Flora Mackintosh and The Hungarian Affair by Anna Reader

Author:Anna Reader [Reader, Anna]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2016-02-22T22:00:00+00:00

SIX

Flora awoke the following morning sprawled across the magnificent four-poster bed, feeling remarkably refreshed. For a moment the events of the previous night were forgotten and she was able to enjoy the sensation of waking up in a new place, far from the tedium of school life. She looked about her in amusement at what could only have been a man’s room: there were no ornaments; no cushions or clusters of potions on a dressing table; almost no clothes in the wardrobe and only one token picture of a stag on the wall. As she stretched her limbs and spotted the thick woollen socks on her feet, the image of the dead German leapt back into her consciousness. Flora grimaced, then thought for a moment. It was absolutely essential that she should discover how the man had got into the castle, why it had been so important to him and what on earth he had been hunting for; like all individuals who’ve spent their formative years in a British boarding school she was fiercely protective of her own space, and didn’t take kindly to foreign men snooping about her family home whilst she slept.

Flora hastily dressed herself and pulled a comb through her hair before making her way downstairs. Trills of laughter filled her ears as she reached the hallway, and to her astonishment she was greeted by the image of Bertie and Magda standing side by side in the study, both wreathed with smiles. Magda, who the previous evening had resembled a kind of pickled Medusa, had clearly made an effort for her male guest: the wild grey curls had been replaced by a neat bun; the baggy socks and shapeless clothes had been exchanged for a smart blouse, ankle length skirt and clean apron; and where the scent of schnapps had reigned the previous evening, a powerful floral perfume now held sway.

“Morning, Flora!” Bertie cried, “I was just trying to explain to Magda here that I dropped a bottle of red wine all over the carpet last night, hence the stain.”

Flora looked down at the carpet to find that the corpse had indeed been replaced by an empty bottle of Burgundy, which seemed to have leaked over what had once been a puddle of blood. The smell of fine wine permeated the air, and it would have been very easy to believe that her sighting of the dead German had been nothing but a horrible nightmare. With a small shrug of the shoulders and a rueful smile, Flora explained in her perfect Hungarian that Bertie had had a small accident the previous evening.

“It doesn’t matter,” Magda replied, smiling up at Bertie in a distinctly flirtatious manner, “Mr Antal is very understanding about these things.”

“It really seems,” Flora said to Bertie, switching back to English, “as though nobody knows about my uncle’s death but me. Lord only knows where it happened. I don’t know whether I ought to say something.”

“Perhaps not, for the time being,” Bertie replied thoughtfully. “It

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