To Perish in Penzance Read Online Free PDF Page B

haven’t crashed a party since I was a teenager,” she said, a dimple deepening in her left cheek.
    â€œOh, I’ll call, for form’s sake, and ask if we can bring you. No one will mind, I’m sure. It’s not as much fun that way, I admit, but I try to behave myself, being a foreigner and all.”
    â€œAre you Canadian? I wasn’t sure—you haven’t much of an accent—”
    â€œAmerican, but I’ve lived in Sherebury for several years. I suppose I’ve lost some of my native tongue.”
    â€œI’ve been educated out of mine,” she said, and there was a tinge of regret in her tone. “I was born in South London. ‘Sarf Lunnon,’ I used to say. But a posh model is expected to sound posh, as well, so I learned to ‘talk proper.’”
    â€œEliza Doolittle,” I said. “She had her problems, too. But Alexis—”
    â€œCall me Lexa. Mum’s the only one who does, nowadays, and I like it.”
    â€œI was about to say, your mother has an Oxbridge accent, more or less.” I was being nosy, I supposed, but Lexa had brought up the subject herself.
    â€œShe’s my adoptive mother, actually, and she was my Professor Higgins. She taught me to speak well, and to stand up straight, and—well, everything, really.”
    Her voice shook a little and she turned her face away.
    Should I offer sympathy over Mrs. Crosby’s illness? I wanted to, but if Lexa didn’t want to talk about it, and apparently she didn’t, I wasn’t going to trespass. I’d said too much already.
    â€œWell, it’s plain that you’re the apple of her eye,” I said cheerfully. “Come on, have them wrap up that dress for you and then let’s get back. I’m starving and it’s time for your lettuce leaf.”
    â€œPerhaps two,” she said gamely, all trace of distress smoothed out of her voice. “We’ve had a bit of exercise this morning.”

5
    T HE party was Old Home Week for Alan. All the world loves a lord, so everyone who was anyone in Penzance had turned up to mingle with Lord St. Levan and his wife. It was unfortunate that the lord and his lady had, at the last minute, found themselves unable to attend. Mr. Boleigh, upset about the defection of his prize guests, and trying not to show it, fell back on making a big fuss over Alan. What made it especially awkward for me was that most of the town remembered him and his late wife, and had never heard of me. Alan did his best to help me fit in, but I felt quite a lot like a third wheel, and Lexa, though she tried her best, wasn’t actually much help.
    For if Alan made a stir among the more mature guests, Lexa was the center of attention for the younger crowd from the moment we arrived, and no wonder. She had all the beauty and elegance of Grace Kelly and all the gamine charm of Leslie Caron, and every man in the room missed a heartbeat or two when she walked in. It being an English crowd, they were polite about it, at least at first. They followed Alexis’s progress around the room only with their eyes as the three of us, champagne glasses in hand, trailed after our host.
    John Boleigh introduced us first to his wife, Caroline, who remembered Alan, or pretended to, and then to all the other luminaries. The mayor, a tall man with slick black hair (probably dyed) and a hail-fellow-well-met air, was cordial. The rector of St. Martha’s, much smaller and with the stoop and earnest manner of overworked clergymen everywhere, asked Alan if he was still a great music lover, and reminded him of the St. Martha’s concert series. The string quartet had to delay their warm-up while the cellist asked Alan if he remembered him. The superintendent of the Penzance Constabulary, a youngish man with a ruddy face, shook Alan’s hand warmly and said something about his retirement being a great loss to law enforcement. And so on. I smiled until my