Free Stately Homicide by S. T. Haymon Page B

Greece.’
    â€˜I think I’ll tell her, hurry back for the next round. If Mr Sheldon means all he says, I reckon it’s only the beginning of the fight.’
    â€˜Oh, he means it all right. That’s what he’s been hired for.’
    â€˜Your husband seems to be taking it very well.’
    â€˜Francis?’ Mrs Coryton’s eyes crinkled at the corners. ‘But it was his idea in the first place. It really wasn’t very grateful of Mr Shelden to make him out such a fossil. Francis wrote a report to the trustees over a year ago, saying that, awful as it was, and though he himself wasn’t the one to do it, he couldn’t see any other way of keeping the place going. These days, it’s only the National Trust that can get by without gimmicks.’
    â€˜Was it Mr Coryton who chose Mr Shelden, then?’
    The other smiled.
    â€˜Mr Shelden chose himself, baiting the trap with the biography. Seems Appleyard of Hungary was his childhood hero. Good thing, too!’ she added quickly. ‘I’m sure he’s right for the job. Under that romantic exterior there’s a tough cookie who’ll be able to get the necessary changes through with a minimum of aggro. And he is a first-rate writer.’ After a moment, with reluctance but an apparent relief at actually articulating her misgivings: ‘I only wish I could say the same for Francis.’
    The boy and girl Jurnet had noticed with such sentimental approval came over to say goodnight. They were a remarkably handsome pair whose beguiling youth moved the detective to modify his usual mental strictures upon good looks in the male. Close to, the young man’s resemblance to the young Laz Appleyard was startling, though there was a softness which Jurnet did not remember from the photographs in the Appleyard Room. The great man’s son hardly seemed the type to snatch prime ministers from the jaws of ravening Reds. But then, Jurnet could not recall ever hearing that heroism ran in families.
    â€˜I don’t think you’ve met Steve and Jessica,’ Mrs Coryton said. ‘Steve, this is Detective-Inspector Jurnet, who’s been hanging about on the chance that the ghosts of Anne Boleyn and George Bullen will show up at the party, and then he can run them in for unnatural vice.’
    The young man laughed.
    â€˜What a family, eh! Whatever must people think of us?’
    Jurnet grinned. ‘You’ve got a nice little pad here.’
    â€˜Not my pigeon, thank goodness. I’m at agricultural college. With luck, in the fullness of time, I’ll be able to take over the management of the farm and the rest of the estate.’ Adding with a likeable modesty: ‘Not that I can ever see even that happening. Driving a tractor’s about my mark.’
    Jane Coryton said with unusual warmth: ‘You ought to take more interest in the house, Steve.’
    â€˜I’ll wait till Mr Shelden’s finally dragged Bullen screaming into the twentieth century. Then I can run the Dodgems while Jessica looks after the shooting gallery. How about it, Jess?’ The girl blushed, but said nothing, pressed closer to the boy. ‘Anyway, Aunt Elena is going to live for ever, so my services, such as they are, won’t be needed. Excuse us – we’ve got to go over and say hail and farewell to her. Oh – and Uncle Ferenc!’ At the summons the big Hungarian looked round with a face full of love. ‘Jeno wants to go home. I told him to stay and wait for you. I didn’t want him walking more than he had to. He is going to be OK, isn’t he?’
    â€˜Jeno is already OK. Soon he will be OK plus. I will make him give me a piggy-back, back to the Coachyard, so you can see for yourself how OK he is.’
    The man lumbered away like an amiable bear. The others watched as he came to the chair where his compatriot was sitting, his hands gripped tightly on the two canes, his face shadowed