Sheer Folly Read Free Page B

I’ll give it another go.”
    The Lea-Francis started at the first try.
    â€œMiraculous,” Daisy commented, as they rolled onwards. “How did you stall it?”
    â€œSimple. I just shifted up to top gear and took my foot off the clutch. Don’t tell me you didn’t stall a few times while you were learning to drive.”
    â€œOf course, but I’m not sure I ever really worked out what I did wrong, just learnt to do it right. Well, honours even, I should say, but definitely childish.”
    â€œAt least I pierced that insufferable shell of complacency, however briefly. Besides, you did your bit. That was a neat touch, asking him which was the brake.”
    â€œYes, that’s all very well, but I do hope you’re not going to spend our time here sniping at him.”
    â€œHardly, darling. We have work to do. It was a perfect demonstration, though, of why we mustn’t let Julia weaken. Lady Beaufort’s the sort who still believes parents can tell their daughters whom to marry.” Lucy stopped the car in front of the portico. “Here we are.”
    They got out. As the Bentley swept past them and disappeared round the side of the house, Lucy retrieved the tripod from the dickey and handed it to Daisy. She shouldered her precious camera herself and heaved out the satchel of plates.
    â€œDo you suppose the plumber will provide someone to garage the car for me, and bring in the rest of our stuff?” she added plaintively.
    â€œIf not, I’ll do it,” said Daisy resignedly. She had been worried about her friend’s attitude to Mr. Pritchard. Apparently she was going to have to protect Lord Rydal and Lady Beaufort from Lucy’s scheming, too. She rather hoped Alec would be able to come down for the weekend to lend a hand.

 
THREE
    A very
proper butler admitted Daisy and Lucy to the hall.
    â€œMr. Pritchard’s chauffeur will convey your ladyship’s motor to the garage, my lady,” he assured Lucy.
    The grand staircase, black-and-white chequered marble floor, and pillared niches in the walls were just what one would expect to find behind the classical façade. However, Mr. Pritchard was clearly not bound by tradition. Illuminated by electric wallsconces, the cold stone of the floor was half hidden by a broadloom Axminster in green and gold chequers, and, instead of marble gods and goddesses, the niches held a selection of ewers. These ranged from white china decorated with forget-me-nots and rosebuds to elaborate gilt-rimmed porcelain with scenes from classical mythology. Gods and goddesses in fact, Daisy thought, amused—as well as reminders of the days before modern plumbing.
    â€œAt least, no chamber-pots!” Lucy hissed in her ear. A modern career-woman she might be, but like Queen Victoria, she was not amused. She instructed the butler in the proper handling of her camera equipment.
    A short, spare, grey-haired man in a navy pin-striped suitcame bustling through a door on the right side of the hall. He greeted them with a cheerful smile.
    â€œYou must be Lady Gerald and Mrs. Fletcher.” He spoke the King’s English with a slight Welsh intonation. “I’m Brin Pritchard. Very pleased to meet you, I’m sure. And I’m delighted my grotto’s going to be in your book.”
    Lucy muttered, “How do you do?” without offering her hand.
    â€œWe’re looking forward to seeing it, Mr. Pritchard,” Daisy assured him, shaking his hand. “It’s very kind of you to invite us.”
    â€œNot at all, not at all. I had a marvellous time restoring it to its old condition, or maybe even just a bit better, and I like to show it off. I wish you’d been able to arrive in time to see it in daylight this afternoon. Barker,” he said to the butler, “bring a fresh pot of tea. Or perhaps you young ladies would prefer a cocktail at this hour?”
    Regarding her host with a somewhat more