At Death's Door Read Free Page A

doesn’t enter into it. Neither happiness nor misery nor any other big emotion. Best let him have his last years in dignity, with faces around him that he’s used to.”
    â€œThe feeling does you credit,” said the commodore, heartily and falsely.
    They were interrupted by the doorbell. Becky, who had been watching television in the corner with the sound turned down low, jumped up and showed interest. Caroline went over to her.
    â€œThis will be our campers,” she said, and she and Becky followed her husband into the hall so that they could all meet their new relations away from the hard, bright eyes of the commodore’s lady.
    There was time for a brief handshake all around in the rather dismal hallway that no sort of lighting could render welcoming. Caroline got no impression more specific than that of a tall boy and a short girl, both a bit travel stained. Then they had to troop back into the sitting room.
    â€œThis is Cordelia, Roderick’s half sister,” said Caroline brightly but casually. “And her boyfriend.”
    The commodore had sprung up and was doing his very-much-a-lady’s-man routine, but Caroline could see the calculation in his eyes. Half sister? They had met Roderick’s real sister. They probably knew that his father had been married twice, but Roderick and Isobel werechildren of his second marriage. And this young thing was his half sister. Then . . .
    Daisy Critchley gave her husband a barely perceptible nudge, and Roderick busied himself getting the visitors drinks. Pat sat down, quite relaxed in a remote sort of way, and asked for a beer. Cordelia said she’d just have a fruit juice. Becky sat down on the sofa beside Cordelia and seemed to be quite happy, as she often was with new arrivals, just to look at her and take her in. More covertly, Caroline was doing the same. This was her first opportunity to look at the newcomer properly.
    Her first reaction was one of shock, that Cordelia was not at all good-looking. Second glances made her revise that judgment slightly. She was dumpy, certainly—whereas Myra was tall, or had seemed so onstage. Cordelia’s was sort of puppy fat, but retained well beyond the puppy-fat stage. Nevertheless, there was a residual prettiness in the face, plump though it was, and it looked from the faintly bedraggled hair as if Cordelia simply did not care to do much about her looks.
    Pat was a beanpole boy, dark haired, with a trim beard and distant hazel eyes. It disturbed Caroline to realize that she was finally disapproving of a relationship in which the woman was the older partner. What an odd survival of popular prejudice! But Pat could hardly be more than twenty-two or -three, whereas Cordelia was certainly twenty-seven. Yet, right from this first moment, Caroline sensed in Pat a sort of stillness that made him the more mature of the two.
    The commodore was at his most avuncular. He was adept at small talk, and in situations like this he would use it to learn what he wanted to know.
    â€œI don’t think we’ve seen you here at Maudsley before, have we, young lady?” he asked, bending forward.
    â€œNo, this is my first visit.”
    â€œThen you must see plenty of Sussex while you’re here, eh, Roderick? There are some wonderful walks in the neighborhood. Got a car, have you?”
    â€œYes—we’ve got an old jalopy.”
    â€œGood. Plenty of lovely drives, too. Only problem at this time of year is keeping away from the tourists. Not the best time of year to choose, frankly.”
    â€œPat is a teacher, in a primary school. So really we don’t have much choice.”
    â€œAh yes, I see. . . . So this year you decided to visit your brother.”
    Cordelia flashed him a brilliant smile. It said: I know you are fishing, and I know what you want to find out, and I may decide to tell you, and then again I may not. When she smiled like that, Caroline thought, she