Читать книгу In the Event of My Death - Emma Page - Страница 11

CHAPTER 6

At half past four on Wednesday afternoon, Matthew Dalton came out of the Brentworth office of the Inland Revenue, carrying a briefcase stuffed with papers. He set off back to his office with a light step and an air of profound relief. He’d managed to stave off disaster, for the present, at least. He well knew the euphoria would have drained away by morning but he intended to enjoy it while it lasted – take the evening off for once from his ceaseless juggling, spend it at home with Nina, a rare treat these days.

Shortly after six he bounded up the front steps of his house, a fine late-Georgian dwelling. Nina had always admired the property and Matthew had bought it a few years back, very near the peak of the market, as it later turned out; he had cheerfully taken out a massive mortgage. It hadn’t appeared an act of lunatic folly in those palmy days when it seemed the gravy train would thunder along full tilt for ever. And Nina had been overjoyed. She loved the house, loved living in it, often said as much. He intended to hang on to it for her if humanly possible.

Esther Milroy spent the late afternoon visiting one of her special patients at the Brentworth hospice, an elderly man with an overpowering need to recount the events of his long life. He asked little in the way of response, merely a willing listener. He occupied an out-of-the-way single room and she was able to stay with him for a good stretch of time without being disturbed. When at last he drifted into a peaceful sleep, she gathered up her things and went noiselessly from his bedside.

Six-forty-five. Too late to embark on a visit with another patient and she had in any case almost come to the end of her patience and cheerfulness. But ahead of her lay only the long empty evening at home. She cast about for some escape from the dreary prospect. She made her way quietly from the building, encountering no one in the maze of passages.

Twenty minutes later found her walking up the front steps of her brother’s house. Matthew and Nina were sitting at ease in the drawing room, enjoying a glass of sherry in anticipation of the delectable supper, almost ready. At the sound of the doorbell Matthew uttered a groan. ‘Who can that be?’ he exclaimed as he set down his glass. ‘I’ll get rid of them, whoever it is.’

But when he drew back the front door and saw Esther standing before him, gazing up at him like a lost dog, he could do no less than smile and invite her in. He gave Nina a glance of amused resignation as they entered the drawing room. Nina stood up at once, greeting her sister-in-law with warm friendliness. She sat Esther down, took her things and laid them on a nearby table. Matthew poured another glass of sherry.

A few minutes later, Esther reached for a carrier bag bearing the name of a high-class department store in the town. ‘I bought Grace’s birthday present this afternoon,’ she told Nina. ‘I don’t know if I’ve made the right choice. I’d be glad of your opinion.’

She took out a nightwear set of nightdress and matching negligée, unfolded them, held out each garment in turn for Nina’s inspection. ‘It’s a very good make.’ She indicated the label. ‘The material’s a wool and cotton mixture, nothing synthetic.’ White, printed with an all-over background pattern of rose-pink dots the size of a pinhead, scattered with delicate sprigs of rosebuds. A lavish use of frilled trimming, lace edging, satin ribbons. ‘You don’t think it’s too fussy?’ she asked with an anxious frown. ‘It was Verity chose this set. I happened to meet her in the street as I was going into the store. She had a couple of free periods from the college so she came along to help me choose. If you don’t think Grace would like it, I could take it back and get something else.’

‘It’s not at all too fussy,’ Nina assured her. ‘Grace will love it.’

‘I like the little rosebud sprays,’ Matthew said benignly. ‘It’s a very pretty pattern.’

Esther looked pleased and relieved. ‘I’ll keep it then,’ she decided, as she folded the garments away again. ‘I feel settled about it now.’

* * *

Early on Thursday morning, Dr Wheatley set out from his home in south-west Wales where he had chosen to retire. He was a tall, stoop-shouldered man with a mild countenance, white wings of hair. He was very much looking forward to another stint as locum to his successor – and a good long stint, this time. He would greatly enjoy seeing his old patients, driving round his old stamping ground. He was particularly looking forward to seeing Grace Dalton again, his old, dear friend.