A Death of Distinction Read Online Free Page A

beautiful as they were, snowdrops were temperamental creatures, often sulking if they were disturbed. She’d planned to put them where they could colonize the empty space left by the crinum lilies, which hadn’t survived a hard winter followed by this terrible wet spring, and she wasn’t going to let the likes of Tom Barnett put her off. Firmly dealt with, they would thrive. She rose rather stiffly from her knees to cart down there the now-full trug. As she did so, the telephone rang, and went unanswered. Jack must have finished his breakfast and was probably in the shower, and Flora, who, after the late night last night, had announced she wasn’t going into her shop that morning, would be fathoms deep in sleep. Reluctantly, Dorothea turned to go and answer it.
    The dogs, in whom the telephone always, for some mysterious reason, engendered frenzied excitement, materialized from some far corner of the garden as she hurried towards the house. Nearly knocking her over, they rushed in as she opened the door, barking, scattering the rugs in the wide, stone-flagged hall, which had a door at each end, front and back. Delightful in summer, when one could leave the garden door open and see the long matching borders with the swathe of grass between, but cruel in winter, when the draughts whistled like a whetted knife between the doors.
    â€˜Quiet, Sam! And you, Kip!’ She leaned on the door to shut it against the wind, paused to slip off her muddy gardening shoes, and the wretched telephone stopped. Dorothea, who was not the swearing kind, clicked her tongue in annoyance. The old spaniels, disappointed, floundered up on to the cushioned window seat above the radiator, one eye on her because they knew this was forbidden. They were Flora’s dogs, and very spoilt.
    â€˜Who was that on the telephone?’
    Jack, now showered, shaved and dressed in his best suit, ready to drive round to his office via the main road for his meeting with Quattrell – Jack who was as fit as a flea but never walked when he could drive – came into the hall as she was shooing the animals off the window seat. She explained what had happened but he was barely listening.
    â€˜Enjoy it last night, did you then, hinnie?’ he asked, smiling at her, throwing an arm around her shoulders, using the northern endearment she would only allow in private. Not that she was ashamed of his origins – but there was no need to flaunt them quite so deliberately. She’d once overheard him described as a professional Geordie, and was afraid this could be true.
    â€˜It was very pleasant, Jack,’ she answered, lying for his sake, because it had been an evening very special to him, although such occasions were torture to her. She’d no small talk, and was afraid of making a fool of herself by speaking on topics of which she knew nothing. She knew she was thought dull when she failed immediately to laugh at a joke, or see the point of something, but she didn’t catch on quickly, and repartee was beyond her. So she’d gradually learned to take refuge in polite smiles and anodyne remarks, like the Queen, and though she knew her reserve was often mistaken for coldness, she didn’t know how to remedy it. Strange that Jack, who always seemed to be able so easily to recognize inadequacy in the youths in his care, had never seen that.
    He failed to appreciate her lack of response now. ‘Aye, it went very well. Our lassie looked lovely, didn’t she?’
    â€˜Flora always looks lovely.’
    But oh, that frock! Dorothea sighed deeply, though truly it was the least of the things on her mind about Flora. Not to approach Jack with, however, who could see no wrong in his daughter, and certainly not at this time, when he was evidently feeling optimistic, brimming with goodwill for all the world.
    â€˜I hope your meeting goes well,’ she contented herself with saying as he picked up his briefcase.
    â€˜Oh, it