Free 4.Little Victim by R. T. Raichev Page B

sixth cocktail.’
     
    ‘This is such fun. I am enjoying myself enormously. To think that only last month I convinced myself that I’d finally reached the age of disenchantment. It was pelting with rain in Wiltshire, I was feeling utterly unstrung, so I sat down and added a note to my will, what I believe is called a “codicil”, saying I didn’t want a Christian funeral, rather, when I snuff it, throw my body to the dogs at a meet. I’d had all sorts of worries. The house in Eaton Square, Stanbury, death duties, my teeth. Well, I’ve had several marriage proposals since then, so everything hasn’t been doom and gloom.’
     
    ‘You’ve had marriage proposals?’ Major Payne cocked an eyebrow. She was seventy-five, if a day.
     
    ‘Several, yes. One or two extremely promising ones. Ah, look at the sea!’ Mrs Depleche pointed. ‘Just look at it. Too perfect for words. The sky is so cloudless and such an intense blue. It’s like a – a – Can you think of something? Your aunt said you were terribly clever.’
     
    ‘I am sometimes described as “astutely analytical” . . . The sky is like a paladin’s mantle. The sun stands absolute in its heaven.’
     
    Of all the desultory conversations, Payne thought. We could go on like this for ever. Time seemed to have stood still. He almost wished something could happen. ‘ Fear no more the heat o’ the sun ,’ he cried, wagging his forefinger at Mrs Depleche’s sola topi. Now why did I do that, he wondered.
     
    She frowned. ‘D’you write too? I thought your wife was the writer.’
     
    ‘That’s Cymbeline , actually.’ By jingo, I am tipsy, he thought.
     
    Mrs Depleche informed him that her sola topi was one of great antiquity – she had first worn it in India sixty years before. She had been a prim miss who had wandered from the sedate salons of Sense and Sensibility straight into the louche alcoves of Les Liaisons Dangereuses . She wasn’t in the least literary, Mrs Depleche pointed out, but she did get the odd inspiration, after a drink or two.
     
    Payne tried to see her as fresh-faced, pink-and-white and parasol-twirling, and failed. Soft and demure and uncorrupted? Quite impossible to imagine.
     
    ‘What’s this wonderful game you’ve been playing? Your aunt told me about it. I remember, I remember ? Let me see. I remember my first Mumbai Mule.’
     
    ‘Too recent,’ Payne said.
     
    ‘I remember the solar eclipse this morning.’
     
    ‘Too recent.’
     
    ‘Don’t they say that a solar eclipse is a bad omen? I remember my first footman mainly because I did not have an affair with him. I remember the owl – that’s when one of the novice guns shot an owl.’
     
    ‘There’s no need to explain.’
     
    ‘I remember being much married.’
     
    ‘You can’t remember being much married, Charlotte. You are much married.’
     
    This is the kind of brittle whimsy that passes for wit among members of jet-sets, Major Payne thought as Mrs Depleche cackled. Five minutes of their relentlessly droll conversation was bound to drive any sane person to distraction. He suddenly felt depressed. He wondered how long it would be before things started to really pall. It was only their second day. The sun showed no signs of weakening . . .
     
    ‘I remember when my life was a frenzied dance and feast of pleasure. I remember attending a Second Childhood party. Would you like me to go on?’
     
    ‘No,’ Major Payne said.
     
    Mrs Depleche gave a delighted croak. ‘Your aunt was right. No one could live up to your smart repartees. You are the best company I’ve ever had. I think I will leave all my money to you.’
     
    ‘Nonsense, Charlotte. You can’t possibly do any such thing.’ Payne looked worried. ‘What about your grandson?’
     
    ‘Ha. You don’t think Stanbury deserves a penny, do you? Where did your clever wife disappear? You haven’t had a tiff, have you?’
     
    ‘ Pas du tout .’
     
    ‘Clever women can be the devil, but