The Deadly Dance - M. C. Beaton [30]
Mollified, Emma followed him in through a dark stone-flagged hall decorated with a few oil paintings badly in need of cleaning and a moth-eaten moose head.
“Gustav!” shouted Charles. “Coffee! In the study.”
“Can’t you get it?” came the reply. “Em cleaning the silver.”
“Coffee for two. Now!”
The study was as dark as the hall and lined from floor to ceiling with books. There were two comfortable armchairs with side tables by the fire. Charles lit a lamp and opened a window.
“Sit down, Emma,” said Charles. “Does Agatha know you’re here?”
“It’s silly of me but I was working nearby looking for a missing teenager and I suddenly decided to call on impulse. Do forgive me. I should have phoned first.”
“That would have been a good idea. Still, you’re here. How’s the shooting case going?”
“Oh, haven’t you seen the paper yet?”
“No, what’s been going on? Ah, Gustav. How do you take your coffee, Emma?”
“Two sugars and no milk, please.”
Gustav had grizzled hair, small black eyes and a long mobile mouth. He was dressed in black trousers and a white shirt open at the neck.
He deftly poured coffee for both of them.
His black eyes studied Emma for a long moment. Then he turned to Charles. “You really ought to be locked up,” he said. “Bugger off, Gustav,” said Charles amiably. “Who was that?” asked Emma.
“My butler. Of course no one, least of all me, can afford a full-time butler these days, so Gustav is a maid of all work.” “He should show more respect.”
“Did you come to criticize the staff?” Charles’s normally pleasant voice had an edge to it.
Emma’s hand holding the cup shook. “I’m so sorry,” she babbled.
“Oh, Emma, stop apologizing and tell me about this shooting case.”
So Emma rallied and told him the little she had heard and all she had read in the morning’s papers.
“Now, that is odd,” said Charles. “It’s all so neat and tidy. Is Agatha at the office?”
“No, we all have the weekend off.”
“But you said you were working.”
“I’m conscientious.”
“I’d better drop in on Aggie.”
Emma simpered. “Today might not be a good time. She has a young man staying with her.”
“That’ll be the dreadful Roy. I’d better get over there. If she had let me in on it, I’d never have let her leave it until the morning. Now look what’s happened. Nice to see you, Emma, but I’ll let you get on with your work. Gustav!”
The door opened. “What?”
“Show Mrs. Comfrey out.”
Emma followed Gustav out and through the shadowy hall. “Phone next time,” said Gustav and slammed the great door behind her.
She got into her car feeling very flat and diminished. She had better get home and look up the case files she was working on, select a missing cat or dog and say it had been reported in Warwickshire. Emma switched on the engine and let in the clutch and drove slowly off, her dreams crumbling about her ears. But when she reached the bottom of the drive, she remembered with a sudden glow that he had called her glamorous. And he had felt so at ease with her that he had not bothered to dress.
By the time she had turned into Lilac Lane, her fantasies were back in full force. She must call on Agatha when Charles arrived. But first she must come up with a case as an excuse for visiting him.
Having found what she considered a good enough excuse, she sat on a chair on the landing by the side window overlooking the entrance to Agatha’s cottage. Agatha’s car was not there. Emma prayed that Charles would arrive before Agatha returned. That way she could nip out and invite him into her cottage to wait. She was just wrapped in a rosy fantasy where Charles was saying, “I feel so comfortable here with you, Emma. Makes me realize what a lonely life I’ve had,” when she heard the sound of a car.
Charles drove up and took a bag out of the boot and headed for the door. But instead of ringing, he took out a set of keys, selected one, opened the door and went in.
Emma bit her thumb. Well, she had been going to call on Agatha, hadn’t she? No harm in ringing the bell. She went to the bathroom and repaired her make-up, patted her hair and went next door. She rang