A Grave Man Read Online Free PDF Page B

thought, but didn’t he just know it. ‘Mrs Cardew!’ he took her hand with exaggerated gallantry. ‘How rude of me! I was so hungry . . . ’
    ‘Miss Browne,’ Isolde said, ‘I apologize for this greedy young man. Please forgive him for being a prize idiot. I certainly can’t.’ The adoring look she gave Roddy belied her words.
    ‘Yes, please forgive me, Miss Browne,’ he said, catching at her hand and carrying it to his lips. ‘I do apologize. Truly, it is a great honour to meet you. I am Roddy Maitland and I am engaged to this wonderful girl who has just been so frightfully cross with me.’ He furrowed his brow and pretended to look chastened before turning back to Mrs Cardew. ‘It’s very nice to see you again, Mrs Cardew. How was Le Touquet? I saw Teddy at the club the other night and he told me he had dropped a packet at the casino when he was visiting you.’
    Mrs Cardew frowned and Roddy put a hand to his mouth. ‘Oh, and I gave him my word not to let on. Please say you aren’t angry, Mrs Cardew. I really don’t think it was as much as he pretended.’
    ‘Roddy, you talk such nonsense. Edmund isn’t a gambler and I do wish you wouldn’t call him Teddy. It’s such a horrid name – so common, I always think.’
    Verity smiled at the performance but she thought Mrs Cardew seemed genuinely upset and she had an idea that Roddy had annoyed her deliberately. Might this young man, despite his charm, turn out to be rather tiresome? She glanced at the older man who had also been watching her with amusement.
    ‘May I introduce myself, Miss Browne? It is difficult to get a word in when Roddy is around. I am Dominic Montillo. Please believe me, I am honoured to meet you. I take the New Gazette solely to read your reports from Spain.’
    Verity went a little pink. She knew she was being flattered but could not pretend it was not pleasurable. This handsome man with his white mane of hair, bright black eyes and fleshy lips was fascinating. He was not quite English, she thought, and then remembered his name. He must be Spanish or Portuguese but he spoke like any upper-class Englishman – clipped and rather nasal.
    ‘Dom, come over here and pay me a compliment or I will be quite jealous,’ Virginia called playfully. He strode over dutifully and kissed her cheek. ‘There,’ she said, ‘I think you have met everyone now, Verity, except Simon of course. My husband had some urgent letters to finish off. Oh, here he comes now.’
    A slightly stooped, distinguished-looking man in his early forties appeared with a thin woman dressed rather severely in brown.
    ‘Emily, Miss Browne! I do apologize for not having been here to greet you but Miss Berners keeps my nose to the grindstone.’
    ‘Oh really, Simon,’ Virginia said crossly, ‘you spend more time in Miss Berners’ company than mine. I should be jealous but I’m not.’
    To Verity’s ears, this sounded like an insult. Was Miss Berners too plain to attract her husband? If that was the thrust of her remark, Miss Berners seemed not to mind or even to hear it. Verity looked at her. Dressed in a drab skirt and jacket over a blouse drawn tightly round her neck, she did look severe but she had good bones and, Verity guessed, a smile might transform her face and make her positively attractive. If Virginia was a little jealous perhaps she had, despite first impressions, a right to be.
    Miss Berners disappeared. She was obviously not expected to have tea with the guests and Sir Simon, cup in hand, took Verity’s arm and guided her over to a window seat where they perched uncomfortably. He might not be loquacious like his wife but he knew how to ask questions and listen to the replies. Verity found herself recounting the horrors of Guernica and was surprised to find that it was something of a relief to do so. The conversation then turned to the condition of the poor, about which Sir Simon seemed to feel almost as strongly as Verity.
    ‘Did you know,’ Verity