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“Mr. and Mrs. Badcock,” boomed the man in livery.
“Mrs. Badcock,” said the vicar, turning back, lemonade in his hand, “the indefatigable secretary of the association. She’s one of our hardest workers. In fact I don’t know what the St. John would do without her.”
“I’m sure you’ve been wonderful,” said Marina.
“You don’t remember me?” said Heather, in an arch manner. “How should you, with all the hundreds of people you meet. And anyway, it was years ago. In Bermuda of all places in the world. I was there with one of our ambulance units. Oh, it’s a long time ago now.”
“Of course,” said Marina Gregg, once more all charm and smiles.
“I remember it all so well,” said Mrs. Badcock. “I was thrilled, you know, absolutely thrilled. I was only a girl at the time. To think there was a chance of seeing Marina Gregg in the flesh—oh! I was a mad fan of yours always.”
“It’s too kind of you, really too kind of you,” said Marina sweetly, her eyes beginning to hover faintly over Heather’s shoulder towards the next arrivals.
“I’m not going to detain you,” said Heather—“but I must—”
“Poor Marina Gregg,” said Mrs. Bantry to herself. “I suppose this kind of thing is always happening to her! The patience they need!”
Heather was continuing in a determined manner with her story.
Mrs. Allcock breathed heavily at Mrs. Bantry’s shoulder.
“The changes they’ve made here! You wouldn’t believe till you saw for yourself. What it must have cost….”
“I—didn’t feel really ill—and I thought I just must—”
“This is vodka,” Mrs. Allcock regarded her glass suspiciously. “Mr. Rudd asked if I’d like to try it. Sounds very Russian. I don’t think I like it very much….”
“—I said to myself: I won’t be beaten! I put a lot of makeup on my face—”
“I suppose it would be rude if I just put it down somewhere.” Mrs. Allcock sounded desperate.
Mrs. Bantry reassured her gently.
“Not at all. Vodka ought really to be thrown straight down the throat”—Mrs. Allcock looked startled—“but that needs practice. Put it down on the table and get yourself a Martini from that tray the butler’s carrying.”
She turned back to hear Heather Badcock’s triumphant peroration.
“I’ve never forgotten how wonderful you were that day. It was a hundred times worth it.”
Marina’s response was this time not so automatic. Her eyes which had wavered over Heather Badcock’s shoulder, now seemed to be fixed on the wall midway up the stairs. She was staring and there was something so ghastly in her expression that Mrs. Bantry half took a step forward. Was the woman going to faint? What on earth could she be seeing that gave her that basilisk look? But before she could reach Marina’s side the latter had recovered herself. Her eyes, vague and unfocussed, returned to Heather and the charm of manner was turned on once more, albeit a shade mechanically.
“What a nice little story. Now, what will you have to drink? Jason! A cocktail?”
“Well, really I usually have a lemonade or orange juice.”
“You must have something better than that,” said Marina. “This is a feast day, remember.”
“Let me persuade you to an American daiquiri,” said Jason, appearing with a couple in his hand. “They’re Marina’s favourites, too.”
He handed one to his wife.
“I shouldn’t drink anymore,” said Marina, “I’ve had three already.” But she accepted the glass.
Heather took her drink from Jason. Marina turned away to meet the next person who was arriving.
Mrs. Bantry said to Mrs. Allcock, “Let’s go and see the bathrooms.”
“Oh, do you think we can? Wouldn’t it look rather rude?”
“I’m sure it wouldn’t,” said Mrs. Bantry. She spoke to Jason Rudd. “We want to explore your wonderful new bathrooms, Mr. Rudd. May we satisfy this purely domestic curiosity?”
“Sure,” said Jason, grinning. “Go and enjoy yourselves, girls. Draw yourselves baths if you like.”
Mrs. Allcock followed Mrs. Bantry along the passage.
“That was ever so kind of you, Mrs. Bantry. I must say I wouldn’t have dared myself.”
“One has to dare if one wants to get anywhere,” said Mrs. Bantry.
