Read Online The Corpse at the Haworth Tandoori by Robert Barnard - Free Book Online

artist’s home would look like, it would have been nothing like this. The room—the whole house, with the exception of the studio—was caught in a time warp and called for explanation.
    The only one that Declan could come up with was thatthe house had been bought, or perhaps inherited, with the existing furnishings, and that Ranulph Byatt was quite indifferent to his immediate surroundings—an indifference that had communicated itself to, or been shared by, his “womenfolk.” But even if that were so, how could an artist be happy with faded and shabby old prints on his walls when in the corner of his studio, as Declan knew for sure, canvases of his own were stacked unseen?
    Declan’s thoughts were interrupted by Mrs. Max, who bustled in with a steaming plate of soup.
    â€œI thought you might like to get this down you before the others come in,” she said to Ranulph. “I know you have problems with soup, and the boy can help you.”
    Mrs. Max had problems with the name Declan, which she was unfamiliar with. Declan thought her action showed great delicacy: Ranulph would certainly not like to be spoon-fed soup in front of his family.
    â€œI’m very much afraid ‘the boy’ will have to help,” he said ruefully. “Thank you, Mrs. Max.”
    â€œIt’s a great pleasure to see you down again, sir,” she said, turning at the door. “I hope it’s to be a regular thing.”
    â€œWe’ll see, we’ll see,” said Byatt, taking his first mouthful of soup from the spoon held by Declan. “At least you’re not telling me not to overdo things.”
    â€œAs if that would be of any use!” said Mrs. Max. “I’ve known you too long to try that one. If I’m any judge you’ve been overdoing things since you were in nappies.”
    Ranulph Byatt enjoyed his soup. At one point he took the spoon from Declan and tried to feed himself, but as the spoon approached his mouth his hand began shaking and the thick brown liquid spilled back into the bowl and onto the polished table. Shaking his head but saying nothing,Byatt handed the spoon back. He had not quite finished the soup when voices were heard in the hall. He pushed the plate away from him, as a sign that he had had enough.
    They all came in, a little awkward, uncertain how to behave in a situation they were no longer used to. Mrs. Max hurried in first, with an extra place mat, glass of wine, and cutlery, followed by Melanie, Martha, Stephen, and Colonel Chesney.
    â€œWe asked Walter to stay to dinner,” said Martha fussily, almost apologetically.
    â€œHe’s welcome,” said her father briefly, then added: “I suppose you thought I’d behave better with him here.”
    â€œDon’t be silly, Daddy. Of course you’ll behave well. Anyway, we’d asked him before you came down.”
    â€œI can attest to that, sir,” said Colonel Chesney.
    â€œOh, you can attest to that, can you?” asked Byatt, unable to keep the scorn out of his voice. “Then of course I accept your attestation.”
    Mrs. Max brought in a heavy pewter tureen and they all helped themselves, still awkward, to soup. Declan guessed that if Ranulph hadn’t come down Mrs. Max would have brought in a tray of plates already filled with soup. They began eating, Melanie being the most insouciant and normal, Stephen the least. The latter crouched over his plate, ate as if eating was done in obedience to an order rather than as a pleasure, and stared ahead of him in a glowering manner as if auditioning for the young Heathcliff.
    â€œWell!” said Byatt, watching them all without affection. “It must be over a year.”
    â€œSince you came down to dinner? I think you’re right, Ranulph. Maybe eighteen months,” said Melanie, pausingin her eating and still the most normal in her behavior of all of them.
    â€œAnd yet here everything is, exactly as