Elephants Can Remember Read Free Page B

which were rather like hard marbles, started to snap.
    “It's important, you see, because of my boy, my dear boy wanting to marry Celia.”
    “I'm afraid I can't help you,” said Mrs. Oliver. “I've never heard anything.”
    “But you must know,” said Mrs. Burton-Cox. “I mean, you write these wonderful stories, you know all about crime. You know who commits crimes and why they do it, and I'm sure that all sorts of people will tell you the story behind the story, as one so much thinks of these things.”
    “I don't know anything,” said Mrs. Oliver in a voice which no longer held very much politeness, and definitely now spoke in tones of distaste.
    “But you do see that really one doesn't know who to go to to ask about it? I mean, one couldn't go to the police after all these years, and I don't suppose they'd tell you anyway, because obviously they were trying to hush it up. But I feel it's important to get the truth.”
    “I only write books,” said Mrs. Oliver coldly. “They are entirely fictional. I know nothing personally about crime and have no opinions on criminology. So I'm afraid I can't help you in any way.”
    “But you could ask your goddaughter. You could ask Celia.”
    “Ask Celia!” Mrs. Oliver stared again. “I don't see how I could do that. She was - why, I think she must have been quite a child when this tragedy happened.”
    “Oh, I expect she knew all about it, though,” said Mrs. Burton-Cox. “Children always know everything. And she'd tell you. I'm sure she'd tell you.”
    “You'd better ask her yourself, I should think,” said Mrs. Oliver.
    “I don't think I could really do that,” said Mrs. Burton-Cox. “I don't think, you know, that Desmond would like it. You know he's rather - well, he's rather touchy where Celia is concerned, and I really don't think that - no - I'm sure she'd tell you.”
    “I really shouldn't dream of asking her,” said Mrs. Oliver.
    She made a pretence of looking at her watch.
    “Oh, dear,” she said, “what a long time we've been over this delightful lunch, I must run now. I have a very important appointment. Goodbye, Mrs. - er - Bedley-Cox, so sorry I can't help you, but these things are rather delicate and - does it really make any difference anyway, from your point of view?”
    “Oh, I think it makes all the difference.”
    At that moment, a literary figure whom Mrs. Oliver knew well drifted past. Mrs. Oliver jumped up to catch her by the arm.
    “Louise, my dear, how lovely to see you. I hadn't noticed you were here.”
    “Oh, Ariadne, it's a long time since I've seen you. You've grown a lot thinner, haven't you?”
    “What nice things you always say to me,” said Mrs. Oliver, engaging her friend by the arm and retreating from the settee.
    “I'm rushing away because I've got an appointment.”
    “I suppose you got tied up with that awful woman, didn't you?” said her friend, looking over her shoulder at Mrs. Burton-Cox.
    “She was asking me the most extraordinary questions,” said Mrs. Oliver.
    “Oh. Didn't you know how to answer them?”
    “No. They weren't any of my business anyway. I didn't know anything about them. Anyway, I wouldn't have wanted to answer them.”
    “Was it about anything interesting?”
    “I suppose,” said Mrs. Oliver, letting a new idea come into her head, “I suppose it might be interesting, only -”
    “She's getting up to chase you,” said her friend. “Come along. I'll see you get out and give you a lift to anywhere you want to go if you haven't got your car here.”
    “I never take my car about in London, it's so awful to park.”
    “I know it is. Absolutely deadly.”
    Mrs. Oliver made the proper good-byes, thanks, words of greatly expressed pleasure, and presently was being driven round a London square.
    “Eaton Terrace, isn't it?” said the kindly friend.
    “Yes,” said Mrs. Oliver, “but where I've got to go now is - I think it's Whitefriars Mansions. I can't quite remember the name of it,