Death of a Fool Read Online Free PDF Page B

darkly.
    “Nonsense! You’re behaving,” Camilla recklessly continued, “exactly like an over-played ‘heavy.’ Absolute ham, if you don’t mind my saying so, Grandfather.”
    “What kind of loose talk’s that!”
    “Theatre slang, actually.”
    “
Theatre
!” he roared. “Doan’t tell me you’re shaming your sex by taking up with that trash. That’s the devil’s counting-house, that is.”
    “With respect, Grandfather, it’s nothing of the sort.”
    “My grand-daughter!” William said, himself with considerable histrionic effect, “a play-actress! Ar, well! Us might have expected it, seeing she was nossled at the breast of the Scarlet Woman.”
    Chris and Andy with the occasional unanimity of twins groaned, “Ar, dear!”
    The landlord said, “Steady, souls.”
    “I really don’t know what you mean by that,” Camilla said hotly. “If you’re talking about Daddy’s church you must know jolly well that it isn’t mine. He and Mummy laid that on before I was born. I
wasn’t
to be a Roman and if my brother had lived he
would
have been one. I’m C. of E.”
    “That’s next door as bad,” William shouted. “Turning your back on Chapel and canoodling with Popery.”
    He had come quite close to her. His face was scored with exasperation. He pouted, too, pushing out his lips at her and making a piping sound behind them.
    To her own astonishment Camilla said, “No, honestly! You’re nothing but an old baby after all,” and suddenly kissed him.
    “There now!” Trixie ejaculated, clapping her hands. Tom Plowman said, “Reckon that calls for one all round on the house.”
    The outside door was pushed open and a tall man in a duffle coat came in.
    “Good evening, Mr. Begg,” said Trixie.
    “How’s Trix?” asked Wing-Commander Simon Begg.
    Later on, when she had seen more of him, Camilla was to think of the first remark she heard Simon Begg make as completely typical of him. He was the sort of man who has a talent for discovering the Christian names of waiters and waitresses and uses them continually. He was powerfully built and not ill-looking, with large blue eyes, longish hair and a blond moustache. He wore an R.A.F. tie, and a vast woollen scarf in the same colours. He had achieved distinction (she was to discover) as a bomber-pilot during the war.
    The elder Andersens, slow to recover from Camilla’s kiss, greeted Begg confusedly, but Ernie laughed with pleasure and threw him a crashing salute. Begg clapped him on the shoulder. “How’s the corporal?” he said. “Sharpening up the old whiffler, what?”
    “Crikey!” Camilla thought, “he isn’t half a cup-of-tea, is the Wing-Commander.” He gave her a glance for which the word “practiced” seemed to be appropriate and ordered his drink.
    “Quite a party to-night,” he said.
    “Celebration, too,” Trixie rejoined. “Here’s the Guiser’s grand-daughter come to see us after five years.”
    “No!” he exclaimed. “Guiser! Introduce me, please.”
    After a fashion old William did so. It was clear that for all his affectation of astonishment, Begg had heard about Camilla. He began to ask her questions that contrived to suggest that they belonged to the same world. Did she live in “town”? Was it the same old show as ever? Did she by any chance know a little spot called “Phipps” near Shepherd Market — quite a bright little spot, really. Camilla, to whom he seemed almost elderly, thought that somehow he was also pathetic. She felt she was a failure with him and decided that she ought to slip away from the Public, where she now seemed out-of-place. Before she could do so, however, there was a further arrival: a pleasant-looking elderly man in an old-fashioned covert-coat with a professional air about him.
    There was a chorus of “ ’Evenin’, Doctor.” The newcomer at once advanced upon Camilla and said, “Why, bless my soul, there’s no need to tell me who this is. I’m Henry Otterly, child. I ushered your