Perfectly Pure and Good Read Online Free PDF

muzzle she began to protest and he stroked her instead. Couldn't hit a dog, could have hit a woman, and the mere temptation to violence was a kind of death in anything in which he believed.
    It was finished. She had left him ashamed.
    Mrs Ernest Matthewson dumped a tray on the table in front of her husband and watched fondly as he struggled from the depths of the plump sofa to stare at it.
    `What's this?' he barked.
    `Poached cod. With samphire.'
    `Samphire? Seaweed?'
    `Full of iron, dear. Better than spinach.'
    Ìt looks disgusting. Do I get potato?'
    She wagged a finger, roguishly.
    `Not today. You've been drinking. Eat it up and I'll get you pudding.'
    Ànd what might that be?'
    Low-fat yoghurt.' He groaned, shot her a murderous look which turned into a smile.
    `You remember the Pardoes?' he asked, looking at the seaweed.
    Òh yes. Awful great house on the coast somewhere. A long drive from here. We used to go and see them quite a lot, didn't we? In the days when we had to do that kind of thing.' Mrs Matthewson shuddered. She left home as rarely as possible, did not rue the days when loyalty dictated dreadful social visits to clients.
    `Didn't he make his fortune out of socks, or something? Tried to become a country gentleman, didn't know how? All sorts of fads and all sorts of mistresses? Bought half the village he lived in? Vulgar taste?'
    Ernest nodded, holding her eyes and taking a long slug of her wine. He did not underestimate his ever-loving wife, but there were times when she was easier to distract than divert.
    Reminiscence was the cue.
    Ì saw that, Ernest. Don't think I didn't. You know, I can't work out why Jennifer Pardoe put up with all her husband's playing around.' She glared at him, as if infidelity was infectious. 'Such tolerance that woman had, such marvellous, I don't know what, qualities. Serene, somehow. She was called Mouse, wasn't she, because she was like one, small and brownish, pretty, ineffectual little thing, you had to like her. Sympathize, I mean. No-one took any notice of her.'
    Ernest shuffled and coughed. His wife's memory always amazed him.
    Òne son came out good, daughter a bit of a dope, nice girl, other son, well he was a nasty little thing, always playing nasty practical jokes. Luck of the draw. You told me it all came all right in the end, with Mouse and her husband, didn't you? He had that gold hair I'm so fond of.
    He seemed to fall for her all over again. Then he died. By God, you lot take it out on us. We damn well earn our pound of flesh.' She patted her stomach, comfortably.
    Ernest cleared his throat, waved his hand and grasped her glass like a man in need. She did not protest. He tried to swig with nonchalance, couldn't quite manage it.
    Ì'm sending Sarah there. Mouse – was Jennifer her real name? – well, she's gone mad. Got to get the estate sorted before she dies too. Sarah's the right woman to do it.'
    Mrs Matthewson lowered the second glass she had poured while this information was passed with a vague hesitation, incapable of fooling her for a minute.
    `What are you planning, Ernest? Why on earth send Sarah away from our Malcolm? Someone else could have gone. You could have sorted it all out from here. Who'll cook his meals?'
    `Good God, woman, you don't think Sarah cooks his meals, do you?' he roared, putting into his voice all his own guilt and his dislike of the fish.
    `She does other things, then,' said Mrs Matthewson defensively. Ernest sniggered.
    Ì'll bet she does.'
    `That's enough, Ernest.' His bark was worse than hers, but not as bad as her bite. She threw back her wine as if it was water, allowing the silence of her disapproval to sink in. After a pause, she went on.
    `You don't know anything about Sarah and Malcolm. You know much less than me. Mind you, he always tells me everything's fine. Such a liar, that boy. I suppose he takes after you. Send her away? You must be out of your mind—'
    `Sarah will sort out the Pardoes,' Ernest interrupted more