Henry Gamadge 15 Death and Letters by Elizabeth Daly

Author:Elizabeth Daly [Daly, Elizabeth]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781631940736
Publisher: Felony & Mayhem Press
Published: 2015-12-15T17:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TEN

Serene

MR. AND MRS. IRA COLDFIELD came in from the library; Ira had put on a lounge coat, and Georgette was in dark-red and black silk, with a high neck and long sleeves. They made a handsome, prosperous-looking couple, without a care in the world.

“Got something left for us there, Ames?” asked Ira. He smiled at Gamadge. “Don’t know where he gets his stuff, it’s better than mine.”

Ames was busy pouring from the big glass shaker. “And when I mix,” he said, “I always expect company. Here you are, Georgy. Here you both are.”

Georgette put a cigarette into her long ivory holder and Gamadge lighted it. She said to nobody in particular: “I see Jimmie dragged little Smyth in with him. Why in the world?”

“Well, after all, Georgy,” murmured Ames, “it used to be a regular thing.”

“It’s the old man ought to be here,” said Ira crossly. “We could do without the children.”

“Doctor Smyth’s grandchildren,” Ames explained to Gamadge. “They always had the run of the house,” he added. “Why not now? Because you’re cross at Grandpapa? That’s not at all fair.”

“It’s not at all true, either,” said Georgette. “As you know.”

“The boy didn’t come,” said Ira, who was getting through his cocktail in gulps. He held out his glass. “Thanks, old man.”

“I never did care for the Smyth boy,” said Georgette. “So rough.”

“We can’t have everything,” laughed Ames. “He has the brains of the family. He’d better not go in for private practice—his bedside manner wouldn’t soothe the patients, I’m sure.”

“What’s that old proverb or whatever it is,” asked Ira, “about medical students and doctors? I myself always enjoyed talking to that boy.”

“Well, we can’t have all the neighbors underfoot now,” said Georgette. “We have other things to do.”

Gamadge said: “I think I’ve met a friend of yours, Mrs. Coldfield; of you all. Met him at a couple of auctions, but no more than a word or so. He mightn’t remember me—he was busy.”

“Who’s that?” asked Georgette carelessly.

“William Venner, the Purchaser.”

Ira said: “He isn’t going to purchase anything here, and so I told him.”

“No indeed,” said Georgette, with a glance at Gamadge. “Not even that malachite table with brass legs in the drawing-room. I hope you saw that period piece, Mr. Gamadge? And the art nouveau floor-lamp with the Tiffany glass shade?”

“I was too busy admiring the gilt and glass tie-backs,” said Gamadge.

“Oh, they’re all right—they go back to Grandmother Coldfield,” said Georgette. “But Bill Venner could have them if he wanted them, and all the rest of her stuff in the attic, to the last moth-eaten Paisley shawl.”

“Moth-eaten?” Ira looked startled. “Keep calm, dearest,” said Georgette. “I’m speaking metaphorically. And I’m afraid Bill Venner wouldn’t have the later bric-à-brac as a gift.”

“Nobody’s going to give him a thing,” said Ira. “I won’t have the carpets pulled out from under my feet.”

“These Coldfields, Mr. Gamadge,” said Georgette. “When they can’t stand the sight of a thing any longer, do you know what they do with it? They put it away.

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