Ngaio Marsh: Her Life in Crime
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Joanne Drayton. Ngaio Marsh: Her Life in Crime
Ngaio Marsh
Joanne Drayton
Table of Contents
Chronology
CHAPTER ONE A Cradle in a Grave
CHAPTER TWO The Theatre of Death
CHAPTER THREE Companions in Crime
CHAPTER FOUR Death Down Under
CHAPTER FIVE A Stage Set for Tragedy
CHAPTER SIX The Marsh Million Murders
CHAPTER SEVEN Doyenne and Dame
CHAPTER EIGHT Rome to Jubilee
CHAPTER NINE Dénouement
Epilogue
Play Productions
Selected Bibliography
Works by Ngaio Marsh. NOVELS
SHORT STORIES
NON-FICTION
ARTICLES
PLAYS PUBLISHED
PLAYS UNPUBLISHED
TELEVISION SCRIPT
BROADCASTS
UNPUBLISHED MATERIAL
Secondary Works. BOOKS
ARTICLES
UNPUBLISHED MANUSCRIPTS
INTERVIEWS
PERIODICALS
INTERNET WEBSITES
Notes
CHAPTER ONE. A Cradle in a Grave
CHAPTER TWO. The Theatre of Death
CHAPTER THREE. Companions in Crime
CHAPTER FOUR. Death Down Under
CHAPTER FIVE A Stage Set for Tragedy
CHAPTER SIX The Marsh Million Murders
CHAPTER SEVEN Doyenne and Dame
CHAPTER EIGHT. Rome to Jubilee
CHAPTER NINE Dénouement
EPILOGUE
Index
Images
Acknowledgements
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Copyright
About the Publisher
Отрывок из книги
˜ HER LIFE IN CRIME ˜
in memory of my fatherMalcolm Drayton(1933-2007)
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She went in search of her roots, visiting the ancient Temple Church to find some trace of her great-grandfather who, according to family record, was the promised heir to a vast estate in Scotland. Unfortunately, the property owner (his uncle) died intestate, and the fortune was thrown into the Chancery. He was forced to take ‘some extremely humble job in the Middle Temple and my grandfather went to the choir school of the Temple Church’. Ngaio had no luck. ‘The verger, a grim man, had never heard of my ancestor.’
She lunched in style with the Rhodeses at such favourite places as the Ritz, the Savoy and the Carlton, and quietly on her own at little back-street establishments that were not always as cheap as she expected. For a time she even captured a job as a mannequin in a small, exclusive fashion shop off Bond Street. She had the perfect figure, but not an ideal temperament. She felt like a ‘richly turned-out automaton’. ‘[We] fell into lines, and, one by one, filed out of the door into the showroom, where we dropped into that curiously inhuman walk…we undulated backwards and forwards two or three times, stood in a half dozen modern attitudes, and strolled nonchalantly out of the door, the attendant nymphs fell upon us like automatic furies, switched dresses off…[and] on, and back we went into the queue again all silks and smiles.’
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