Cavalier Case Read Online Free PDF Page B

prettily freckled; she might have been any age between twenty-two and forty-two. As she gazed at Jemima, she had the bold bright eyes of some kind of bird; not necessarily a friendly bird, although her demeanour was extremely polite. On learning that Jemima liked to play tennis, Alix Carstairs urged her to come and play a trial game on spec: "To see if you like us."
    But the sub-text was, thought Jemima, "And to see if we like you; which I, Alix, may not necessarily do." Charlotte Lackland, on the other hand, Dan Lackland's wife—his second wife, according to the reference books—was extremely friendly and as a result Jemima warmed to her. Charlotte's slight figure—she couldn't have been much more than five foot—coupled with her long straight fair hair tied by a ribbon in a ponytail, and her round blue eyes, made her age once again difficult to guess. Didn't she have—according to the reference books again—three children? But she was gazing at her husband with those round blue eyes as though she was a child herself.
    It came as a further surprise to Jemima therefore to discover that sweet little Charlotte, improbably mother of three, also ran a well-known patisserie called eponymously Charlotte's Cakes (whose proverbially charming girl assistants were generally nicknamed, doubtless incorrectly, Charlotte's Tarts). She had been taking part in some form of tournament:
    "We were slaughtered," she groaned. "It's true, darling. I'm going to take my serve right back to Costa next week and see if anything can be done about it, otherwise—"
    But Dan Lackland hardly seemed to hear her, and soon Charlotte wandered off.
    For a moment, Jemima tracked her progress amid the flower-decorated tables; most of the members either kissed or were kissed by her. Then Jemima's attention was caught by a man at the bar. He was gulping down what looked like iced water (but was perhaps a vodka tonic) and dressed, despite his considerable bulk, in a track suit— bright pink like the barman's coat—which was emblazoned with the crossed capital P's of the Plantaganet: to Jemima, with her present bent towards history, they had the look of two crossed swords with large hilts.
    She looked again. The wringing wet and curly hair, and a face not much less rubicund than the track suit, the unfamiliar gear, had prevented her from immediately recognising—yes, it was . . . The new Home Secretary. Stuart Gibson. So that was indeed iced water, since he was a self-proclaimed teetotaller as well as health freak. Jemima glanced round and saw the one man conspicuous not so much by his neat dark suit but by the fact that he was ostentatiously doing nothing. That must be the Home Secretary's detective. And who was, - r rather who had been the Home Secretary's opponent? Medium height, stocky build, distinctly hunched: in his conventional white shorts and zipped-up blue jacket, he looked to be in his forties.
    "That's my cousin Marcus." Lord Lackland had evidently read her thoughts. "Gibson's P.P.S. Playing tennis against the boss goes with the job."
    "If he's as good as you are - " began Jemima politely to make up for her wandering attention. Then she perceived that in some way the subject of his cousin was inimical to Handsome Dan; his expression had clouded: piqued vanity perhaps because a pretty woman had looked at another man? "He's not likely to be as good as me since he had polio as a boy," Lord Lackland replied quite shortly. "But he's pretty good all the same, gets around the court at the most amazing speed. Stout fellow, Marcus." Jemima felt abashed. She hastened to return to the third - or rather the first - reality of the seventeenth century.
    "So Decimus - the ghost - does step out of the portrait! Just as it says in ' Heaven's True Mourning .' The memorial." Jemima hoped that this proof that she had done her homework would start the soothing process. Now for the question, the crucial question which had brought her so eagerly to the Plantaganet