Free Stately Homicide by S. T. Haymon Page A

‘I never accept anything as fact until I’ve checked it out against every available alternative source.’
    â€˜Until, you mean, you’ve checked it against the memories of other men who also have their own personal vision of what is and what is not reality?’ The big man chuckled, and wedged his broad shoulders deeper into the cushions at his back. He regarded the new curator with a kindlier eye. ‘You mustn’t mind me. I’m an old tease. Elena will tell you. The truth is – there, you see! I myself use that foolish word as if it actually meant something – that I am jealous of you, Mr Shelden, of your youth and your sublime cheek. Only the young believe it possible to find out the truth about anything or anybody. It takes the passing years to reconcile yourself to the fact that the best one can hope to do is select the most plausible lie.’
    Elena Appleyard observed mildly: ‘It’s very naughty of you, Ferenc, to try and put Mr Shelden off before he’s even begun. He’ll do his best, I’m quite sure.’
    Chad Shelden declared robustly: ‘It won’t be for want of trying.’
    People were beginning to leave. In ones and twos they came up to the Corytons to say thank you, and to receive thanks in return. Several of the guests glanced at the new curator as if uncertain what was called for; but only a few summoned up the courage to go and say a few words.
    Charles Winter shambled over to the settee and bent over Elena Appleyard.
    â€˜Did you hear what the bugger said about charging us rent? Or was it your idea all along?’
    â€˜Move further off, Charles,’ Miss Appleyard commanded, neither flinching nor stoical. ‘You smell horrid.’ When, without contesting the order, he retreated a little, she said equably, but with precision: ‘You know quite well that I’ve never interfered in any way with Francis. Equally, I’ve no intention of interfering with Mr Shelden. If you’ve anything to discuss, you must deal with him direct.’
    â€˜Any time!’ Chad Shelden interrupted in his enthusiastic way. ‘Let me say I only mentioned the Coachyard rents as one option among several –’
    â€˜Go and screw yourself,’ Charles Winter said dismissively; and to Elena: ‘Where’d you find a shit like that? He’ll send the place to the dogs. You’ll see.’
    Jane Coryton disengaged herself from the embraces of two elderly ladies, and came over.
    â€˜Charles, this isn’t doing your blood pressure a bit of good. Please! Let Mike take you home.’
    â€˜Mike doesn’t want to go home – do you, Mike?’ – wheeling round to confront the young man who stood staring at Shelden. ‘Mike would much rather shack down here for the night – wouldn’t you, Mike?’
    â€˜Can’t have everything we want in life, can we?’ With an impudent swagger of hip the youth went up to the new curator, so close that, for an appalled moment, Jurnet thought he was going to kiss the man on the lips. ‘G’night, Mr Shelden. Lovely to meet you.’
    â€˜Goodnight to you both,’ returned Chad Shelden, pushing his hair back from his forehead.
    â€˜Do it for Jane,’ Winter announced suddenly. ‘Go home for Jane. Only friend in the world and I spoilt her party. Did I spoil your party, Jane darling?’
    â€˜On the contrary,’ said Jane Coryton. ‘You made everyone’s evening. Given them something to talk about for the next six months. But now –’ she finished good-humouredly – ‘for God’s sake go before I forget I’m a lady and land you one on the hooter.’
    When the two had gone at last, she turned, calm and smiling, to Jurnet. ‘When your girl friend gets your letter about the Bullen Hall party she’ll be kicking herself, wondering what she’s doing, frittering her time away in boring old