Death Wears a Mask Read Free

Marjorie. She had clear blue eyes and a quick, lively manner that I expected could turn boisterous given the right occasion. Her words were spoken with a decisive air that was in marked contrast to her sister’s soft, somewhat breathy voice.
    â€œI wouldn’t care to go to Greece just now,” said Mr. Barrington, “what with the political situation there.”
    â€œOh, Lloyd. Let’s not talk politics.” Mrs. Barrington sighed.
    â€œWell, Mr. Douglas-Hughes will agree with me, I’m sure.”
    â€œThe political situation has certainly been a bit unstable as of late,” answered the gentleman in question cautiously. “What the elections will bring remains to be seen. If Venizélos is not reelected, it is difficult to say what the effect will be.”
    Connected to the Foreign Office, Mr. Sanderson Douglas-Hughes was quite well-informed on political matters, I was sure. However, it was not solely in that capacity that his name was familiar to me. I had been interested to meet him and his wife because we shared the unfortunate distinction of having our marriages publicly picked apart by society columnists. Mr. Douglas-Hughes came from a very old and wealthy family, and I well recalled the sensation it had caused when he had married an American dancer named Mamie Allen.
    The gossips had played up her occupation as a dancer, lending it sordid undertones as if to imply she had spent her nights dancing the hoochie-coochie in some New York burlesque, but I had heard that she had, in fact, been a ballroom dancer on Broadway. She was tall and extremely thin, and there was a calm gracefulness about her that I was sure must have pleased even the stoutest defenders of the Douglas-Hughes legacy. She was a lovely woman, pale with a halo of striking red hair that could only have been a natural hue. There was something very warm and open about her, and I found myself liking her at once.
    â€œThere are so few places Sandy will take me for fear of sudden rebellions or uprisings,” she teased. “I am really beginning to believe that ignorance is bliss.”
    It took me a moment to realize that she was referring to her husband. It amused me to learn that the elegant Mr. Sanderson Douglas-Hughes had been given the pet name “Sandy” by his wife.
    â€œBliss is being married to you, my love,” he returned with a smile, “which is why I find it prudent to be cautious.”
    As his wife had done, Mr. Douglas-Hughes impressed me favorably. In addition to his obvious affection for her, there was an easy friendliness in his manner, a sense of calm that matched her quiet poise. I imagined a pleasant demeanor and a cool head were assets in the Foreign Office.
    â€œMr. Ames, I understand you’re acquainted with Helene Renault. A friend of mine said he’d seen you together last weekend. She’s a lovely woman. I’ve never met a film star. What’s she like?”
    This abrupt and rather startling speech came from Mr. James Harker, Mrs. Barrington’s nephew. Like his aunt, Mr. Harker was also robust and lively of manner. He had a round, pleasant face that lit up when he smiled, which he seemed to do often. He had reminded me of a happy and amiable child upon introduction, and the impression was strengthened now as he waited with apparent guilelessness for the answer to his question.
    It seemed to me that conversation faltered a bit as those around me tried to listen without appearing to do so. I had no knowledge of Milo’s acquaintance with the French actress, so I was as curious as anyone to hear what his answer would be.
    Schooling my features into polite disinterest had become habit when discussing Milo’s behavior with strangers, so I fancy there was no expression on my face as my eyes rose slowly from my plate to look at my husband across the table. His gaze was awaiting mine, and I could read no sign of discomfort in it.
    â€œI don’t know her