Free To Fear a Painted Devil by Ruth Rendell Page A

cream. They seemed to drop from the skies and they came quite slowly, wheeling first above the food with a sluggish yet purposeful concentration like enemy aircraft engaged in a reconnaissance. Then, one by one, they dropped upon pastry and jelly, greedy for the sweet things. Their wings vibrated.
    ‘Well, that’s that,’ Tamsin said. Her hand dived for a plate of petit fours but she withdrew it quickly with a little scream. ‘Get off me, hateful wasp! Patrick, do something.’ He was standing beside her but further removed perhaps than he had ever been. Exasperatedand bored, his hands in his pockets, he stared at the feasting insects. ‘Get the food in!’
    ‘It’s a bit late for that,’ Marvell said. ‘They’re all over the dining-room.’ He looked roofwards. ‘You’ve got a nest, you know.’
    ‘That doesn’t surprise me at all,’ said Walter Miller who lived next door. ‘I said to Clare only yesterday, you mark my words, I said, the Selbys have got a wasp nest in their roof.’
    ‘What are we going to do about it?’
    ‘Kill them.’ Edward Carnaby had opened his mouth to no one except his sister since, on their arrival, Tamsin had snubbed him. Now his hour had come. ‘Exterminate them,’ he said. He pulled the tin of Vesprid from its bag and dumped it in the middle of the table where Nancy, Marvell and Greenleaf had been sitting.
    ‘You should have let me do it before,’ he said to Tamsin.
    ‘Do it? Do what?’ Tamsin looked at the Vesprid. ‘What do you do, spray it on them?’
    Edward seemed to be about to embark on a long technical explanation. He took a deep breath.
    Walter Miller said quickly: ‘You’ll want a ladder. There’s one in my garage.’
    ‘Right,’ said Edward. ‘The first thing is to locate the nest. I’ll need someone to give me a hand.’ Marvell got up.
    ‘No, Crispin, Patrick will go.’ Tamsin touched her husband’s arm. ‘Come on, darling. You can’t let your guests do all the work.’
    For a moment he looked as if he could. He glanced mulishly from Marvell to his wife. Then, withoutspeaking to or even looking at Edward, he started to walk towards the gate.
    ‘Blood sports, Tamsin,’ Marvell said. ‘Your parties are unique.’
    When Patrick and Edward came back carrying Miller’s ladder the others had moved out on to the lawn. By now the patio was clouded with wasps. Droves of them gathered on the tables. The less fortunate late-comers zoomed enviously a yard above their fellows, fire-flies in the radiance from the fairy lights.
    Edward propped the ladder against the house wall. Making sure his heroics were witnessed, he thrust a hand among the cakes and grabbed one swiftly. Then he unscrewed the cap on the Vesprid tin and poured a little liquid on to the pastry.
    ‘You’d better nip up to the spare bedroom,’ he said to Patrick importantly. ‘I reckon the nest’s just above the bathroom window.’
    ‘What for?’ Patrick had paled and Greenleaf thought he knew why.
    ‘I shall want some more light, shan’t I?’ Edward was enjoying himself. ‘And someone’ll have to hand this to me.’ He made as if to thrust the poisoned cake into his host’s hand.
    ‘I am going up the ladder,’ Patrick said icily.
    Edward began to argue. He was the expert, wasn’t he? Hadn’t he just dealt efficiently with a nest of his own?
    ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ Tamsin said. ‘This is supposed to be my birthday party.’
    In the end Edward went rebelliously indoors carrying his bait. Marvell stood at the bottom of the ladder, steadying it, and when a light appeared at the bathroom window, Patrick began to climb. From thelawn they watched him peer along the eaves, his face white and tense in the patch of light. Then he called out with the only flash of humour he had permitted himself that evening:
    ‘I’ve found it. Apparently there’s no one at home.’
    ‘I reckon they’ve all gone to a party,’ Edward called. Delighted because someone on the lawn had