Читать книгу The Pact - Jennifer Sturman - Страница 14

I found my friends upstairs in Mrs. Furlong’s sitting room, where the air seemed infused with palpable relief. Or perhaps I was just projecting my own emotions. Mrs. Furlong was bent over her desk, sorting though piles of papers, while everyone else looked on expectantly, still dressed as they’d been when we’d discovered Richard’s body.

“Hi,” I said to announce my presence.

Mrs. Furlong looked up at me, a pair of silver-rimmed reading glasses perched on her nose. Her usual air of gracious composure appeared to be firmly back in place, as if the woman who’d emitted the bloodcurdling shriek at the pool had been someone entirely different. I wondered if she’d learned how to deal with situations like this one in finishing school along with French and needlepoint.

“Hello, Rachel, dear,” she said. “The girls and I realized that it’s going to be a scramble to cancel all of the arrangements for this afternoon. I’m trying to get everything together so that we can get on the phone and start calling the various tradespeople and the guests. It’s nearly eight, and I think it would be all right to start making calls around eight-thirty or so.”

“Where’s Emma?” I asked. “How is she doing?”

“This is such a shock for her, poor thing,” said Mrs. Furlong. “We gave her a sedative and put her to bed in my room. It seemed like the best thing to do.”

“I just checked on her again and she’s asleep,” added Jane. “It’s probably better this way than making her deal with everything right away.”

“Wow,” I said, at a loss for any but the most banal words. “I can’t imagine what she must be feeling right now.”

Hilary rolled her eyes. She was standing behind Mrs. Furlong and safely out of her line of sight. Fortunately, she omitted the snort that usually accompanied this familiar expression of impatient disgust.