Patricia Wentworth: Latter End

Antony Latter stood against the pillar and watched Lois come in through the swing-door and make her way across the anteroom to the inner lounge of the Luxe. He was in no hurry to go and meet her. It was always a pleasure to see Lois come into a room-she walked so well, and she looked as if she had bought the earth. The earth and Jimmy Latter. His mouth tightened a little. Poor old Jimmy. What did it feel like to be thrown in as a make-weight? Not too good, but heaven doesn’t help you unless you help yourself. Anyhow here was Lois, as fresh as paint in a slim black suit which showed off her figure and flattered her skin, the white camellia of a blameless life at the newest, smartest angle, and the latest bit of nonsense adorning the auburn waves of her hair. As he went to meet her he reflected that he had never seen her with one of those waves disturbed. Other women got hot and untidy, their hair straggled and their noses shone, but not Lois. Ben Jonson’s verse flitted ironically through his mind:

“Still to be neat, still to be drest,

As you were going to a feast.

Still to be powdered, still perfum’d-”

As he shook hands with her he wondered whether he dared quote the lines to Lois, and whether she would know how they ended if he did.

“Lady, it is to be presumed…

All is not sweet, all is not sound.”

In fact, Ben liked ’em untidy.

He laughed, and thought he had better be discreet. He and Lois had done some hard hitting in their time, but this was another time and-she was Jimmy’s wife.

As they moved towards the dining-room, one of the great mirrors reflected them side by side. Lois thought they made an excellent pair. Antony was distinguished-that tall, light figure, and the way he moved. He was better looking than he had been two years ago. He was twenty-nine-a man was at his best at twenty-nine. Eight years between them, but nobody would have guessed it. She was still at her best. No one would take her for more than twenty-seven. No one would dream that she was older than Antony.

She was still pleasurably occupied with these thoughts when they arrived at their table and sat down. They persisted under the light give-and-take of talk. Was he really quite fit again? What did it feel like, being out of the army after five years? Was he going to like being in a publishing firm?

“You-and books? A bit dry-as-dust somehow!”

A dazzling smile made the words a compliment.

Antony said coolly, “I happen to like books-a good deal.”

It went through his mind how eagerly he would have poured out all his plans, two years ago. It seemed incredible now.

She was saying, still looking at him, still smiling,

“I’m sure you’ll make the biggest success of it, darling.”

The word jarred. Common small change of her set though it was, it jarred. He said,

“I shall undoubtedly discover best sellers right and left.”

She laughed.

“You haven’t changed a bit!”

“Haven’t I? Let me return the ball. You look marvellous- but then you always did.”

“Thank you, darling! But a little less of the always, don’t you think? Rather dating, I’m afraid.”

“You don’t need to mind about that.”

She said, “Don’t be stupid,” in quite a natural voice.

That was the worst of it-it was too easy to be natural with Antony. It always had been. However much she struggled against it, there was the temptation to let go, to relax, to stop being what she wanted people to think her and just be herself-the self which she never allowed anyone to see-a self which Antony would probably not admire at all.

She laughed her pretty laugh.

“My dear, if I look like anything at all I’m a marvel. I’ve just had the most shattering experience.”

“Have you? Look here, I’ve ordered lunch-will you just take it as it comes?”

“Yes, please. You ought to know what I like-if you haven’t forgotten. But really, darling, I meant it about the shattering experience. I’ve been to see Memnon.”

He gazed at her placidly.

“Memnon?”

Before she could answer, the waiter was bringing them fish. It was a curious moment to feel, as she did then suddenly feel, that she had been every kind of damned fool to let Antony go.

When the waiter had gone away she rushed into telling him about Memnon, because not for the world must there be one of those silences. Something in his look, in his dry, light tone, had got under her guard and shaken her as she had not been shaken for years. She must talk, make a good story of her visit, regain her cool direction of events.

When Antony said, “That charlatan!” she was ready with a laugh.

“Perhaps. But, darling, such a thrill! It was worth every penny of what I paid him.”

Antony ’s brows lifted-odd crooked brows, black in a dark sardonic face. Under them his eyes looked black too until the light struck them and showed them grey.

“And what did you pay him?”

“Ten pounds. Don’t tell, will you. We’re frightfully hard up and everything to do to the house, but everyone’s going to him, and one might as well be dead as out of the swim. Actually, I suppose, one’s been dead for years-the war and all that. But now”-she let her eyes meet his-“I’m coming alive again.”

“Very interesting feeling. What did the magician say to you?”

She drew back. No good trying to rush him, he always hated it. Better go on talking about Memnon. She said with a catch in her voice,

“He was-rather creepy.”

“Part of the stock in trade.”

“No, but he really was. He very nearly rattled me.”

Antony looked politely surprised.

“He must be pretty good. What did he do-or say?”

He was looking at her with some attention. The clear, natural colour in her cheeks had ebbed. The women who refused to believe that it owed nothing to art would perforce have been converted.

Antony Latter made a mental note of the fact that the charlatan had really frightened Lois. He hadn’t thought it could be done, but Memnon had evidently done it. It didn’t occur to him then that her change of colour had anything to do with himself.

They were being served again. When their waiter had come and gone she said quite low,

“It was rather horrid.”

“Don’t tell me he got fresh! But I’m sure you were more than equal to the occasion. Snubbing a magician would be a new experience-and what else does one live for? You’re not going to tell me you lost your nerve?”

“It wasn’t anything like that. And I’m serious-it was horrid.”

His eyebrows rose.

“Don’t tell me he raised the ghosts of all the unfortunates whom you have stabbed with a glance or frozen with a frown!”

She said very low,

“I’m serious. I told you so.”

“And you expect me to encourage you, put straws in both our hairs-they’ll spoil your wave-sit on the floor and moan to the appropriately barbaric strain which the orchestra is at present discoursing? We shall be in all the gossip notes, if that is what you want-‘Major Antony Latter, who has just joined the publishing firm founded by his famous great-uncle Ezekiel-’ ”

She interrupted him in a gentle, hurt voice.

“I want to tell you about it. Won’t you listen?”

She was pale and appealing. He hadn’t ever seen her like that before.

“What on earth did the fellow say to you?”

She dropped her voice until he could only just hear the words.

“He said-I’ve got to be careful-about poison.”

Antony sat back in his chair.

“What an extraordinary thing to say!”

“Yes, wasn’t it? Not very nice.”

“Not a bit. What made him say a thing like that?”

Her colour was coming back-the pure, bright colour which was her greatest beauty. Yet without it she had been younger.