Free To Fear a Painted Devil by Ruth Rendell

Carnaby, shoving him aside with his shoulder and stripping the counterpane from one of the beds, flung it across the picture. But instead of catching on the topmost beading of the frame it slipped and fell to the floor. The effect of its falling, like the sweeping away of a curtain, exposed the picture with a sudden vividness. The gloating eyes, the parted lips and the plump bosom of Herod’s niece arose before them in the gloom. She seemed to be watching with a dreadful satisfaction the slithering silk as it unveiled the trophy in the dish.
    ‘You bitch!’ Patrick said.
    There was a shocked silence. Then Tamsin stepped forward and looped the counterpane up. Salome was veiled.
    ‘Oh, really!’ she said. ‘It was just a joke, darling. You
are
rude.’
    Smith-King moved uneasily.
    ‘Getting late, Joanie,’ he said. ‘Beddy-byes.’
    ‘It’s not ten yet.’ Tamsin caught Patrick’s hand and leaning towards him, kissed him lightly on the cheek. He remained quite still, the colour returning to his face, but he didn’t look at her. ‘We haven’t eaten yet. All that lovely food!’
    ‘Ah, food.’ Smith-King rubbed his hands together. It would be another story if a scene could be avoided and Patrick perhaps yet made amenable. ‘Must keep body and soul together.’
    ‘The wolf from the door?’ Marvell said softly.
    ‘That’s the ticket.’ He slapped Marvell on the back.
    Patrick seemed to realise that his hand was still resting in Tamsin’s. He snatched it away, marched out of the room and down the stairs, his dignity returning. With a defiant glance at Tamsin, Freda followed him.
    ‘It’s a lovely night,’ Tamsin cried. ‘Let’s go into the garden and take the food with us.’ Her eyes were very bright. She linked her arm into Oliver’s and as an afterthought clasped Nancy’s hand and swung it. ‘Eat, drink, and be merry for tomorrow we die!’
    They went downstairs and Tamsin danced into the dining-room. Greenleaf thought they had seen the last of Patrick for that night, but he was on the patio, subdued, his face expressionless, arranging plates on the wicker tables. Freda Carnaby stood by him, sycophantic, adoring.
    ‘W ell!’ said Nancy Gage. She pulled her chair up alongside Greenleaf’s. ‘I thought Patrick made an exhibition of himself, didn’t you? Immature I call it, making all that fuss about a picture.’
    ‘It is the eye of childhood that fears a painted devil.’ Marvell passed her a plate of smoked salmon rolled up in brown bread.
    ‘Juvenile,’ Nancy said. ‘I mean, it’s not as if it was a film. I don’t mind admitting I’ve seen some horror films that have absolutely terrified me. I’ve wakened in the night bathed in perspiration, haven’t I, Oliver?’ Oliver was too far away to hear. He sat on the stone wall in gloomy conference with Tamsin.
    Nancy, beckoning to him, raised the salmon roll blindly to her mouth.
    ‘Look out!’ Greenleaf said quickly. He knocked the roll out of her hand. ‘A wasp,’ he explained as she jumped. ‘You were going to eat it.’
    ‘Oh, no!’ Nancy leapt to her feet and shook her skirt. ‘I hate them, I’m terrified of them.’
    ‘It’s all right. It’s gone.’
    ‘No, it hasn’t Look, there’s another one.’ Nancy flapped her arms as a wasp winged past her face, circled her head and alighted on a fruit flan. ‘Oliver, there’s one in my hair!’
    ‘What on earth’s the matter?’ Tamsin got up reluctantly and came between the tables. ‘Oh, wasps. Too maddening.’ She was taller than Nancy and she blew lightly on the fair curls. ‘It’s gone, anyway.’
    ‘You shouldn’t have brought the food out,’ Patrick said. ‘You would do it.’ Since he had been the first to do so, this, Greenleaf thought, was hardly fair. ‘I hate this damned inefficiency. Look, dozens of them!’
    Everyone had pushed back their chairs, leaving their food half-eaten. The striped insects descended upon the tables making first for fruit and