The Fifth Kiss Read Online Free PDF Page A

the light, colorful floral paintings on the walls, floral chintz upholstery on the chairs, ample bookshelves, a wide fireplace framed with exquisite tiles from Holland and a goodly number of silver candelabra to brighten the work area. But the small sitting room which Charles had adopted for his own had not had the benefit of his mother’s delicate touch. The panelled walls and narrow windows made the room gloomily dark, the wall decorations consisted of a pair of dingy portraits of once-famous racehorses, the inadequate bookshelves were crammed to overflowing, and the stacks of books and papers which could not be fitted into them were piled on the tables, the chairs, the windowsills and every other available surface, including the floor. In the midst of all this untidiness—so large that it dominated the room and singular in its meticulous neatness—stood Charles’ desk. It was a source of constant amusement to Olivia, for the desk was an island of tranquility in a sea of chaos. Charles’ explanation was simple: he could not write amid disorder. When his desk became crowded, he simply piled everything which was not in immediate use into one huge stack and placed the stack on the floor. When Olivia would point out to him that this method of organization could not continue to serve his purposes indefinitely, Charles would respond with a careless promise to “sort through everything one of these days.”
    Charles closed his door and picked his way through the disorder to the fireplace, where he rummaged through the items on the mantel for his pipe and tobacco. Olivia, meanwhile, brushed the raindrops from her shoulders, removed the books from the seat of the room’s one upholstered armchair, placed them on the floor and sat down. Charles crossed to his desk and sat down behind it. After a moment of silence, during which he puffed at his pipe vehemently until he’d ignited the tobacco satisfactorily, he glanced across the room at his sister. She was sitting tensely in her chair, her eyes lowered to the fingers clenched in her lap and her lips pursed thoughtfully. She seemed, for the first time in her life, to be almost afraid to speak. “Well, aren’t you going to say anything?” he prodded anxiously.
    â€œI don’t know how to … I wonder …” She looked up at him with sudden purposefulness. “Jamie can’t be right, can he?”
    â€œProbably not. But, my dear, what are you talking about? Has Jamie done something foolish?”
    â€œNo, this has nothing to do with him. But he did say …” She shook her head in troubled doubtfulness.
    â€œWell? What did he say? If that clunch has upset you with one of his tiresome pecadillos, I’ll—”
    â€œI told you this has nothing to do with Jamie. It’s only that he told me … he said that … that all gentlemen have had, at some time or other, something to do with … er … ladies of the muslin company. Is that true , Charles?”
    Charles couldn’t believe he’d heard her properly. “What?” he asked, blinking at her stupidly. “Did you say … muslin company?”
    â€œYes. That’s a proper expression, isn’t it? For … er … opera dancers and doxies and that sort?”
    Charles frowned and bit down hard on the stem of his pipe. “Why on earth ,” he demanded, “did he tell you a thing like that? What sort of subject is that to discuss with a delicately nurtured female?”
    Olivia raised her brows in offended dignity. “Delicately nurtured indeed! Really, Charles, what nonsense! I was under the impression that we could talk about any subject in the world! Did you not always tell me that I might pursue any topic about which I had some curiosity? You never said anything about its suitability for females.”
    â€œPerhaps I didn’t,” Charles muttered, “but I … that is, I meant only