Rose in the Bud Read Online Free PDF Page B

the pillow— she gave herself up to the pleasure of simply lying and studying her luxurious bedroom.
    It was bright and airy and modern , and yet there was a certain something that could have been Italian splendour overlaying, or underlying, the simplicity. The drapes were supremely elegant, and so was the bed coverlet and the white telephone beside the bed. Her own private bathroom had every modern fitment, and the thing she liked best of all was the amount of sparkling mirror. From every angle she could view herself, and in the capacious wardrobe space her well-chosen but not particularly extensive outfit of entirely new clothes was in no danger of being crowded or crushed.
    And that went for the amount of drawer-space in which her gloves and her sheer s t ockings and all her other smaller items were deposited.
    As she lay in bed, and the cloudless blue sky of Venice filled the entire window space, the already strong sunshine bathed the furniture and sparkled in the mirrors, she knew that she had but to reach out her hand and lift the telephone in order to order breakfast to be brought to her—the breakfast of coffee and rolls and delicious preserves that she had been looking forward to ever since she left England—she could hardly believe that she was where she was, and that enough money to account for all her expenses was locked away in the manager’s safe.
    She could stay for a week, a fortnight, or a month, if necessary, and her unexpected nest-egg would not be too badly depleted. She recalled that on her first visit to the Palazzo di Rini the day before, almost immediately after her arrival in Venice, and while she was still not very clear about what she was going to say to the di Rinas, she had somewhat impulsively disclosed that she had been the recipient of a recent legacy. Thinking back, she had an idea she had said something about having a “lot of money left to her’ ... Well, to people like the di Rinis a thousand pounds would almost certainly not represent a ‘lot’ of money, but to her it was a fortune. As an assistant in a small London book-shop, in receipt of a modest weekly wage—two-thirds of which she handed over to her mother for housekeeping—she could hardly believe her luck when a little-known aunt died and left her, in addition to the thousand pounds, a few items of old-fashioned jewellery and the charge of a couple of love-birds in a cage. The love-birds were a source of pleasure in themselves—although her mother, a vague but once very beautiful woman who spent her days reading books which she borrowed from the library and doing extremely fine needlework, had objected, at first strongly, to the idea of looking after them while her daughter was away. And as for the items of jewellery, one or two of them were quite pretty, and Cathleen had included them in her luggage when she left London Airport.
    Her mother, who had always adored Arlette, had raised no objections to the trip to Venice ... indeed, she had encouraged the idea. Cathleen had split the thousand pounds down the middle and given her mother five hundred pounds, and with the remainder Mrs. Brown considered she had every right to do as she pleased. But the disappearance of Arlette, who was four years older than Cathleen, was a cause of great anxiety. If no news could be gleaned of her as a result of the trip to Venice it was not yet quite clear what could be done to trace her, but something both relatives were agreed would have to be done, despite the fact that Arlette, an independent type, had always discouraged too much interest in her affairs.
    Looking back on her first day, as she lay in bed, Cathleen had to decide that the results were so far negative. She had seen the two people who should have had some knowledge of Arlette’s whereabouts, but both of them pleaded complete ignorance. Indeed, it was quite obvious they disliked being questioned about the missing English girl, and although Arlette—or Bridget, as Cathleen and