Free Deadly Communion by Frank Tallis Page B

another mouthful of scheiterhaufen, his enjoyment of which found a corresponding quintessence in Amelia Lydgate’s satisfied expression.

13
    K RISTINA V OGL SAT AT her dressing table, looking through the day’s post. The letters were mostly expressions of gratitude from friends and associates whom she had invited to the grand opening of her salon. Halfway through the pile she came across an envelope made of cheap, thin paper which she set aside. After reading her correspondence, she tied it all together with a red ribbon and placed the bundle in the lowest of her dressing-table drawers. Picking up the envelope she had set aside, she studied the handwriting and after a lengthy pause began to tear the paper into thin strips. She then tore each strip into little pieces, and sprinkled the resulting confetti into a wicker basket.
    She caught sight of herself in the mirror.
    The cast of light had placed shadows under her eyes. She tested the skin — pulling it down to make sure that the discoloration was an illusion.
    Journalists had been generous in the society pages. An attractive woman: that was how most people — she understood — would choose to describe her. Neverthless, she was acutely aware of the ravages of time. An ‘attractive’ woman could become virtually invisible to the opposite sex within the space of a few unkind years. She had already marked the first signs of her falling stock. Kristina was a keen student of human behaviour and had learned to read men’s minds by watching their eye movements. Even an immature girl likeher secretary Wanda — with her bad posture and rounded features — could deprive her of the first admiring glances that she had formerly taken for granted.
    Kristina looked into her basket and, on seeing the remains of the unread letter, screwed up some writing paper which she placed strategically over the waste for the purpose of concealment. It was an unnecessary precaution, but old habits were difficult to break. Diligence cost nothing.
    Rising from her chair, Kristina crossed the room and got into bed. She reached out to turn off the electric lamp — the bulb of which was hidden by a floral shade — but her action was arrested by a gentle, deferential knock.
    The soft percussion was coming from her husband’s bedroom that adjoined her own.
    ‘Come in,’ Kristina called out.
    The door opened, revealing the figure of Doctor Heinz Vogl. He was a man in his late middle years, with significant amounts of grey in his well-trimmed beard and moustache. He had taken off his jacket but had not removed his waistcoat. His gold watch chain was conspicuously bright against the charcoal-grey fabric.
    ‘Ah, my darling,’ he said. ‘You are still awake.’
    He entered and sat on the edge of the bed.
    ‘Was there an emergency?’
    ‘Yes, the old general. His breathing was terrible. I thought he was going to die. But he pulled through. I was delayed by his family. They had many questions — too many, if you ask me.’
    ‘Oh?’
    ‘His son was overly interested in the details of his father’s medical condition. I strongly suspect that he is already thinking about his inheritance.’
    ‘How dreadful.’
    ‘The old general deserves better.’ Vogl touched the collar of his wife’s nightdress. ‘Is this new?’
    ‘Yes. I got one of the seamstresses to run it off.’
    ‘Your design?’
    Kristina nodded: ‘We had a new delivery of Chinese silk. I couldn’t resist it.’
    Vogl smiled. ‘It’s very beautiful. You look exquisite.’
    He placed his crooked knuckle under Kristina’s chin and lifted her lips to meet his own. His tenderness acquired urgency and his free hand found the warm, acquiescing curve of his wife’s breast beneath the slippery diaphanous silk. Kristina became tense.
    ‘What is it?’
    ‘I’m sorry, Heinz. I’m very tired.’
    She felt a pang of guilt. Kristina had been unable to give her husband the children he had so dearly desired and she had come to regard it