They went along the passage, opening various doors. Presently “Ahs” and “Ohs” began to escape Mrs. Allcock and two other women who had joined the party.
“I do like the pink one,” said Mrs. Allcock. “Oh, I like the pink one a lot.”
“I like the one with the dolphin tiles,” said one of the other women.
Mrs. Bantry acted the part of hostess with complete enjoyment. For a moment she had really forgotten that the house no longer belonged to her.
“All those showers!” said Mrs. Allcock with awe. “Not that I really like showers. I never know how you keep your head dry.”
“It’d be nice to have a peep into the bedrooms,” said one of the other women, wistfully, “but I suppose it’d be a bit too nosy. What do you think?”
“Oh, I don’t think we could do that,” said Mrs. Allcock. They both looked hopefully at Mrs. Bantry.
“Well,” said Mrs. Bantry, “no, I suppose we oughtn’t to—” then she took pity on them, “but—I don’t think anyone would know if we have one peep.” She put her hand on a door handle.
But that had been attended to. The bedrooms were locked. Everyone was very disappointed.
“I suppose they’ve got to have some privacy,” said Mrs. Bantry kindly.
They retraced their steps along the corridors. Mrs. Bantry looked out of one of the landing windows. She noted below her Mrs. Meavy (from the Development) looking incredibly smart in a ruffled organdie dress. With Mrs. Meavy, she noticed, was Miss Marple’s Cherry, whose last name for the moment Mrs. Bantry could not remember. They seemed to be enjoying themselves and were laughing and talking.
Suddenly the house felt to Mrs. Bantry old, worn-out and highly artificial. In spite of its new gleaming paint, its alterations, it was in essence a tired old Victorian mansion. “I was wise to go,” thought Mrs. Bantry. “Houses are like everything else. There comes a time when they’ve just had their day. This has had its day. It’s been given a face-lift, but I don’t really think it’s done it any good.”
Suddenly a slight rise in the hum of voices reached her. The two women with her started forward.
“What’s happening?” said one. “It sounds as though something’s happening.”
They stepped back along the corridor towards the stairs. Ella Zielinksy came rapidly along and passed them. She tried a bedroom door and said quickly, “Oh, damn. Of course they’ve locked them all.”
“Is anything the matter?” asked Mrs. Bantry.
“Someone’s taken ill,” said Miss Zielinsky shortly.
“Oh dear, I’m sorry. Can I do anything?”
“I suppose there’s a doctor here somewhere?”
“I haven’t seen any of our local doctors,” said Mrs. Bantry, “but there’s almost sure to be one here.”
“Jason’s telephoning,” said Ella Zielinsky, “but she seems pretty bad.”
“Who is it?” asked Mrs. Bantry.
“A Mrs. Badcock, I think.”
“Heather Badcock? But she looked so well just now.”
Ella Zielinksy said impatiently, “She’s had a seizure, or a fit, or something. Do you know if there’s anything wrong with her heart or anything like that?”
“I don’t really know anything about her,” said Mrs. Bantry. “She’s new since my day. She comes from the Development.”
“The Development? Oh, you mean that housing estate. I don’t even know where her husband is or what he looks like.”
“Middle-aged, fair, unobtrusive,” said Mrs. Bantry. “He came with her so he must be about somewhere.”
Ella Zielinsky went into a bathroom. “I don’t know really wha
t to give her,” she said. “Sal volatile, do you think, something like that?”
“Is she faint?” said Mrs. Bantry.
“It’s more than that,” said Ella Zielinsky.
“I’ll see if there’s anything I can do,” said Mrs. Bantry. She turned away and walked rapidly back towards the head of the stairs. Turning a corner she cannoned into Jason Rudd.
“Have you seen Ella?” he said. “Ella Zielinsky?”
“She went along there into one of the bathrooms. She was looking for something. Sal volatile—something like that.”
“She needn’t bother,” said Jason Rudd.
Something in his tone struck Mrs. Bantry. She looked up sharply. “Is it bad?” she said, “really bad?”
“You could call it that,” said Jason Rudd. “The poor woman’s dead.”
