Death on the Riviera Read Free Page B

ventured Dilys.
    â€œReally! How long ago?”
    â€œAbout half-past six according to my watch. I think the noise of the engine must have—”
    Nesta broke in impatiently:
    â€œWas Kitty with him?”
    â€œShe was not!” said a silky voice behind her. “Kitty on this occasion wasn’t asked to go.” A dark-eyed, raven-haired young woman with a provocative figure and considerable grace of movement strolled out on to the terrace. She was dressed in well-cut slacks, overtight silk jumper and scarlet wedge-heeled shoes. “’Morning, Mrs. Hedderwick. ’Morning, everybody. Am I late?”
    â€œAbominably!” exclaimed Nesta. “Your own stupid fault if the coffee’s cold.” She snapped on her lighter and lit a cigarette which she’d already jabbed into a shagreen holder…“Pilly, go and fetch my Tatler. You’ve had quite enough breakfast.”
    â€œBut…but, Nesta dear—”
    â€œDon’t argue. You eat too much.”
    â€œYes, dear,” murmured Miss Pilligrew, nobly bolting down her last mouthful of croissant and rising obediently. “I suppose you don’t happen to know just where—?”
    â€œNo, I don’t. It turned up with yesterday’s mail. It’s somewhere in the house. Don’t be so darn helpless.”
    â€œNo, dear.”
    The moment Miss Pilligrew had fluttered off, Nesta turned to Kitty.
    â€œWhat’s come over Tony? Odd, to say the least of it. Why this sudden passion for early rising?”
    â€œAsk me another, Mrs. Hedderwick. It’s the third time this week he’s sneaked off before breakfast in the car.”
    â€œUmph! Secretive. I don’t like it. Tony’s a brute. He never tells me anything these days. You’re a bad influence on him, Kitty.”
    Dilys smiled to herself. Poor Aunt Nesta. Tony Shenton was one of the many improvident young men upon whom, since her husband’s death, she’d lavished her maternal solicitude. One of her “dear boys” as she collectively called them. Six months ago Tony had turned up from heaven knew where for a long week-end and stayed on ever since. With his slick charm and overwhelming bounce, Dilys detested him. He seemed to have usurped the place in her aunt’s affections that should rightly have been hers. Since her parents had been tragically killed in an air-raid during the War, Aunt Nesta had become her legal guardian. Now that Dilys had left her finishing-school in Switzerland the Villa Paloma was, in effect, her home.
    The strange thing was that nobody knew why Tony had been invited in the first place. When Dilys asked her aunt where she’d first met him, she shut up like a clam. But she made no effort to conceal her adoration for Tony. Dilys, still at the mercy of a conventional upbringing, considered their relationship unhealthy. She was shocked by their easy familiarity, their shameless, if playful caresses, their bantering endearments. Tony was twenty-eight. Her aunt at least thirty years his senior. On top of this, the contemptuous, casual way in which Tony accepted her aunt’s unflagging generosity infuriated Dilys. Anybody would think by the way he treated Nesta that she was honoured in having him about the house; that in escorting her to the casino or an occasional ballet or theatre he was conferring a favour on her. Granted her aunt was blunt to the point of rudeness, difficult and unpredictable, but at heart she was kind and generous, and Dilys hated to see anybody taking advantage of her.
    Three weeks ago Kitty Linden had turned up at the villa, evidently at Tony’s invitation. Whether he’d first conferred with his hostess about this visit Dilys couldn’t be sure. But one thing was certain—Aunt Nesta was riled. And not without reason; for, from the word “Go”, Tony had made no bones about his attitude to Kitty. As far as Dilys could make out he and Kitty had