Grave Mistake

‘Were you surprised to see me?’

‘I was, rather.’

‘Why?’

‘Well –’

‘Well?’

‘The name for one thing.’

‘Oh, that!’ he said, waving his hand. ‘That’s an old story. It’s my mother’s maiden name. Swiss. She always wanted me to use it. Put it in her Will, if you’ll believe it. She suggested that I made myself “Smythe-Schramm” but that turned out to be such a wet mouthful I decided to get rid of Smythe.’

‘I see.’

‘So I qualified after all, Verity.’

‘Yes.’

‘From Lausanne, actually. My mother had settled there and I joined her. I got quite involved with that side of the family and decided to finish my course in Switzerland.’

‘I see.’

‘I practised there for some time – until she died to be exact. Since then I’ve wandered about the world. One can always find something to do as a medico.’ He talked away, fluently. It seemed to Verity that he spoke in phrases that followed each other with the ease of frequent usage. He went on for some time, making, she thought, little sorties against her self-possession. She was surprised to find how ineffectual they proved to be. Come, she thought, I’m over the initial hurdle at least, and began to wonder what all the fuss was about.

‘And now you’re settling in Kent,’ she said politely.

‘Looks like it. A sort of hotel-cum-convalescent home. I’ve made rather a thing of dietetics – specialized actually – and this place offers the right sort of scene. Greengages, it’s called. Do you know it at all?’

‘Sybil – Mrs Foster – goes there quite often.’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘So she tells me.’

He looked at Sybil who sat, discontentedly, beside the vicar. Verity had realized that Sybil was observant of them. She now flashed a meaning smile at Schramm as if she and he shared some exquisite joke.

Gideon Markos said, ‘Pop, may I show Prue your latest extravagance?’

‘Do,’ said his father. ‘By all means.’

When they had gone he said, ‘Schramm, I can’t have you monopolizing Miss Preston like this. You’ve had a lovely session and must restrain your remembrance of things past. I’m going to move you on.’

He moved him on to Mrs Field-Innis and took his place by Verity.

‘Gideon tells me,’ he said, ‘that when I have company to dine I’m bossy, old hat and a stuffed shirt or whatever the “in” phrase is. But what should I do? Invite my guests to wriggle and jerk to one of his deafening records?’

‘It might be fun to see the vicar and Florence Field-Innis having a go.’

‘Yes,’ he said, with a sidelong glance at her, ‘it might indeed. Would you like to hear about my “latest extravagance”? You would? It’s a picture. A Troy.’

‘From her show at the Arlington?’

‘That’s right.’

‘How lovely for you. Which one? Not by any chance “Several Pleasures”?’

‘But you’re brilliant!’

‘It is?’

‘Come and look.’

He took her into the library where there was no sign of the young people: a large library it was, and still under renovation. Open cases of books stood about the floors. The walls, including the backs of shelves, had been redone in a lacquer-red Chinese paper. The Troy painting stood on the chimney-piece – a glowing flourish of exuberance, all swings and roundabouts.

‘You do collect lovely pictures,’ she said.

‘Oh, I’m a dedicated magpie. I even collect stamps.’

‘Seriously?’

‘Passionately,’ he said. He half-closed his eyes and contemplated his picture.

Verity said, ‘You’re going to hang it where it is, are you?’

‘I think so. But whatever I do with it in this silly house is bound to be a compromise,’ he said.

‘Does that matter very much?’

‘Yes, it does. I lust,’ said Mr Markos, ‘after Quintern Place.’

He said this with such passion that Verity stared at him.

‘Do you?’ she said. ‘It’s a lovely house, of course. But just seeing it from the outside –’

‘Ah, but I’ve seen it from inside too.’

Verity thought what a slyboots old Syb was not to have divulged this visit but he went on to say that on a househunting drive through Kent he saw Quintern Place from afar and had been so struck that he had himself driven up to it there and then.

‘Mrs Foster,’ he said, ‘was away but a domestic was persuaded to let me catch a glimpse of the ground floor. It was enough. I visited the nearest land agency only to be told that Quintern was not on their or anybody else’s books and that former enquiries had led to the flattest of refusals. Mine suffered a like fate; there was no intention to sell. So, you may say that in a fit of pique, I bought this monster where I can sit down before my citadel in a state of fruitless siege.’

‘Does Sybil know about all this?’

‘Not she. The approach has been discreet. Be a dear,’ said Mr Markos, ‘and don’t tell her.’

‘All right.’

‘How nice you are.’

‘But I’m afraid you haven’t a hope.’