Murder by the Book Read Online Free PDF Page A

wrong?’
    He stared at her, and the sudden intensity of his attention was intimidating. ‘You did nothing wrong …’ she floundered.
    â€˜Then why do you treat me so cruelly?’ he implored. ‘What is wrong with me? I have looks, erudition and, I think I am correct in saying, not a little literary talent.’
    She almost laughed at his inability to see himself as the insufferable, arrogant prig – and failed writer – that he was. She said, ‘There is nothing wrong with you. It’s just that … there needs to be a certain … chemistry between people, no? A spark?’
    â€˜And you are saying that I fail to ignite that spark?’
    She deplored the weakness in herself that would not allow her to tell him the truth: that he was an insufferable egotist whom she hated a little more every time they met.
    â€˜I don’t know …’ she said, and took refuge in a long drink of champagne.
    His livid gaze fixed on the far door, he said, ‘You are seeing someone else, aren’t you?’
    She spluttered on the bubbly. ‘No, I am not ! Why should you think …?’
    â€˜Then if you are seeing no one, why cannot you at least consent to accompany me occasionally?’
    The arrogance of the man! ‘My God …’ she muttered under her breath.
    A silence simmered between them. She was about to walk away when he said, ‘I recall the last time we met. We had drinks at that West End bar, and then I took you to Bertrand’s Gallery. You admired a rather nice watercolour byMyles Birkett Foster.’
    She shrugged as if to say, what of it ?
    He went on: ‘You made me appreciate the qualities of the painting, Maria. I went back and bought it last week. It looks rather good in my hall …’
    She stared at him, simmering with rage. Fortunately his gaze was elsewhere and he did not see the fury in her eyes. She had told him – she was sure she had told him – that she intended to buy the watercolour as a present for her father’s sixtieth birthday.
    She was determined not to show her anger. ‘Well, I’m delighted for you.’
    He glanced at her. ‘And on Thursday I hope to make another small purchase. At Sotheby’s,’ he finished.
    She looked at him, suspicious. ‘Sotheby’s?’
    â€˜There is a very nice Italian silver statuette coming up for sale. I’ve heard on the grapevine that M Savagne is interested in the piece, and I’ve also heard that he is down on his uppers. I intend to purchase the piece before he can accumulate the requisite funds.’
    She stared at him, open-mouthed, and he went on: ‘I have, with considerable effort, raised three thousand, and I have always admired the statuette.’
    Poor Monsieur Savagne, she thought; he would never persuade Gideon Martin to part with it.
    He said, ‘But enough of that. Did I tell you, Maria, that I think you the most beautiful girl in London?’ He reached out and grasped her hand.
    Salvation, in the looming form of Dame Amelia Hampstead, hove into view. ‘Martin, unhand the girl this minute, or I shall report your febrile molestations to Monsieur Dupré forthwith!’
    Martin started and looked up at the glowering dowager. ‘ You! ’ he almost spat.
    Maria pulled her hand from his grip and Martin, muttering to himself, turned on his heel and hurried from the room.
    Maria touched Dame Amelia’s plump hand. ‘You don’t know how grateful I am!’ she laughed.
    â€˜Is that awful little man still chasing you, my dear?’ Amelia asked.
    Maria sighed. ‘He never leaves me in peace! Had I known he would be here tonight, I would not have accepted my father’s invitation. He really is intolerable .’
    Amelia patted her hand. ‘Well, your fairy godmother has saved your day. Waiter!’ she called. ‘I think we shall have another two glasses of this rather excellent