Read Online Richard Jury Mysteries 10: The Old Silent by Martha Grimes - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Martha Grimes
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herself from the optics. "Must I get it
myself, then?"
"Dick will be back in a moment. You look beautiful, Vivian."
Actually, Melrose thought the mustard-colored twin-set was rather
abominable. It drained the color from her ordinarily pearly skin and
fought with the coppery hair.
Vivian looked down, as if checking to see if this was herself, and
frowned at him. "I do?"
"Absolutely," put in Trueblood. "Very fetching indeed."
"Well, if I'm so damned fetching, will one of you get me my drink?"
Trueblood twisted on the window seat a bit and said,
"You know that dreadful estate agent—Haggerty? Is that his name?—has
been asking if you intend to sell your cottage. They are
so
pushy, these people. Of course, proper Elizabethan is rare these days.
There's so much of the mucked-up stuff. But I honestly
hope
you're not going to sell, Viv-viv. Though you have indicated that's
what you intended from time to time."
She flushed. "I haven't even
left
yet. I'm not leaving for
ten
days
."
"Ah! Here's Dick back again!
Scroggs
! Will you kindly see
to your customers? Miss Rivington will have her usual."
Dick stuck a cigarette behind his ear and called over, "Tio Pepe's
off, miss. Got a nice bottle of port; Graham's 'eighty-two."
"Anything," called Vivian crossly.
"Pushy, as I was saying. Lord, they're after your house before
you're even cold in your grave— Whoops! Sorry!" Trueblood held up his
hands in mock horror at his gaffe.
Vivian looked at both of them in disgust.
"How're we going?" Melrose put in, keeping his elbow on the
newspaper when he saw her eye stray in that direction.
"
We
? I'm taking the train," she said, fingering the piece
of white cardboard with the rat's picture. She frowned. "What's this?"
"Nothing," said Trueblood. "People do not ordinarily refer to the
Orient Express as 'taking the train.'"
She said nothing.
Melrose knew how she hated to be identified with the lavish
life-style of those who thought it was the best revenge.
"That's certainly the way we're traveling," said Trueblood, who
moved a fraction of an inch to allow Dick Scroggs to set their drinks
on the table.
"That looks," said Vivian, squinting at the rat in the ashtray,
"like it came from a book of cut-outs, or something."
Trueblood removed the little cardboard rat dexterously from her
fingers, saying, "Plenty of those in the canals, Viv-viv."
As she gave him a murderous look, Dick Scroggs beamed at her and
said, "Well, now, Miss Rivington. I expect you're pretty excited, ain't
you? Not too long before you leave, is it?"
"Nearly two weeks!"
Dick's smile remained unaffected by her snappish tone. "Not to
worry. Pass quicker'n it takes Mrs. Withersby to drink up a pint."
"It's ridiculous," said Trueblood. "A
winter
wedding in
Venice. Ye gods. We've been trying to talk her into putting it off
until spring."
She looked hopefully toward Melrose. "But I've already put it off
several times."
"So what?" said Melrose. "He has plenty of time."
Now she looked suspicious. "Is that a double entendre?"
"I wonder," said Dick Scroggs, getting into the spirit of things,
"you don't have the wedding in Long Pidd." Expansively, he waved the
hand holding the tray. "A proper reception I could do for you, miss."
". . . very kind," murmured Vivian, trailing a wet circle with her
port glass. "But it's impossible, Dick." The sad note of exile was
already sounding in her tone.
"They don't travel well," said Trueblood. "The Giopinno family is
quite averse to traveling."
Vivian's sudden eruption of temper nearly pulled her from her chair
and sent Dick Scroggs scuttling back to the safety of his bar. "You
know nothing whatever about the Giopin-nos!" She glared at Trueblood,
then at Melrose.
Taking care to keep his elbow positioned on the
Times
, he
turned to her and said, "We don't?"
