To Fear a Painted Devil

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Authors: Ruth Rendell
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Walter Miller and Edith Gaveston broke simultaneously into gnat-bite anecdotes. Joan Smith-King gravitated towards Greenleaf as people so often did with minor ailments even on social occasions, and stood in front of him scratching her arms. He got up at once to let her sit next to her husband but as he turned he saw Denholm’s chair was empty.Then he saw him standing in the now deserted dining room confronting Patrick. The indispensable cigarette was in his mouth. Greenleaf couldn’t hear what he was saying, only Joan’s heavy breathing loud and strained above the buzz of conversation. The cigarette trembled, adhering to Denholm’s lip, and his hands moved in a gesture of hopelessness. Patrick laughed suddenly and turning away, strode into the garden as the lights came on.
    Greenleaf, not sensitive to a so-called romantic atmosphere, was unmoved by the strings of coloured globes. But most of the women cried out automatically. Fairy lights were the thing; they indicated affluence, taste, organisation. With little yelps of delight Nancy ran up and down, pointing and exhorting the others to come and have a closer look.
    ‘So glad you like them,’ Tamsin said. ‘We do.’ Patrick coughed, dissociating himself. He was taking his duties to heart, Greenleaf thought, watching his hand enclose Freda Carnaby’s in a tight grip.
    ‘Now, have we all got drinks?’ Tamsin reached for Marvell’s empty glass. ‘Crispin, your poor arms!’
    ‘There are mosquitos at the bottom of your garden,’ Marvell said, laughing. ‘I meant to bring some citronella but I forgot.’
    ‘Oh, but we’ve got some. I’ll get it.’
    ‘No, I’ll go. You want to dance.’
    Gage had already claimed her, his arm about her waist.
    ‘I’ll tell you where it is. It’s in the spare bedroom bathroom. Top shelf of the cabinet.’
    Joan Smith-King was giggling enviously.
    ‘Oh, do you have two bathrooms? How grand!’
    ‘Just through the spare room,’ Tamsin said, ignoring her.
    ‘You know the way.’
    The expression in her eyes shocked Greenleaf. It was as if, he thought, she was playing some dangerous game.
    ‘I’m being absurd,’ he said to Bernice.
    ‘Oh, no darling, you’re such a practical man. Why are you being absurd anyway?’
    ‘Nothing,’ Greenleaf said.
    Marvell came back holding a bottle. He had already unstoppered it and was anointing his arms.
    ‘Thank you so much,’ he said to Tamsin, ‘Madame Tussand.’
    Tamsin gabbled at him quickly.
    ‘You found the stuff? Marvellous. No, sweetie, that isn’t a pun. Come and dance.’
    ‘I am for other than for dancing measures,’ Marvell laughed. ‘I’ve been in the chamber of horrors and I need a drink.’ He helped himself from the sideboard. ‘You might have warned me.’
    ‘What
do
you mean, chamber of horrors?’ Nancy was wide-eyed. The party was beginning to flag and she was eager for something to buoy it up and, if possible, prise Oliver away from Tamsin. ‘Have you been seeing ghosts?’
    ‘Something like that.’
    ‘Tell, tell!’
    Suddenly Tamsin whirled away from Oliver and throwing up her arms, seized Marvell to spin him away past the record player, past the birthday table, across the patio and out on to the lawn.
    ‘Let’s all go,’ she cried. ‘Come and see the skeleton in the cupboard!’
    They began to file out into the hall, the women giggling expectantly. Marvell went first, his drink in his hand. Only Patrick hung back until Freda took his hand and whispered something to him. Even Smith-King, usually obtuse, noticed his unease.
    ‘Lead on, Macduff!’ he said.

6
    I f it had been earlier in the day or even if the lights had been on it would have looked very different. But as it was—day melting into night, the light half-gone and the air so still that nothing moved, not even the net curtains at the open windows—the effect was instant and, for a single foolish moment, shocking.
    Marvell pulled a face. The other men stared, Paul Gaveston making a

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