Read Online Mr. Zero by Patricia Wentworth - Free Book Online Page B

Craster’s and said,
    â€œMarvellous! Poor Monty—has anyone broken it to him?”
    Linda hung affectionately on his other arm.
    â€œDarling, will he have to come and see you shot? In the front row. With Maud. He’ll simply hate it—won’t he? So humanitarian. But I suppose he’ll have to. Home Secretaries do, don’t they?”
    â€œToo much imagination, my dear,” said Algy. “Go and write a dime novel.”
    Linda shook her head.
    â€œNo, I’m going to do an anonymous autobiography. You know, Malice in Mayfair , or Velvet and Venom , or—”
    â€œLispings of a Liar ,” said Giles rudely.
    â€œJealous!” said Linda. “He won’t be jealous about me , but he’d hate me to write a book—wouldn’t you, darling?”
    â€œWell, I’d have to settle up for the libel actions. And if you don’t stop making love to Algy I shall probably break his head. Woman, your guests arrive. Behave!”
    â€œIt’ll be Sylvia Colesborough,” said Linda.
    The front door of the flat opened and shut again. The maid announced, “Lady Colesborough and Mr. Rooster.”
    Sylvia came in without hurry. She wore a pale gold frock. She had a radiance. The lights shone on her. Cyril Brewster, thin, dark, and earnest, followed her into the room. Linda surveyed him with surprise.
    â€œOh, Linda darling!” Sylvia kissed her. “I do hope you don’t mind, but Francis couldn’t come. He got a telephone call—from Birmingham, I think—they’re generally from Birmingham—and he had to rush off. I do think being in business is a bore. But, darling, I’m afraid I’ve made rather a muddle, because I’d written you down for tomorrow, so I was going to dine with Mr. Brewster, but when Francis said he couldn’t come I remembered—you know how one does all of a sudden—so I thought if I brought him along it wouldn’t put your table out.”
    Mr. Brewster looked decidedly unhappy. The soul of correctness, he was being placed in a position which was irregular if not actually incorrect. The lady’s husband had been asked. He was not the lady’s husband. Far from it. He had only met her three times, and she had really given him no choice, she had simply brought him. Instead of her husband. And now it appeared that her husband hadn’t been asked either. Lady Colesborough had always known he was going to be away.
    â€œYou said so all along, Sylvia—you know you did,” said Linda, with an edge on her voice. Because really Sylvia was the limit, and the table could just be got to hold eight, but definitely wouldn’t take nine. Well, it had got to—that was all. And anyhow it would make a frightfully good story, Sylvia trailing in about twenty minutes late with that awful stick Cyril and apologizing for Francis who hadn’t been asked. She pushed aside Cyril’s painstaking politeness with a laugh.
    â€œThe more the merrier, and if there isn’t enough to go round, it shall be Giles. Or he and Algy can take it by turns. There’s going to be too much of both of them if they don’t watch it.”
    Amid indignant protests the door opened. Food began to come in, and they sorted themselves. The table stretched, as tables do, and there was plenty to eat, as there always was in Linda’s house. She adored food, and could have lived on cream and potatoes without ever putting on a quarter of an ounce. Gay, racketing talk went to and fro. The red-haired girl, whose name was Muriel, told them she had been staying in a nudist colony and had felt an urge towards crinolines and large Victorian shawls ever since. She was wearing a shawl now, bright green and Spanish, and her very full black taffeta skirts swept the floor. Giles’ friend with the superiority complex looked moody and said nothing. His name was Cedric, and his infatuation for lively red-haired Muriel