Duck Season Death Read Free Page B

drinking groups. Several tired businessmen looked at her with prawn-eyed expectancy, but although she automatically flashed her twenty-guinea-a-shot smile at them, she kept on to the place where Charles was listening to the publisher’s representative expounding on the book of the year.
    â€œDarling!” she shrieked again, and flung butterfly arms around his neck, lifting up out of the two suede straps and pencil-like heels which constituted her shoes.
    Charles had not seen Margot for nearly a year, at which time he had been brought to the sudden and shattering realisation that she was the sort of girl you only took out to dine and dance.
    â€œOh—hello!” he said feebly. “What are you doing here?”
    She shone a perfunctory smile on his companion, then linked arms affectionately. “Oh, you know me—always around. Angel, I can’t tell you how relieved I am to see you. There’s something most frightfully important I want to tell you.”
    The publicity man chivalrously, though reluctantly, began to edge away. He felt Culture and Critic owed him something. With a clatter of chunky costume jewellery, Margot put out a restraining hand. “Oh, please don’t go. You will make me feel dreadful. I’m sure I am breaking up some most frightfully important discussion. Chas and I can talk later, can’t we, dear?”
    â€œIt’s probably a toss-up which is of more frightful importance, so let’s stick to neutral ground,” said Charles and introduced them.
    â€œHow do you do, Miss Stainsbury. Haven’t I see—?”
    â€œOf course you’ve seen her before,” interrupted Charles, with a touch of derision. “Miss Stainsbury is the most sought-after model in the country. Here is the face that launches a thousand sales.”
    â€œOh, Chas!” Margot fluttered her lids demurely. Then, because the publicity man wasn’t, as she had first thought, a member of the press and showed an inclination to hover like an unwanted dog after a desultory pat, she said plaintively, “Do you know, I’ve hardly had one drink yet.”
    Charles, remembering being the humiliated victim of this gambit of hers, remained unmoved. Slavering happily, the publicity man plunged away to the bar to do Margot’s bidding.
    â€œAnd you round off the trick by moving to another part of the room,” said Charles, guiding her through the crowds.
    â€œYou didn’t mind, darling? He looked the type to cling. Such odd people one has to meet at cocktail parties. You weren’t actually talking about anything frightfully important, were you, Charles?”
    â€œHe thought so, but not frightfully. He wants Athol to let me write some nice things about the novel that overgrown schoolboy in the corner there has written.”
    Margot made a parade platform swivel, and surveyed the author with an expertly dispassionate eye. “Is he the cause of all this?”
    â€œUnwittingly, poor fellow! Which reminds me—what are you doing in this commercially erudite company? Not your usual venue if I might say so?”
    Her large eyes widened reproachfully, threatening to eclipse the rest of her wholly enchanting face. “I can get by anywhere, so don’t act as though you’re not pleased to see me. Don’t I always read Athol’s nasty bits about the latest novels? Oh, and yours too, darling—though I can’t understand why you must get so intense about murders and blunt weapons and things.”
    â€œThe detective story is just as much an artistic expression—” began Charles defensively.
    â€œYou see what I mean, dear?” she interrupted kindly. “So boring when you become earnest. Now Athol is never boring, though I agree he can be an absolute beast sometimes. Do you know, Chas, it took me all my time to get him to take me to lunch at Manonetta’s last week? He wanted to go to some ghastly out-of-the-way spot,