The Nantucket Diet Murders Read Online Free PDF Page B

Potter was enchanted, although she did not say so, to have her hand kissed with an air of admiring respect that at the same time held a hint of challenge. There were very few men who kissed one’s hand at the ranch, and she adored being called Eugenie.
    Each hand in the group was kissed in turn—Leah’s small pointed fingers, almost clawlike in her new thinness, bejeweled,in constant flashing motion; Helen’s hands, like her heavy features, seeming a little too big for her thin arms; Mary Lynn’s fingers, creamy, square-tipped, and firm, their obvious competence belying the soft languor of her speech; Mittie’s hands, small, tanned, childlike; finally Beth’s, each as plump and smooth as a dove.
    Each face in turn seemed to shine with new light, reflecting the flattering intensity of the gray eyes and the moment of undivided attention.
    Only Dee had remained at the lunch table, where she was spreading another cracker with cheese, she and her former husband apparently disregarding each other’s presence. This must create a continuing social problem, Mrs. Potter thought, since Dee was firmly a part of the group that now appeared to acclaim Tony as—what had Mary Lynne said?—”someone to give direction to their lives.”
    As the Softball girls fluttered around the edge of the small circle of Mrs. Potter’s friends, newly animated, centering about Count Ferencz, as Peter waved and beckoned them on to the salad bar with his silver scissors, the room seemed very full and confused. Her friends seemed to be competing for the tall man’s attention, and he, with effortless grace, seemed to be managing a special smile or special word for each one.
    “Simply marvelous, Gussie,” she was close enough to hear him say. “You’re a star pupil and I’ve decided you’re about ready for the next step. Very soon.”
    Then he bent to hear some question of Leah’s, the words lost in the voices around them and in the sudden jingle of Leah’s bracelets. Mrs. Potter’s thoughts took a wild leap into what she knew of fencing terms:
swordsman, rapier, thrust and parry
. The lean, flat-muscled body moved with a fencer’s grace. The slightly hooded gray eyes, the narrow lips, the controlled, sharply modeled features, even the high, domed forehead above a slightly receding hairline, all appeared to her as a kind of guard, a fencer’s mask.
    “Tony, can you give me a hand?” she heard Peter Benson call from his station at the hydroponic garden. “Something I have to see to in the kitchen.”
    The softball bevy milled together in happy confusion as the swordsman’s figure crossed to the salad bar. Only Lolly Latham remained on the sidelines, awkward and apart, until one of the girls pulled her into the circle. “My dear young ladies,” Mrs. Potter heard him say, “do give me the honor of prescribing the right herb for each of you. I must observe you closely to do this. Let me begin with this charming person. Your name,
chérie?”
    Edith Rosborough, the birthday girl, flushed with pleasure.
    “And what is it that you do, besides playing the ball game and decorating our day?” the count inquired. “Ah, law secretary, is it? I must look at your eyes now, and the palms of the two lovely hands that do this law typewriting.”
    After considerable time, when the softball group had disappeared into the private dining room with full plates and in a state of ecstasy, Mrs. Potter’s party proceeded to the buffet. Peter Benson had returned to the dining room, relieving his guest from his temporary post at the herb garden, and the two stood side by side. “I’ll let you take over with the small fry,” Mrs. Potter heard Peter say, “but I’m not sure I trust you with my guys.” Peter’s square and solid bulk, his open face and ready smile, seemed to exaggerate the tall elegance beside him, and his slightly baggy tweed jacket and flannel trousers were equal contrast with Tony’s closely fitted continental tailoring.
    When it