Mrs. Pargeter's Point of Honour Read Online Free PDF

comfort and function, and gave Mrs Pargeter the sensation of being in a compound surrounded by barbed wire.
    Palings Price wore a voluminous suit which exactly matched the colour of the walls, and a string tie which picked out the steely gleam of the furniture. As he welcomed Truffler and Mrs Pargeter into the shop, he could not totally control a wince at the bright silk print of her dress. It threatened the uniform drabness he had worked so hard to achieve.
    He gestured around the room and said, in the kind of aesthetic voice that must have got him punched a good few times at school (assuming of course that he actually had had the voice at school and not just developed it in later life), ‘This, as you see, is the current Denzil Price look.’
    â€˜Ah.’ Mrs Pargeter looked dutifully round, then turned back to the interior designer. ‘Why?’
    Palings Price was totally thrown by the question. ‘What do you mean – why?’
    â€˜Why would anyone want to live in a room like this?’
    â€˜Because,’ he asserted with an edge of affront, ‘there are some people around who appreciate style.’ He gestured to the chairs. ‘Please sit down.’
    Mrs Pargeter eyed the steel protrusions warily. Though she carried a lot of natural upholstery with her, she still liked a chair to make some contribution of its own. She perched on the griddle that formed the seat, and winced. ‘Ooh, these people who appreciate style don’t appreciate comfort, do they?’
    â€˜I can assure you, Mrs Pargeter,’ said Palings Price, ‘that a lot of people pay me a lot of money to make their houses look like this.’
    â€˜What sort of people?’
    The interior designer smiled smugly. ‘People who have everything.’
    â€˜If they’ve got everything—’ Mrs Pargeter took in the vacancy around her, ‘where on earth do they put it?’
    â€˜Elsewhere.’
    â€˜Elsewhere?’
    â€˜Yes.’ He waved his hands airily around the room. ‘This is not a space for putting things in – it’s a space for
being
in.’
    â€˜Oh.’ Mrs Pargeter’s practicality asserted itself. ‘So where do
you
put things?’
    Palings Price hesitated for a moment, unwilling to destroy his illusion, then gave in and opened a grey door that led to the back of the shop. ‘Through here.’
    Mrs Pargeter looked with satisfaction at the glory-hole revealed behind the door. There was a clutter of office equipment, old chairs and piled-up files. It lacked the levels of dust, but otherwise owed more to the Truffler Mason than the Denzil Price school of interior design.
    â€˜Ah. That looks more comfy,’ said Mrs Pargeter, and immediately moved through to park her dented rump into the soft recesses of a broken-down armchair.
    A few minutes later, Truffler was also ensconced in a comfortable chair in the back room. Only Palings Price looked ill at ease on upholstery. Maybe his bottom was of such high aesthetic sensibility that it could only appreciate furniture which made a design statement.
    His eyes narrowed as he took in the typewritten list that Truffler had just handed him. He seemed surprised by its contents. ‘Well, I can tell you where most of these came from straight off. One or two’ll take a bit of research, though.’
    â€˜We’d be very glad if you’d undertake that research for us, Palings.’
    The interior designer couldn’t quite hide the wince that Truffler’s use of his nickname induced, but he quickly covered it with a bonhomous smile. ‘Of course. Anything for the widow of the late Mr Pargeter.’ She smiled her customary acknowledgement of this recurrent compliment. Palings Price looked across at the private investigator. ‘You want a list of premises robbed and dates when the goods were lifted – that right, Truffler?’
    â€˜Right.’
    The list seemed to exert a