Dead in the Water Read Free Page B

oaf,” Tish told him lovingly.
“Mother says it’s his own fault for agreeing to put up the crew. She’s used to accommodating any passing Europeans, of course. To tell the truth, I don’t think Father was listening when I proposed inviting you all, so perhaps it will teach him to pay attention to his daughter’s words in future!”
    â€œTypical man!” said Dottie, and added something Daisy didn’t understand.
    Cherry responded in what sounded like the same language.
    â€œGreek,” said Tish, seeing Daisy’s blank look, as Dottie and Cherry moved away together to stand by the balustrade, obviously engaged in all-absorbing debate. “Ancient Greek, not modern. I don’t understand it either, just recognise it.”
    â€œIt’s all Greek to me, too,” Rollo admitted, looking modestly pleased with his little joke. “I had to do a year of it at school but I never quite got the hang of it. Latin was bad enough.”
    â€œI take it your degree isn’t in the Classics,” Daisy said, laughing.
    â€œNot me! Modern Languages. I picked up French like billy-oh when we were over there, and then German in the Army of Occupation. I ended up in liaison, in fact.”
    â€œThat must have been jolly interesting.”
    â€œFrightfully. I was really keen. The trouble is, speaking ‘em isn’t the same thing as writing ’em, let alone reading and discussing the literature, and all that guff. I’d never have got into Ambrose if it weren’t for the allowances they made for exservice men. That and my father having been an Ambrose man. And now I’ve been ploughed for Schools,” he finished disconsolately.
    â€œRotten luck,” said Daisy.

    â€œNot really. I should have dropped rowing and concentrated on exams. I know I’m not clever, not like Cherry, who managed to row and swot enough to get a decent First in Greats.” Rollo glanced round and lowered his voice. “Let alone that beastly little squirt Bott, who sailed through with a brilliant Double First without even trying.”
    Daisy saw the unfortunate Bott sitting all alone on a bench on the far side of the terrace, moodily sipping his tea. Though once again she was sorry for him, she had no desire to join him. She turned back to Rollo.
    â€œAre you going to try again?” she asked.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œYes,” said Tish at the same time. They exchanged a glance.
    Before Daisy could request an explanation, DeLancey came up and presented his cup to Tish for a refill. “Be so kind, fair lady,” he said, his insinuating tone stripping the words of their innocence.
    Stony-faced, Tish complied.
    With a mocking laugh, DeLancey turned away from her, picked up a nearly empty plate of macaroons, and offered it to Daisy. “Better have one of these before the ravening hordes finish them off. Sweets to the sweet,” he said unoriginally.
    Daisy might not be learned, but she knew her Hamlet . “Do you propose to strew them on my grave, Mr. DeLancey?” she enquired sweetly. “I assure you, I’m not going to drown myself for unrequited love.”
    She took a macaroon—they were, after all, one of her favourites—deliberately with her left hand, making sure her sapphire engagement ring flashed in the sun. The stone was not large, but it was exactly the colour of her eyes, Alec said,
the guileless blue eyes which led people to confide in her, including him. Their depths had more than once led him to indiscreet revelations about his cases.
    Not an hour ago, Bott had unbosomed himself to her after two minutes’ acquaintance. Daisy hoped DeLancey was not going to bare his soul. She didn’t want to see it. He was as disagreeable as Bott, and without that miserable little man’s excuse.
    DeLancey looked rather nonplussed by her riposte. Whatever his course of study, it had presumably not included Shakespeare. He did, however,