said Mrs Jardine, relieved that the decision had been taken out of her hands. She called to Miss Christie: ‘Dr Ashworth doesn’t drink cocktails at midday either, dear, so we’ll be one extra for lemonade.’
‘Yes, I’d anticipated that,’ said Miss Christie, coming out on to the terrace to join us. ‘Good morning again, Dr Ashworth. I hope you’ve been enjoying sunbathing in a clerical suit.’
‘I have indeed,’ I said. ‘In fact the morning’s been so enjoyable that I’m resolved to have an equally enjoyable afternoon. Will you come for a drive with me after lunch?’
Miss Christie had given an inch and I had taken a yard. At least no one could accuse me of wasting my opportunities, but Miss Christie showed signs of regretting the conceded inch. Without hesitation she said: ‘I’m not a free agent, Dr Ashworth. I have my duties here at the palace.’
‘Oh, but I shall only be resting this afternoon!’ protested Mrs Jardine. ‘Do go for a drive with Dr Ashworth, dearest – why not!’
‘Why not indeed?’ said a familiar harsh voice, and swinging round I found that Dr Jardine was watching me from the threshold of the drawing-room.
V
There was a pause. I glanced back at Miss Christie but she had already reached the practical decision that it was now less awkward to accept the invitation than to refuse it. She said politely: ‘Thank you. A drive would be very pleasant,’ and then she escaped past the Bishop into the drawing-room where the butler had just deposited a large jug of lemonade.
‘It’s abominably hot, isn’t it?’ said Jardine as I watched both the butler and Miss Christie disappear into the hall. ‘Carrie, you look on the verge of sunstroke. Come in at once.’
‘I feel so odd, Alex –’
‘I propose we launch an immediate assault on the iced lemonade.’
The shade of the drawing-room came as an exquisite relief, but as Mrs Jardine sat down on the edge of the sofa I noticed the nervous movements of her hands and sensed her tension more strongly than ever.
‘Well, Dr Ashworth!’ said Jardine, passing a glass of lemonade to his wife and holding out a second glass to me. ‘Do I assume that the glories of the Cathedral library left you cold? As far as I can gather you’ve spent the morning talking to one attractive woman and you now propose to spend the afternoon talking to another.’
I said with a smile, ‘Having spent well over an hour admiring the glories of the Cathedral library, I felt entitled to spend far less than an hour –’
‘– admiring the glories of Lady Starmouth. Quite.’ The Bishop was taking care to sound amused but I sensed his amusement was wafer-thin and I began to feel uneasy.
‘But I thought you were talking to Amy, not Lady Starmouth!’ said Mrs Jardine to me. She sounded abnormally confused.
‘Oh, Dr Ashworth’s been talking to just about everyone!’ said the Bishop, and I could now clearly hear the acid note in his voice. ‘He seems to be suffering from an ungovernable urge to display the gregarious side of his nature!’
‘He hasn’t been talking to me,’ said Colonel Cobden-Smith entering the room as I began to wonder if Lady Starmouth had lodged a complaint about my interrogation.
‘That’s because you’ve been exercising that unfortunate hound in this appalling heat and offering yourself as a candidate for a heart attack – and now I suppose you’ll say you want a pink gin!’
‘The heat’s so bad for everyone,’ said Mrs Jardine in an agony of anxiety before the Colonel could reply. ‘I’m sure there’s going to be a storm, but according to the weather forecast –’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Carrie!’ exclaimed the Bishop in a paroxysm of irritability. ‘Stop talking about the weather!’
Mrs Jardine began to cry.
‘Ye gods and little fishes,’ muttered Jardine as the Colonel and I stood transfixed, and yelled at the top of his voice: ‘Lyle!’
In walked Miss Christie. It was almost as if she had been waiting in the wings for her cue.
‘Lyle, Carrie can’t take this heat. Do something, would you?’ said the Bishop, and stooping awkwardly over his wife he kissed her before murmuring, ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Darling,’
