Free A Death in Two Parts by Jane Aiken Hodge Page B

Mary’s young men away. Give me a hand turning her off if she tries it after dinner, will you? I don’t think much of him myself, but Mar seems to want him and I suppose she knows best.”
    â€œI suppose so,” Patience agreed, casting a doubtful glance at Tony’s amiable if unimpressive countenance. He had turned for the moment to Priss, who sat on his other side, and was making weekend conversation about the weather.
    â€œAll things to all men,” breathed Mark in her ear. “Don’t forget he’s in public relations, God help him.”
    â€œAt least it’s a job.” Patience felt suddenly moved to defend the innocuous Tony.
    â€œSpoke the career girl. Don’t tell me you think a job would add to my natural charm. I never found anything I wanted to work at, myself.”
    â€œYou did at Cambridge.”
    â€œDon’t tell me Mother has been boasting about my honours and glories. I didn’t think she was that human a parent. But work at Cambridge wasn’t work, my good girl, not within the meaning of the act. Nobody paid me for it, for one thing; quite the reverse.”
    â€œAnd being paid puts you off? It’s an unusual point of view.”
    â€œAll my points of view are unusual. I specialise in them. But, Patience, would you really prefer me as a working man? Because if so I shall have to take it seriously under consideration. What would you prefer? A bowler and a briefcase in Whitehall or a topper and an umbrella in the City?”
    â€œOh, the top hat by all means; it would suit you.” Patience made a quick grab at the lighter side of the question. It was, she felt, showing dangerous signs of getting out of hand. After all, what affair was Mark’s career of hers?
    â€œCome now, don’t wash your hands of me.” He shared his grandmother’s disconcerting gift for mind-reading. “I was beginning to hope—”
    His hopes were interrupted by his grandmother’s powerful voice. “When you’ve quite finished, Mark, perhaps you’ll be so good as to open the door for me.” While they had been absorbed in their suddenly meaningful conversation she had risen and drawn her black velvet – and the other ladies – around her, so that they were now grouped behind Mark and Patience. He hurried to obey her, only muttering under his breath to Patience as he went: “Look out; the old girl’s getting jealous.” Of whom, Patience was still wondering as she poured the coffee for the other ladies in the drawing room.
    The men were allowed no extension of their usual ten minutes’ grace in the dining room, nor, Patience suspected, would they have been particularly grateful for one. They were an ill-assorted lot, she thought, watching Joseph stalk into the room ahead of a silent group. Tony Wetherall, she noticed with amusement, had managed to find a subject in common with Brian Duguid – or did their animated conversation about the clubs they did and did not belong to merely conceal their discomfort at the odd Christmas Eve they found themselves sharing?
    She looked around the room. What, after all, was so odd about it? A handsome and prosperous-looking family gathered in the matriarch’s house for Christmas. What couldbe more right and proper? And of course the occasion made for a certain extra feeling of formality; it was ridiculous to imagine that there was anything more in the air than that. Yet she could not help it. The scene was a caricature of a family party.
    Mrs Ffeathers had risen and was dominating the room in her black velvet. “Lady Macbeth tonight,” whispered Mark in Patience’s ear.
    â€œWell,” said the old lady in her surprisingly beautiful voice, “here we are all together for another family Christmas and I think we should celebrate it by doing something sociable – playing games, perhaps. Not happy families, I think” – a wicked, bright eye