"No, you don't. You make it all up. You've conjured up an entire
family out of whole cloth. You've manufactured their history to the
point where you can't separate fantasy
myself, then?"
"Dick will be back in a moment. You look beautiful, Vivian."
Actually, Melrose thought the mustard-colored twin-set was rather
abominable. It drained the color from her ordinarily pearly skin and
fought with the coppery hair.
Vivian looked down, as if checking to see if this was herself, and
frowned at him. "I do?"
"Absolutely," put in Trueblood. "Very fetching indeed."
"Well, if I'm so damned fetching, will one of you get me my drink?"
Trueblood twisted on the window seat a bit and said,
"You know that dreadful estate agent—Haggerty? Is that his name?—has
been asking if you intend to sell your cottage. They are
so
pushy, these people. Of course, proper Elizabethan is rare these days.
There's so much of the mucked-up stuff. But I honestly
hope
you're not going to sell, Viv-viv. Though you have indicated that's
what you intended from time to time."
She flushed. "I haven't even
left
yet. I'm not leaving for
ten
days
."
"Ah! Here's Dick back again!
Scroggs
! Will you kindly see
to your customers? Miss Rivington will have her usual."
Dick stuck a cigarette behind his ear and called over, "Tio Pepe's
off, miss. Got a nice bottle of port; Graham's 'eighty-two."
"Anything," called Vivian crossly.
"Pushy, as I was saying. Lord, they're after your house before
you're even cold in your grave— Whoops! Sorry!" Trueblood held up his
hands in mock horror at his gaffe.
Vivian looked at both of them in disgust.
"How're we going?" Melrose put in, keeping his elbow on the
newspaper when he saw her eye stray in that direction.
"
We
? I'm taking the train," she said, fingering the piece
of white cardboard with the rat's picture. She frowned. "What's this?"
"Nothing," said Trueblood. "People do not ordinarily refer to the
Orient Express as 'taking the train.'"
She said nothing.
Melrose knew how she hated to be identified with the lavish
life-style of those who thought it was the best revenge.
"That's certainly the way we're traveling," said Trueblood, who
moved a fraction of an inch to allow Dick Scroggs to set their drinks
on the table.
"That looks," said Vivian, squinting at the rat in the ashtray,
"like it came from a book of cut-outs, or something."
Trueblood removed the little cardboard rat dexterously from her
fingers, saying, "Plenty of those in the canals, Viv-viv."
As she gave him a murderous look, Dick Scroggs beamed at her and
said, "Well, now, Miss Rivington. I expect you're pretty excited, ain't
you? Not too long before you leave, is it?"
"Nearly two weeks!"
Dick's smile remained unaffected by her snappish tone. "Not to
worry. Pass quicker'n it takes Mrs. Withersby to drink up a pint."
"It's ridiculous," said Trueblood. "A
winter
wedding in
Venice. Ye gods. We've been trying to talk her into putting it off
until spring."
She looked hopefully toward Melrose. "But I've already put it off
several times."
"So what?" said Melrose. "He has plenty of time."
Now she looked suspicious. "Is that a double entendre?"
"I wonder," said Dick Scroggs, getting into the spirit of things,
"you don't have the wedding in Long Pidd." Expansively, he waved the
hand holding the tray. "A proper reception I could do for you, miss."
". . . very kind," murmured Vivian, trailing a wet circle with her
port glass. "But it's impossible, Dick." The sad note of exile was
already sounding in her tone.
"They don't travel well," said Trueblood. "The Giopinno family is
quite averse to traveling."
Vivian's sudden eruption of temper nearly pulled her from her chair
and sent Dick Scroggs scuttling back to the safety of his bar. "You
know nothing whatever about the Giopin-nos!" She glared at Trueblood,
then at Melrose.
Taking care to keep his elbow positioned on the
Times
, he
turned to her and said, "We don't?"
"No, you don't. You make it all up. You've conjured up an entire
family out of whole cloth. You've manufactured their history to the
point where you can't separate fantasy
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