Read Online Slight Mourning by Catherine Aird - Free Book Online Page B

say that news did not travel throughout the village with the speed of light.
    â€œWhat then?” asked Cynthia patiently.
    â€œJust something on that funny answering machine the Washbys have got now. You know, it’s never been the same since Marjorie left.” Before the advent of Daniel Marchmont four years ago Marjorie had been secretary and dispenser to old Dr. Whittaker.
    â€œAh.” Cynthia Paterson had not herself tried conclusions with the surgery answering machine, but she’d heard of plenty of people who had. “You won’t catch that girl they’ve got there now—Jean Whatsername—sitting in by the telephone on a Saturday evening.”
    â€œNo. Well,” said Ursula, “before he left Strontfield Veronica rang back to ask the machine if there were any messages …”
    â€œAnd the machine said yes,” Cynthia finished the sentence for her. “I was there too, my dear.”
    â€œSo you were,” said Ursula with unimpaired serenity. “I was forgetting. Where was I?”
    â€œTelling me about the message for Paul.”
    â€œOh, yes. The machine said something about someone being taken queer over at Copway Street in Cullingoak—only it was a bit indistinct—and would the doctor go when he got back.”
    â€œIt can’t have been very urgent then.”
    â€œOh, no. Paul leaves the number where he is on the machine for the patient to ring direct if it’s urgent. I know that because Veronica doesn’t like it. It means that anyone in the village can ring up and find out where they are for the evening.”
    â€œPoor girl,” said Miss Paterson dryly. “Does she still imagine that they wouldn’t know otherwise?”
    â€œShe’s from London. I don’t think she knows much about the country yet. It was a whirlwind courtship, remember. Anyway, when the Washbys got over to Cullingoak—which as it happens couldn’t be farther from Cleete …”
    â€œThe exact opposite direction actually.”
    â€œVeronica said Paul couldn’t find the place. He knocked up Mrs. MacArthur at the Post Office and she didn’t know of anyone being ill.”
    â€œShe usually knows,” agreed Cynthia with the respect due to a usually reliable source of information.
    â€œNot this time. Paul hunted about a bit but all seemed quiet. No houses with too many lights on or anything like that. It’s not really part of his practice area, though he’s got a couple of patients in Copway Street. They were both all right so he and Veronica came home.”
    â€œDidn’t Paul run his machine through again when he got back?” inquired Cynthia intelligently. “I’m not sure how they work but …”
    â€œHe tried to,” said Ursula, “but apparently poor Veronica hadn’t left the switches set properly.”
    â€œShe has got a lot to learn,” drawled Cynthia ironically, “hasn’t she?”
    â€œWhen he tried to listen again the message had gone. She must have rubbed it out when she heard it the first time at Strontfield. Apparently you can …”
    â€œIt all sounds most unreliable,” said Cynthia firmly. “When I want a doctor I want to be able to tell him so.”
    Ursula Renville regarded her lean stringy friend with something akin to affection. “When you want the doctor, my dear, we’ll all get ready for another funeral. You’re one of the tough ones.”
    â€œNo,” Cynthia corrected her. “Just old-fashioned. But I promise you I shan’t put any messages on any machine.”
    â€œThey’re always finding odd things on it,” said Ursula elliptically. “Very odd, some of them.”
    â€œI’ll bet they are.”
    â€œThey reckon it’s boys playing about.”
    â€œI daresay it is,” said Cynthia realistically. “There’s very little for them to do in the village in the