A Nice Class of Corpse Read Free Page B

rather flat, as if the Perrier bottle had not been sealed as well as it should have been.
    Miss Naismith, however, did not complain, but downed the glass's contents with considerable speed. Then she placed the glass on the counter. 'Goodness, I'm thirsty today.'
    Newth, without further prompting, reached for a bulbous green Perrier bottle and, holding it above the counter, poured from it into the empty glass. The contents fizzed and spat bubbles in the air. Miss Naismith picked up the glass and turned to the door to welcome Colonel Wicksteed and Mr Dawlish, the one in a three-piece suit of mustardy tweed and the other in a charcoal-grey two-piece that gave him a clerical air.
    'Good evening, Colonel. Good evening, Mr Dawlish.'
    'Good evening, Miss Naismith.'
    'Good evening.'
    The Colonel reached to the counter and took a small handful of mixed nuts from the dish.
    'Here I go gathering nuts in March.' The Colonel made this pleasantry at six o'clock most evenings (though he did adjust it according to the relevant month).
    Mr Dawlish cackled dutifully, and Miss Naismith gave the smile of a Lady Mayoress being presented with a posy at a Primary School.
    'What can I get for you, gentlemen?' asked Newth, maintaining the illusion that one or other of them might suddenly ask for something different.
    Colonel Wicksteed and Mr Dawlish continued the charade of choice by chewing their lips and puckering their eyes, before deciding on 'a large Famous Grouse' and 'a small dry sherry', as they had every other night of their residence at the Devereux Hotel.
    'Well,' ruminated the Colonel, after he had raised his glass to Miss Naismith, said 'Cheers' and taken a long swallow, 'I wonder if we will find our new arrival is a drinks-before-dinner person . . .'
    Not all the Devereux's residents visited the bar in the evenings. Miss Wardstone had never set foot in the room. All her life she had been a total abstainer (from everything, as far as anyone could tell). Lady Ridgleigh had used to come in every night for a 'desperately dry Martini', but of recent months had discontinued the habit. Mrs Selsby had been forbidden alcohol by her doctor, and Mrs Mendlingham was so comatose most of the time that she frequently had to be reminded to come down from her room for dinner, let alone for a pre-prandial drink.
    'Oh, I think we'll find Mrs Pargeter is ,' Miss Naismith decided, without saying that she based this conclusion on the new resident's lunchtime indulgence.
    'It might be rather amusing . . .' Mr Dawlish's cracked voice hazarded '. . . to conjecture what sort of drink Mrs Pargeter would select . . . if she were to prove to be a drinks-before-dinner person.'
    He lapsed into a satisfied silence, having started this conversational hare.
    Colonel Wicksteed barked out a laugh. 'Kind of parlour game, eh? Could be amusing, yes. What drink would you suggest for Mrs Pargeter, Miss Naismith?'
    The proprietress of the Devereux bit back rejoinders about brown ale or port-and-lemon; instead, piously, she said, 'I'm not sure that it's quite the thing to make that kind of speculation about fellow residents.'
    The Colonel was instantly chastened and contrite, as if he had suggested the idea. 'No. No. Quite. Of course not.'
    They were interrupted by the entrance of the object of their speculation, who arrived arm in arm with Eulalie Vance. For dinner Mrs Pargeter had chosen a dress in a rather bright ('strident' was the word that came into Miss Naismith's mind) blue. With it she wore a whole new set of jewellery – ear-rings, necklace and bracelet, all featuring what were undoubtedly real sapphires. Miss Naismith, while of the opinion that the effect was excessive, could not help herself from being impressed. Once again, she encountered difficulty in categorising Mrs Pargeter.
    'Right,' said the newcomer, placing a plump hand on the counter. 'What are you all going to have?'
    This was not right. For a start, Mrs Pargeter had not obeyed the ritual of exchanging