Stately Homicide Read Online Free Page B

in that august office. I assumed you’d seen it in the Argus . It was all over the front page – not my going, of course, but Mr Shelden’s coming. It’s a tremendous coup for the Trust to have obtained a man of his calibre. You know, of course, he got the D’Arblay prize for his biography of Rommel?’ Without waiting for an answer – which, Jurnet thought, was just as well – the man continued: ‘Look here – if you aren’t doing anything this evening why not come along to our little party and meet him in the flesh? Any time from 8.30 on. He’s a delightful chap, he is, really, and it can only be to your mutual advantage to know each other at the outset, just in case anything ever comes up. Do come! Just a drink and a nibble before I bow out gracefully.’
    Jurnet looked about him, at the cases filled with Appleyard flotsam, at the giant photographs of the Russian tank and of the palace at Sinaia which looked more like one of the hotels on the front at Cromer than a backdrop for deeds of derring-do.
    â€˜You’ll miss all this,’ he suggested, finding it easier to change the subject than make polite excuses.
    â€˜Oh, I shall still be around.’ Mr Coryton’s glasses twinkled, seeming themselves to be the source of the merriment rather than a mere reflection of it. ‘I shall be sitting in the Library, quiet as a mouse, working on some research of my own and thanking my lucky stars somebody else is shouldering the day-to-day burden of running Bullen Hall.’
    â€˜Interesting job just the same, I should have thought.’
    â€˜Undoubtedly, if you happen to have a talent for administration. Unfortunately, I have none.’ Mr Coryton laughed, and Jurnet, who had fleetingly wondered if the outgoing curator had not been sampling the party fare ahead of time, realised, not without a pang of envy, that it was happiness, not alcohol, which was the intoxicant. ‘I’m going to write a book! And not just any old book, let me tell you! I’ve written several before, which were excessively dull, and are mercifully out of print. But now –’ the man’s voice positively lilted – ‘I’m going to sit down quietly and I’m going to –’ He broke off. ‘But come along tonight and hear all about it. Official announcement of the utmost importance! Until then, not another word! We’re in the west wing – you’ll see a wooden footbridge over the moat, and a door. It’s the tied house, so to speak, which goes with the job. Actually, we moved to the village a couple of days ago, but we thought the flat would be a more convenient venue, and of course it’s much larger and grander than our new, modest abode.’
    â€˜I don’t –’ Jurnet began. He was in no mood for a party, especially one where he wouldn’t know a soul apart from his host, if their brief encounter could be said to constitute knowing. Then, suddenly remembering something Anna had said: ‘You aren’t expecting Mr and Mrs March, by any chance?’
    â€˜Danny and Anna? Of course! All the workshop people will be coming. Do you know them? Splendid! They can make sure you don’t lose your way.’
    What the hell! If Miriam could spend her evenings downing the ouzo with some greasy Greek in some filthy taverna, why shouldn’t he, Ben Jurnet, have his own little bit of fun, even if – as seemed more than likely – it consisted of a glass of sweet plonk plus unidentifiable gobbets enrobed in salad cream and served on squares of soggy toast?
    â€˜Thanks very much, then. See you at 8.30.’
    For a moment, after the inferno of the Appleyard Room, the outside seemed actually chilly. The exit from Bullen Hall, the detective discovered, had brought him out at the rear of the building, on to another lawn, not so grand as the one in front. In the distance were trees, following, Jurnet supposed, the