“Thank you,” replied Violet dryly.
“She isn't really so good-looking,” observed Antonio, wrestling with the joints of a cold fowl. “Her eyes are set a bit too far apart, for one thing, and I don't know if you've noticed, but one side of her face isn't as good as the other.”
“But look at that lovely line of the jaw!” Kenneth said, dropping the wooden salad spoon, and tracing the line in the air with his thumb.
“When you've quite finished, both of you!” Violet protested. She looked provocatively at Mesurier, seated opposite to her, and said: “Aren't they awful? Don't you think we're frightfully brave to marry them?”
He responded in kind, and they kept up an interchange of light badinage throughout the meal. Attempts to draw the other two into the conversation were not very successful. Kenneth had a glowering look on his face, which Violet could always conjure up by flirting with another man; and Antonia, when appealed to by Violet to assure Mesurier that she didn't look marvellous in red, but, on the contrary, positively haggish, replied with such disastrous frankness that the topic broke off like a snapped thread.
“You're an artist, aren't you?” said Rudolph hastily. “No,” said Kenneth.
“Well, I may not be an artist as you highbrows understand it -”
“You aren't. You can't draw.”
“Thank you, dear. But I do make a living out of it,” said Violet sweetly. “As a matter of fact I do poster-designs and commercial work, Mr Mesurier. I found I had a sort of knack” - Kenneth sank his head in his hands and groaned - “a sort of knack,” repeated Violet, “and I suppose my stuff caught on. I've always had a sense of colour and line, and -”
“Oh, darling, do shut up!” begged Kenneth. “You've got about as much sense of colour and line as Tony's bull-terriers.”
Violet stiffened. “I don't know if you're trying to annoy me, but —'
“My angel, I wouldn't annoy you for the world, but if only you'd just be, and not talk!” begged Kenneth.
“I see. I'm to sit mum while you air your views.”
“She can't possibly not talk at all, Kenneth,” said Antonia reasonably. “What he means is, Don't talk Art.”
“Thank you. I'm quite aware that nobody but Kenneth knows anything about Art.”
“Well, if you're aware of it, why the hell do you -”
“Champagne!” said Rudolph, leaping into the breach. “Miss Williams, you will, won't you? Tony?”
“Why is there never any ice in this place?” demanded Kenneth, suddenly diverted.
“Because we bought the oak coffer with the money we meant to spend on a refrigerator,” replied Antonia.
This change of topic, coupled with the champagne, saved the party from breaking up there and then. No further references were made to Art, and by the time the quartette rose from the table and drifted over to the other end of the room Violet had softened towards Kenneth, who was passionately anxious to make amends; and Rudolph had volunteered to make Turkish coffee if Murgatroyd didn't mind. He and Antonia went off to the kitchen together, and under Murgatroyd's scornful but indulgent eye brewed a decoction which, though it would have puzzled a Turk, was quite drinkable.
It was a warm evening, and all this exertion made Antonia so hot that she announced her intention of having a bath. She withdrew into the bathroom, reappearing in the studio a quarter of an hour later in beach pyjamas, which became her very well, but offended Murgatroyd, who told her she ought to be ashamed of herself, on a Sunday and all. Kenneth, flat on a divan, had taken off his coat, somewhat to Violet's disapproval, and was lying with his hands linked behind his head, and his shirt open at the throat. Violet sat on a floor cushion, looking graceful and cool, and self possessed; and Rudolph Mesurier, who had compromised with the heat by undoing the buttons of his rather too-waisted coat, leaned against the window, blowing smoke rings.
Ten minutes later the door-bell rang, and Antonia said: “That'll be Giles.”
“Lord I'd forgotten he was coming!” said Kenneth.
Violet reached instinctively for her vanity case, but before she had time to do more than peep at her reflection in the tiny mirror, Murgatroyd had ushered in the visitor.
“Here's Mr Giles!” she announced grimly.
Giles Carrington paused on the threshold, surveying the group in some amusement. “You look like an illustration of high life and low life,” he remarked. “Sunbathing, Tony?”
“Come inside, and pour yourself out a drink,” said Kenneth. “And don't be shy of telling us the worst: it's all in the family. Am I the heir, or am I not? If I am, we're going to buy a refrigerator. There's no ice in this ruddy place.”
Giles paid not the slightest attention to this, but smiled down at Violet. “It's useless to expect either of my cousins to introduce us. My name is Carrington.”
“I know; they're hopeless. Mine is Williams. I'm Kenneth's fiancée, you know.”
“I didn't, but I congratulate him. Good-evening, Mesurier.”
“Oh, how sweet of you!” Violet said, with an arch look up at him.
“That's only his nice Eton manners,” said Antonia reassuringly. “When's the Inquest, Giles?”
“On Tuesday. You'll have to attend.”
“Blast! Are you going to be there?”
“Yes, of course. I'll take you down.” Giles poured himself out some whisky, and splashed soda into it. “Arnold's car has been found,” he said casually.
“Where?” asked Antonia.
“In a mews off the Cromwell Road.”
“Will that help the police at all, do you suppose?” inquired Violet.
“I hardly think so. Nothing but Arnold's suitcase and hat and a hamper of provisions was found in it, I believe.”
“What, no blood?” said Kenneth lazily. “No gory knife? I call that a sell for the police.”
“Haven't they discovered any clue at all?” Rudolph asked. “Surely there must be something to show who it was? I mean finger-prints, or something.”
“I'm afraid I can't tell you that,” replied Giles in his cool, pleasant way. “The police haven't taken me quite so far into their confidence.”
“Did you see anything more of that lamb-like Superintendent?” said Antonia, clasping her hands round her knees.
“Yes, I gave him a lift back to Town.”
Kenneth sat up. “Look here, whose side are you on?”
Giles Carrington looked up quickly. Kenneth grinned. “No, I didn't mean that exactly, but you've got to act for us.”
“That is what I'm trying to do,” answered Giles.
“Lots of snags in the way,” murmured Kenneth, lying down again. “Tony's pitchforked herself hang into the middle of it, and I don't think I can prove an alibi. All the same,” he added, tilting his head back to watch the fluttering of a moth against the skylight, “they'll find it hard to fasten the murder on to me. For one thing, I haven't got a knife, and never had a knife; and for another, no one would ever believe I could do a job as neatly as this one, without leaving any trace behind. Also, I haven't had any very recent quarrel with -” He jerked himself upright again. “Damn! What a fool I was! I wrote and asked him for some cash, and he refused. I'll lay any odds you like he's kept my letter and a copy of his answer.”
“Oh, Kenneth, don't talk such rubbish!” Violet begged. “Of course they don't think you did it!”
“They probably will, but they'll find it devilish hard to prove,” said Kenneth. “What do you think, Giles?”
“If you'd like to call at my office tomorrow at twelve, I'll tell you,” replied Giles, finishing his drink.
Violet got up, smoothing her skirt. “Of course you can't talk with Mr Mesurier and me here,” she said. “Anyway, it's time I went home. I've got a long day tomorrow. Kenneth, promise me you'll stop being silly, and tell Mr Carrington everything. You know perfectly well you didn't do it, and anyone would think you had, from the way you go on.”
“Yes, you all three ought to talk it over,” agreed Mesurier. “Can I see you home, Miss Williams?”