Murder at Maddingley Grange Read Free

first when she was five and her widowed mother had brought up to the nursery Victor Hannaford, whom she planned to marry, and his thirteen-year-old son. Simon had stepped forward with tremendous self-assurance, shaken Nanny’s hand, kissed Laurie on the cheek and smartly removed a box of chocolate marshmallows from the top of her toy box. She had watched anxiously as they disappeared downstairs for they were her favorite sweets, and she had been tremendously relieved when he returned to say good-bye and put the box back. Later it proved to be empty. Now she said: “And there’s no need to waste that smile on me.”
    â€œWhat smile?”
    â€œYour basking shark’s smile.”
    â€œAnyone would think you couldn’t trust me.” Simon poured himself a third vodka and tonic, added lemon and ice. He swirled it round, admiring the silvery gloss on the surface before draining it in one swallow. “Right,” he said, becoming very brisk. “We’ve got ten at two fifty…less food, of course. We can raid the cellar for the wine—”
    â€œOh, no, we can’t!”
    â€œWhy on earth not? All those dusty crates of plonk slowly turning to vinegar—”
    â€œIf it’s plonk it’ll have turned long ago. I shouldn’t think anyone’s been down there since Uncle George was carted up for the last time.”
    â€œExactly. We’d be doing Aunt Maude a favor clearing it out.”
    â€œI doubt if she’d see it like that.”
    â€œAnyway, it’ll probably all be ours sooner or later.”
    â€œSooner or later isn’t now. And don’t count your chickens. We’re not the only possible heirs.”
    â€œWe’re the most likely.”
    â€œThere’s Hazel’s son.”
    â€œMervyn? Aunt Maude hates him. Says he looks like a constipated squirrel.”
    Laurie giggled. “He does a bit. What about Jocelyn then? Or that weird cousin who had nervous palpitations and used to sleep in a fish tank.”
    â€œHetty? She went to Australia.”
    â€œThe Handsom-Nortys?”
    â€œAfter that hushed-up flotation scandal? No,” repeated Simon firmly, ‘you and I are by far the best bet. Now—if we could please get back to business. How much do you think we shall have to pay the staff?’
    â€œThere you go again, harping on about staff. What staff?”
    â€œWe’ve got to have a butler and maid.”
    â€œWhat’s wrong with Mrs. Posture and Ivy?”
    â€œGod—you’re so dim.” Simon explained slowly and clearly. “Apart from the fact that neither of them, however cunningly disguised, could ever be mistaken for a butler, there’s the strong possibility that they’ll tell Aunt Maude on her return what we’ve been up to.”
    â€œYou said she wouldn’t mind.”
    â€œPicky, picky. I shall put a help-wanted notice in the Oxford Mail.”
    â€œSafer to go to an agency.”
    â€œI’ve no intention of paying a huge registration fee and inflated salaries, thanks very much. Especially as our profits have now been cut to the bone thanks to all this whining about numbers. The point of the weekend after all is to make a killing. I shall ask for references, of course.”
    â€œI should hope so.”
    Simon replaced his glass on the table and lifted his face to the warm early evening sun, calmly content. He had never in a million years thought that he would be able to persuade Laurie to go along with his plan. Or, should this persuasion miraculously occur, that she would agree to more than two or, at the very most, four visitors at a time. Huckster-like he had started by suggesting over thirty, knowing this would frighten the wits out of her, and now she had actually agreed to ten. Unbelievable. Tomorrow he really would put an advertisement in The Times . He said: “And the murder is still on?” When Laurie frowned he added quickly: