A Pigeon Among the Cats Read Online Free PDF Page A

deliberately light-hearted manner, but her inner fear was quite genuine. Unbelievable it might be, but real violence could not be ruled out, nor a real weapon.
    So Mrs. Chilton went first and Mrs. Lawler followed, camera in hand. The rest of the tourists were spread along the low wall at the edge of the lay-by. Penny Banks was sitting on the wall, her injured foot supported upon the opposite knee, showing it to Billie, who had a small First-Aid box open, offering the girl its contents.
    â€œSafe enough for the moment,” said Mrs. Lawler happily over her shoulder, turning back at once to focus her camera upon the distant summer palace.
    But there was no answer and when she had finished and turned round she saw that Mrs. Chilton had walked away to the edge of the road and was staring down it where it wound away from the lake and back to the plain below the hills.
    â€˜Roseanna’ took them all into Frascati at mid-morning for coffee and then back to Rome for lunch at the hotel. There was no further trouble with the Banks family. Covered by an ample dressing the injured foot did not seem to be much damaged.
    â€œBashed the big toe to judge by the blood,” young Woodruff said with authority. “Stubbed it on the steps, didn’t she?”
    No one wanted to discuss it with him. Bleeding from stubbed toes was not a favourite topic. Miss Banks climbed the steps after her mother, given a push from behind by her father and a pull from a graining Mario in front. But there were no more hysterics.
    At lunch, to Mrs. Lawler’s relief, two more women joined the table she was sharing with Gwen Chilton. They explained themselves in pleasant gentle voices; Myra Donald, a widow, Florence Jeans, unmarried. Both in the Civil Service, working at Lytham St. Annes, Lancashire. Both reasonably experienced travellers and they shared Mrs. Lawler’s interest in the arts. They suggested some more sight-seeing on foot that afternoon, but Mrs. Lawler had had enough for the day, she told them. In fact her encounter with Penny Banks had alarmed and shaken her more than she was prepared to acknowledge and though she now knew she need not in future lack real companions on this tour, she was tired and she wanted to rest and write a few letters. They would meet at dinner, she told her new friends.
    Mrs. Chilton had left the dining table earlier than the other three. She had joined in their conversation, Mrs. Lawler had noted, without effort, but with no eagerness. She looked as pale as ever and ate very little. She must be ill, the schoolmistress thought.
    Between five and six o’clock Mrs. Lawler decided to go out, buy stamps and post her letters and after that make her way to the square nearest to her hotel and order an ice at the Jag open-air restaurant there.
    The late afternoon sun was very hot, the tables and chairs spread in a cool shade. Mrs. Lawler, with a thin air-mailed copy of an English newspaper in her hand, the first she had seen since leaving Gatwick, began to read as she waited for her ice. When it arrived she put the paper down and began to eat. The ice was delicious, the air clear and remarkably free from petrol fumes, the milling crowds colourful, happy, charming, better dressed, better mannered than in the deplorable Piccadilly Circus of recent times. This was excellent, this was wholly excellent, this was what she had …
    At the other side of the spread of chairs and tables, sitting close together at a table far out into the street, she saw Gwen Chilton and the scar-faced guide of Siena … Strong, wasn’t it … Yes, Owen Strong.

Chapter Three
    â€œShe’s seen us,” Owen said to Gwen, “but don’t look about to find her. We don’t want her coming over.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œToo nosy. Too sharp. She frightens me.”
    â€œGet on with you.”
    He gave her the comic smile and patted her knee under the table. Gwen smiled back.
    â€œBesides,” Owen