The Seven Dials Mystery - Agatha Christie [71]
‘Awkward if the girl wanted to blow her nose,’ said the practical Mr Thesiger.
Lady Coote laid down her wool-work and looked searchingly but kindly at him.
‘Come now,’ she said. ‘Isn’t there some nice girl that you fancy? That you’d like to work and make a little home for?’
Jimmy blushed and mumbled.
‘I thought you got on very well with one of those girls at Chimneys that time–Vera Daventry.’
‘Socks?’
‘They do call her that,’ admitted Lady Coote. ‘I can’t think why. It isn’t pretty.’
‘Oh, she’s a topper,’ said Jimmy. ‘I’d like to meet her again.’
‘She’s coming down to stay with us next week-end.’
‘Is she?’ said Jimmy, trying to infuse a large amount of wistful longing into the two words.
‘Yes. Would–would you like to come?’
‘I would,’ said Jimmy heartily. ‘Thanks ever so much, Lady Coote.’
And reiterating fervent thanks, he left her.
Sir Oswald presently joined his wife.
‘What has that young jackanapes been boring you about?’ he demanded. ‘I can’t stand that young fellow.’
‘He’s a dear boy,’ said Lady Coote. ‘And so brave. Look how he got wounded last night.’
‘Yes, messing around where he’d no business to be.’
‘I think you’re very unfair, Oswald.’
‘Never done an honest day’s work in his life. A real waster if there ever was one. He’d never get on if he had his way to make in the world.’
‘You must have got your feet damp last night,’ said Lady Coote. ‘I hope you won’t get pneumonia. Freddie Richards died of it the other day. Dear me, Oswald, it makes my blood run cold to think of you wandering about with a dangerous burglar loose in the grounds. He might have shot you. I’ve asked Mr Thesiger down for next week-end, by the way.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Sir Oswald. ‘I won’t have that young man in my house, do you hear, Maria?’
‘Why not?’
‘That’s my business.’
‘I’m so sorry, dear,’ said Lady Coote placidly. ‘I’ve asked him now, so it can’t be helped. Pick up that ball of pink wool, will you, Oswald?’
Sir Oswald complied, his face black as thunder. He looked at his wife and hesitated. Lady Coote was placidly threading her wool needle.
‘I particularly don’t want Thesiger down next week-end,’ he said at last. ‘I’ve heard a good deal about him from Bateman. He was at school with him.’
‘What did Mr Bateman say?’
‘He’d no good to say of him. In fact, he warned me very seriously against him.’
‘He did, did he?’ said Lady Coote thoughtfully.
‘And I have the highest respect for Bateman’s judgement. I’ve never known him wrong.’
‘Dear me,’ said Lady Coote. ‘What a mess I seem to have made of things. Of course, I should never have asked him if I had known. You should have told me all this before, Oswald. It’s too late now.’
She began to roll up her work very carefully. Sir Oswald looked at her, made as if to speak, then shrugged his shoulders. He followed her into the house. Lady Coote, walking ahead, wore a very faint smile on her face. She was fond of her husband, but she was also fond–in a quiet, unobtrusive, wholly womanly manner–of getting her own way.
Chapter 26
Mainly about Golf
‘That friend of yours is a nice girl, Bundle,’ said Lord Caterham.
Loraine had been at Chimneys for nearly a week, and had earned the high opinion of her host–mainly because of the charming readiness she had shown to be instructed in the science of the mashie shot.
Bored by his winter abroad, Lord Caterham had taken up golf. He was an execrable player and in consequence was profoundly enthusiastic over the game. He spent most of his mornings lifting mashie shots over various shrubs and bushes–or, rather, essaying to loft them, hacking large bits out of the velvety turf and generally reducing MacDonald to despair.
‘We must lay out a little course,’ said Lord Caterham, addressing a daisy. ‘A sporting little course. Now then, just watch