Read Online Flowers Stained With Moonlight by Catherine Shaw - Free Book Online
Authors: Catherine Shaw
Ads: Link
interesting, Mrs Granger,’ he said silkily. ‘Now, come – surely you must have some idea of what bothered Mr Granger so, and made him angry. Can you not think what it might be?’
She hesitated, torn between the conflicting desires of obeying her mother’s injunctions, yielding to the inspector’s charismatic pressure, and surely influenced also by the idea that refusing to speak would tell against her, whereas speaking too much might lead to the same result …
‘I’ve really no idea,’ she said finally. ‘I never dreamt of asking him. I thought he was just a … a jealous husband, you know, as many men are. He was not young and perhaps he was worried … about me, worried that I should, oh, I don’t know. Fall in love, or something. Meet some young, dashing handsome man and run off with him, for instance. But that’s all such nonsense, isn’t it?’
‘Is it? Did you never meet any nice, pleasing young men? Not even in Paris?’
‘Not in Paris or anywhere,’ she replied coldly. ‘“Nice, pleasing young men” do not interest me.’
‘Well, that’s very virtuous, to be sure. And surprising, too, for a lovely young woman like you. The contrary would be most natural and understandable, I assure you. Suppose you tell me more about this trip to Paris. You did not travel alone, I suppose?’
‘Of course not. I travelled with my friend Camilla Wright, who is here now. We meant to go for six weeks, butthen we enjoyed ourselves so much that we wanted to stay on, but as I said, my husband came and fetched me back.’
‘Ah. And Miss Wright remained in Paris?’
‘No, she didn’t want to remain alone. She bought a ticket and returned to England just after.’
‘And what did you and Miss Wright do in Paris which was so very interesting and amusing that you didn’t want to return on the date you had planned?’
‘Oh, nothing! We were free, that’s all – free and far from everything! We went out, to theatres and restaurants and dances. We met interesting families and practised our French. We had café au lait and croissants for breakfast on the Rue de Rivoli. We had no household duties. We just enjoyed ourselves!’
‘You just enjoyed yourself – far from your elderly, severe and jealous husband.’
The inspector’s remark cast a pall over Sylvia’s conversation, which had become cheerful, almost frivolous. After an uncomfortable silence, she spoke again, but now her tone was somewhat pinched.
‘If you are trying to dig up some secret enmity between my husband and myself, for which I wished to kill him, you are barking up the wrong tree,’ she said. I thought, and surely the inspector thought also, that Sylvia’s personality was more complex than the innocent, sulky child she so easily played at being. ‘There was no conflict between my husband and myself,’ she went on. ‘When he came over to Paris to fetch me, there was no quarrel, as I quite simply acceded to his request. If I sometimes felt that he and his servants seemed to be observingme, I believed that it was because he was worried, not because he suspected me, and I tried my best to reassure him.’
‘Quite so, quite so,’ said the inspector in a tone of irony, exchanging glances with the sergeant. ‘Well, Mrs Granger, we shall return to the subject when we have learnt more. For the moment, I will bid you good day.’ I believe that according to his lights, he had succeeded in what he had set out to do, namely to surprise Sylvia out of her initial pose and to jerk her into making some unplanned statements. Seeing his drift, she had now recovered control, and he no doubt thought that he had obtained as much as he needed for one day, and that continuation in the same direction would only encourage her to further harden her present mask. He must certainly have hoped that his threats would contribute to ripen the grain of fear he had sown within her. He arose, and opened the door for her courteously. They took leave of each
She hesitated, torn between the conflicting desires of obeying her mother’s injunctions, yielding to the inspector’s charismatic pressure, and surely influenced also by the idea that refusing to speak would tell against her, whereas speaking too much might lead to the same result …
‘I’ve really no idea,’ she said finally. ‘I never dreamt of asking him. I thought he was just a … a jealous husband, you know, as many men are. He was not young and perhaps he was worried … about me, worried that I should, oh, I don’t know. Fall in love, or something. Meet some young, dashing handsome man and run off with him, for instance. But that’s all such nonsense, isn’t it?’
‘Is it? Did you never meet any nice, pleasing young men? Not even in Paris?’
‘Not in Paris or anywhere,’ she replied coldly. ‘“Nice, pleasing young men” do not interest me.’
‘Well, that’s very virtuous, to be sure. And surprising, too, for a lovely young woman like you. The contrary would be most natural and understandable, I assure you. Suppose you tell me more about this trip to Paris. You did not travel alone, I suppose?’
‘Of course not. I travelled with my friend Camilla Wright, who is here now. We meant to go for six weeks, butthen we enjoyed ourselves so much that we wanted to stay on, but as I said, my husband came and fetched me back.’
‘Ah. And Miss Wright remained in Paris?’
‘No, she didn’t want to remain alone. She bought a ticket and returned to England just after.’
‘And what did you and Miss Wright do in Paris which was so very interesting and amusing that you didn’t want to return on the date you had planned?’
‘Oh, nothing! We were free, that’s all – free and far from everything! We went out, to theatres and restaurants and dances. We met interesting families and practised our French. We had café au lait and croissants for breakfast on the Rue de Rivoli. We had no household duties. We just enjoyed ourselves!’
‘You just enjoyed yourself – far from your elderly, severe and jealous husband.’
The inspector’s remark cast a pall over Sylvia’s conversation, which had become cheerful, almost frivolous. After an uncomfortable silence, she spoke again, but now her tone was somewhat pinched.
‘If you are trying to dig up some secret enmity between my husband and myself, for which I wished to kill him, you are barking up the wrong tree,’ she said. I thought, and surely the inspector thought also, that Sylvia’s personality was more complex than the innocent, sulky child she so easily played at being. ‘There was no conflict between my husband and myself,’ she went on. ‘When he came over to Paris to fetch me, there was no quarrel, as I quite simply acceded to his request. If I sometimes felt that he and his servants seemed to be observingme, I believed that it was because he was worried, not because he suspected me, and I tried my best to reassure him.’
‘Quite so, quite so,’ said the inspector in a tone of irony, exchanging glances with the sergeant. ‘Well, Mrs Granger, we shall return to the subject when we have learnt more. For the moment, I will bid you good day.’ I believe that according to his lights, he had succeeded in what he had set out to do, namely to surprise Sylvia out of her initial pose and to jerk her into making some unplanned statements. Seeing his drift, she had now recovered control, and he no doubt thought that he had obtained as much as he needed for one day, and that continuation in the same direction would only encourage her to further harden her present mask. He must certainly have hoped that his threats would contribute to ripen the grain of fear he had sown within her. He arose, and opened the door for her courteously. They took leave of each
Similar Books
