Final Curtain Read Online Free PDF

‘you see, I actually try to paint. I’m with Pont et Cie and I do the designs. Of course everything’s too austerity and grim nowadays, but we keep toddling.’
    His suit was silver grey. His shirt was pale green, his pullover was dark green, and his tie was orange. He had rather small eyes, and in the middle of his soft round chin there was a dimple.
    â€˜If I may talk about your work,’ he was saying, ‘there’s a quality in it that appeals to me enormously. It—how can I describe it?—its design is always consistent with its subject matter. I mean, the actual pattern is not something arbitrarily imposed on the subject but an inevitable consequence of it. Such integrity, always. Or am I talking nonsense?’
    He was not talking complete nonsense and Troy grudgingly admitted it. There were few people with whom she cared to discuss her work. Cedric Ancred watched her for a few seconds. She had the unpleasant feeling that he sensed her distaste for him. His next move was unexpected. He ran his fingers through his hair, which was damply blond and wavy ‘God!’ he said. ‘People! The things they say! If only one could break through, as you have. God! Why is life so perpetually bloody?’
    â€˜Oh, dear !’ Troy thought and shut her luncheon basket. Cedric was gazing at her fixedly. Evidently she was expected to reply.
    â€˜I’m not much good,’ she said, ‘at generalities about life.’
    â€˜No!’ he muttered and nodded his head profoundly. ‘Of course not. I so agree. You are perfectly right, of course.’
    Tray looked furtively at her watch. A full half-hour, she thought, before we get to Ancreton Halt and then, he’s coming too.
    â€˜I’m boring you,’ Cedric said loudly. ‘No, don’t deny it. God! I’m boring you. T’uh!’
    â€˜I just don’t know how to carry on this sort of conversation, that’s all.’
    Cedric began to nod again.
    â€˜You were reading,’ he said. ‘I stopped you. One should never do that. It’s an offence against the Holy Ghost.’
    â€˜I never heard such nonsense,’ said Troy with spirit.
    Cedric laughed gloomily. ‘Go on!’ he said. ‘Please go on. Return to your “Blasted Heath.” It’s an atrociously bad play, in my opinion, but go on reading it.’
    But it was not easy to read, knowing that a few inches away he was glaring at her over his folded arms. She turned a page. In a minute or two he began to sigh. ‘He sighs,’ thought Troy, ‘like the Mock Turtle, and I think he must be mad.’ Presently he laughed shortly, and, in spite of herself, Troy looked up. He was still glaring at her. He had a jade cigarette case open in his hand.
    â€˜You smoke?’ he asked.
    She felt certain that if she refused he would make some further peculiar scene, so she took one of his cigarettes. He lit it in silence and flung himself back in his corner.
    After all, Troy thought, I’ve got to get on with him, somehow, and she said: ‘Don’t you find it extraordinarily tricky hitting on exactly the right note in fashion drawings? When one thinks of what they used to be like! There’s no doubt that commercial art—’
    â€˜Prostitution!’ Cedric interrupted. ‘Just that. If you don’t mind the initial sin it’s quite amusing.’
    â€˜Do you work at all for the theatre?’
    â€˜So sweet of you to take an interest,’ Cedric answered rather acidly. ‘Oh, yes. My Uncle Thomas occasionally uses me. Actually I’m madly keen on it. One would have thought that with the Old Person behind one there would have been an opening. Unfortunately he is not behind me, which is so sickening. I’ve been cut out by the Infant Monstrosity.’ He brightened a little. ‘It’s some comfort to know I’m the eldest grandson, of course. In my more optimistic moments I