Towards Zero - Agatha Christie [25]
With a little start, Mr. Treves came to himself as he realized that a move was being made. He got hurriedly to his feet.
In the drawing room, Kay Strange went straight to the gramophone and put on a record of dance music.
Mary Aldin said apologetically to Mr. Treves:
“I’m sure you hate jazz.”
“Not at all,” said Mr. Treves, untruly but politely.
“Later, perhaps, we might have some bridge?” she suggested. “But it is no good starting a rubber now, as I know Lady Tressilian is looking forward to having a chat with you.”
“That will be delightful. Lady Tressilian never joins you down here?”
“No, she used to come down in an invalid chair. That is why we had a lift put in. But nowadays she prefers her own room. There she can talk to whomsoever she likes, summoning them by a kind of Royal Command.”
“Very aptly put, Miss Aldin. I am always sensible of the Royal touch in Lady Tressilian’s manner.”
In the middle of the room Kay was moving in a slow dance step.
She said: “Just take that table out of the way, Nevile.”
Her voice was autocratic, assured. Her eyes were shining, her lips parted.
Nevile obediently moved the table. Then he took a step towards her, but she turned deliberately towards Ted Latimer.
“Come on, Ted, let’s dance.”
Ted’s arm went round her immediately. They danced, swaying, bending, their steps perfectly together. It was a lovely performance to watch.
Mr. Treves murmured:
“Er—quite professional.”
Mary Aldin winced slightly at the word—yet surely Mr. Treves had spoken in simple admiration. She looked at his little wise nut-cracker face. It bore, she thought, an absentminded look as though he were following some train of thought of his own.
Nevile stood hesitating a moment, then he walked to where Audrey was standing by the window.
“Dance, Audrey?”
His tone was formal, almost cold. Mere politeness, you might have said, inspired his request. Audrey Strange hesitated a minute before nodding her head and taking a step towards him.
Mary Aldin made some commonplace remarks to which Mr. Treves did not reply. He had so far shown no signs of deafness and his courtesy was punctilious—she realized that it was absorption that held him aloof. She could not quite make out if he was watching the dancers, or was staring across the room at Thomas Royde, standing alone at the other end.
With a little start Mr. Treves said:
“Excuse me, my dear lady, you were saying?”
“Nothing. Only that it was an unusually fine September.”
“Yes, indeed—rain is badly needed locally, so they tell me at my hotel.”
“You are comfortable there, I hope?”
“Oh yes, though I must say I was vexed when I arrived to find—”
Mr. Treves broke off.
Audrey had disengaged herself from Nevile. She said with an apologetic little laugh:
“It’s really too hot to dance.”
She went towards the open window and out on to the terrace.
“Oh! go after her, you fool,” murmured Mary. She meant the remark to be under her breath, but it was loud enough for Mr. Treves to turn and stare at her in astonishment.
She reddened and gave an embarrassed laugh.
“I’m speaking my thoughts aloud,” she said ruefully. “But really he does irritate me so. He’s so slow.”
“Mr. Strange?”
“Oh no, not Nevile. Thomas Royde.”
Thomas Royde was just preparing to move forward, but by now Nevile, after a moment’s pause, had followed Audrey out of the window.
For a moment Mr. Treves’ eye, interestedly speculative, rested on the window, then his irritation returned to the dancers.
“A beautiful dancer, young Mr.—Latimer, did you say the name was?”
“Yes. Edward Latimer.”
“Ah yes, Edward Latimer. An old friend, I gather, of Mrs. Strange?”
“Yes.”
“And what does this very—er—decorative young gentleman do for a living?”
“Well, really, I don’t quite know.”
“Indeed,” said Mr. Treves, managing to put a good deal of comprehension into one harmless word.
Mary went on:
“He is staying at the Easterhead Bay Hotel.”
“A very pleasant situation,” said Mr. Treves.
He added