R Raichev - Assassins at Ospreys

‘I can’t tell you how happy I am. I’d given up hope. Honestly,’ Beatrice whispered, clutching at the tips of Antonia’s fingers, and for an emotional moment it looked as though she was going to burst into tears. ‘Is that really you?’

‘Yes, it’s me,’ Antonia said, feeling a little foolish.

‘I can’t believe it. Antonia Darcy, here, at my house! I thought you were avoiding me. I convinced myself you hated me.’

‘Not a bit of it,’ Antonia said in light-hearted tones. ‘I’ve been extremely busy with my new novel. I don’t think it’s turning out at all well.’

‘I refuse to believe that,’ Beatrice Ardleigh declared firmly.

‘This is my husband Hugh.’

‘How do you do. Wonderful meeting you,’ Beatrice Ardleigh breathed, and she proffered her hand in a some-what affected gesture, as though she expected him to raise it to his lips. ‘Have you been married long? Oh dear – do forgive me! Not the done thing, asking questions like that. I have marriage on my mind. Len and I got married only last month.’

‘So we heard. Congratulations,’ Antonia said. She didn’t like the way Beatrice was looking at Hugh.

‘We haven’t been married long ourselves,’ Payne said.

‘Really?’ Beatrice Ardleigh tilted her head a little to the left. ‘You too? What a coincidence. Did you hear that, Len? Newly-weds, like us!’

She was flirting with Hugh, Antonia thought.

‘Not exactly newly-weds. For both of us it’s our second.’ ‘I’ve never been married before. Nobody believes me when I tell them. It seems I look the much-married type. Do sit down – please! The sofa – it’s more comfortable than it looks. So cold, isn’t it? Or is it just me?’ Beatrice shivered and pulled the shawl around her shoulders. ‘Len darling – feel my hands!’ She stretched them towards Colville in a helpless gesture.

He gripped her fingers and frowned. ‘That’s not right.’ He crossed purposefully over to the fireplace. He had given his wife a glance of such ardour and devotion that Antonia wouldn’t have been surprised if, instead of merely fortifying it with an extra log, he had walked straight into the fire and allowed himself to be consumed by flames, burnt as an offering of warmth to his beloved.

Beatrice Ardleigh gave a blissful sigh. A moment later Colville was sitting on a stool by her side – he brought to mind a friendly, rather civilized sort of bear – and once more they held hands. He was clearly in the throes of post-nuptial euphoria. His face was turned up towards his wife’s and it had become crimson. Marrying Bee, he said, was the best thing that had happened to him. He had known her all his life – he had been secretly in love with her ever since he had been a boy of seventeen and she a girl of fourteen. He had been too shy, too gauche – a great lumbering fool – while she – she had been perfection personified – a young goddess – ‘Stop talking rot!’ Beatrice slapped his cheek playfully. ‘I was nothing of the kind. All right, I was extremely pretty,’ she conceded with a self-deprecating moue. ‘I sup-pose I had this wayward appeal. Men went instantly crazy for me. Could be an awful bore. You know the type of girl that emerges from a birthday cake at a bachelor party? The bunny girl, yes! Well, that’s what I looked like.’

‘Very nice,’ Payne murmured.

He had worshipped Bee in secret, Colville went on – he had dreamt about Bee – he had lost his appetite over her – he had become obsessed with her – as a matter of fact, he had stalked her and taken secret photos of her as she had walked in the street -

‘Darling! Honestly! This is too terrible. What would these good people think? I have married my stalker!’ Beatrice shuddered in mock-horror. She kept trying to catch Payne’s eye, or so Antonia imagined.

Colville had never dared ask her out – he had thought he would die if she refused him. When he had finally mustered up enough courage, it had been too late – she had said there was somebody else. Well, he had then married a woman he hadn’t loved. He had grown-up children. He and his wife had separated two years before. As soon as his divorce was made absolute, he got in touch with Beatrice. She had been sweet and kind and understanding. He had felt so encouraged that later that same day, he had proposed – and been accepted.

‘Len can’t get enough of me now,’ Beatrice said with the air of one sharing some great secret. ‘He’s like a giddy teenager. He always carries one of my handkerchiefs. Next to his heart. It’s drenched in my favourite scent.’

Payne arched a brow. (A fetish? By Jove, she keeps staring at me.)

‘Ce Soir Je T’Aime,’ Colville murmured, holding his wife’s hand to his lips. That, Antonia decided, must be the name of the scent and not an extravagant declaration of love.

‘Such an old silly… Len’s been taking photos of me too.’ Beatrice pointed to the Polaroid camera and for some reason giggled and lowered her eyes.

Antonia looked towards the fire. (Do we want to know all this?)

Payne drew his forefinger along his jaw. (Naughty pictures?)

‘Photography is something of a hobby of mine.’ Colville cleared his throat. He looked embarrassed.

‘I don’t deserve such devotion. I honestly don’t. Thirty years ago I treated Len appallingly. I was terrible. I was spoilt, you see. Daddy was possessed of plentiful capital. That was the trouble. Inherited wealth,’ Beatrice mouthed. ‘It’s a curse.’

‘Nothing wrong with being used to the best things in life,’ Colville said – somewhat fatuously, Antonia thought. Beatrice, she felt sure now, was making sheep’s eyes at Hugh.

‘Daddy talked about his “bankers” the way other people talk about their bank manager,’ Beatrice went on. ‘Daddy gave me everything I wanted. I remember succumbing to the unholy attractions of hand-stitched shoes and Italian hand-bags! Once I said I wanted a Venus dress -’

‘What is a Venus dress?’ Payne asked with a twinkle.

Did he really want to know? And why did he have to twinkle? Antonia was suddenly very annoyed.

‘A dress the colour of burnt crimson, Hugh. I had seen a picture of the planet Venus, you see – in a magazine. Have you seen the planet Venus?’

‘No,’ he admitted.

‘I adored the colour. Well, Daddy got the dress specially made. Oh, I was an acquisitive, beastly creature.’ Beatrice shook her head. ‘I got my Cartier diamond-encrusted watch when I was fourteen. I lost it in St Moritz. We went skiing to all those places. Salzburg-Innsbruck-Villach-Graz. I can still recite these in my sleep, like the names of saints. We always stayed at the best hotels – the kind that charges like – like -’

‘Like the Light Brigade?’ Payne suggested.

Antonia gave him a sidelong glance. Beatrice laughed exuberantly, then turned to Colville. ‘Darling, did you hear that?’

Their host gave a strained, dutiful kind of smile. Antonia imagined she saw a shadow of annoyance pass across his face – or was she projecting her own feelings on him?

‘The luxe – I have always had an agonized craving for the luxe.’ Beatrice sighed. ‘Daddy adored me. Daddy spoilt me. Well, my mother died when I was five, you see, so I remained his little girl. Oh well. I still love expensive baubles. I tend to spend like a drunken sailor. I bought a Lulu Guinness bag only the other day, would you believe it? In the shape of a flowerpot. I won’t say how much I gave for it. I am a terrible person. Of course I was much worse when I was young.’

‘You are being too hard on yourself,’ Colville grumbled.

‘No, darling, I am not.’

‘Yes, you are.’

‘I am not. I was insensitive, wilful, demanding, selfish and deceitful.’