Nothing Like Blood Read Online Free

suddenly wanted to know from Steve Lawson whether she should back Lighthouse-keeper on Saturday.
    I ought to have explained how the dining-room is arranged. There is one large table, at which Mrs Derosse presides, and two small ones. At the large table the bishop sits on Mrs Derosse’s right, I am next to him, then Mallister, Sonia Reid, Steve Lawson, Esmée Welton and ‘Phiz’ Grissell. The Natterleys have a table to themselves, so do the Gee-Gees. When Mallister dropped what appears to have been an unconscious bombshell, the Gee-Gees and the Natterleys looked across with as much alarm as the rest. It was quite extraordinary.
    I decided to be as innocent as he and deliberately put my foot in it. “Was your wife musical, Mr Mallister? “I asked, during a pause for mastication during the bishop’s talk of adventures.
    No one else seemed to notice this.
    â€œShe was, very,” said Mallister. “Until she became an invalid during the last year of her life she was a fine violinist.” Then he added, in his matter-of-fact way: “She died quite recently, you know.”
    â€œYes, I had heard that. Was it her heart?”
    â€œYes, heart. Heart,” he said hurriedly. “She had been under sentence of death for some time. But she had great courage, as the doctors admitted, and insisted on knowing the truth. Dr Cuffley told me she could not live for more than a few weeks, and he had called in two specialists for consultation. Then, unfortunately, I had to go into hospital myself for an operation and I was away from her when the end came. However, it must be thought of as a release. She had suffered a great deal.”
    As he talked, the room became silent, not suddenly as before, but as though other conversations slowly lostinterest in competition with this one. Mallister’s fellow-guests seemed to wish not to listen but could not help themselves.
    â€œTragic,” I said politely.
    â€œShe was not old, you see,” went on Mallister. I have gathered since that this open confidence was most uncharacteristic of the man, who is apt to be self-effacing. “We had neither of us reached the cross-roads of fifty; but it seems that, once the heart ceases to function normally, medical science is powerless.”
    â€œThat’s true,” said Bishop Grissell. “I remember one of my ablest men in Mashonaland …” Or was it Matabele? Or Madagascar or Mauritius, Mozambique or Mombasa? It began with M and didn’t end at all, at least not for the rest of the meal.
    Over coffee in the lounge I waited hopefully for a mention of Bridge. Neither Steve Lawson nor Sonia Reid appeared and after some minutes we heard his Jaguar start up in the drive. The Gee-Gees do beautiful
petit point
and got down to it before the coffee-things were removed. I was sitting near the Natterleys and asked them if they played.
    â€œNo, we never play card games,” one of them said, as though I had made an improper suggestion. I might have known what answer I should get. I gather that they have their own sitting-room and only stay in the lounge after dinner for a few moments—‘We don’t wish to appear stand-offish.’
    â€œWe used to play at one time,” Mallister told me. “Lydia liked a game. But lately, somehow, there has never been a four. We must see what we can do. Mrs Derosse plays excellently.”
    Conversation grew desultory after that. The bishop attacked the crossword in an evening paper, while Phiz read a book—by a man, I presumed.
    It was a warm evening and I decided to take a stroll. I went up to my room for a coat and on the way met a large woman, the first happy-looking person I had seen at Cat’s Cradle.
    â€œI’m Mrs Jerrison, the housekeeper,” she told me. “Let me know if there’s anything you want, won’t you?”
    She had a round, red face and looked countrified and comfortable. I liked her at once. I