Political Death by Antonia Fraser

Author:Antonia Fraser [Fraser, Antonia]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi

"Oh Ned," she thought, 'this is your fault. You should have come back. We should have gone to Dorset." But Ned had not come back; he had become a man linked to her only by a number of passionate faxes. Marilyn Monroe was supposed to have said that you couldn't curl up with a career on a cold winter's night and the same might be said of faxes. Thus Randall Birley's call on Saturday morning was not unwelcome. Nor was it a total surprise. Nor was his casual suggestion all that surprising either: that they might have supper again after the second house.

"Somewhere a bit quieter than Gino's. The West End is hateful on Saturday night. More in your direction perhaps. I'd love to continue our conversation about Marlowe. I could hardly hear anything last night, could you? At one point I was talking about Doctor Faustus and I suddenly realised you were talking about Edward II." There was of course no mention of Millie Swain (who had been rather interesting on the subject of Marlowe and his female characters). And Jemima Shore, naturally, agreed to the date.

The surprise lay in the fact that Randall had telephoned her quite late seven o'clock and with deep apologies postponed the date. The apologies sounded genuine ('an unexpected professional obligation') but then Randall Birley was of course an actor. Thus it was that Jemima Shore Investigator happened to be at 27 Holland Park Mansions when Sarah Smyth telephoned her from Number Nine Hippodrome Square.

When Jemima Shore arrived, she found Sarah Smyth's first remark curiously pathetic. "Oh dear," murmured Sarah, 'that lovely outfit. That pink is so gorgeous with your hair. I'm afraid everything here is absolutely filthy. There's also a lot of whitish paint about in the outer cellar, but that's been dry for generations." Jemima wondered if Tory training meant that you always commented graciously on people's dress no matter what the occasion. It seemed to be Sarah's chosen way of relieving tension.

Jemima's frank question (hardly surprising under the circumstances), "What on earth are you both doing here?" was met with an elliptical reply from Sarah. "You could call it a treasure-hunt. Which went wrong," she said smoothly.

Archie on the other hand chose to be slightly belligerent: "We were having a bit of fun," he replied. Jemima thought he scarcely looked as though the word fun was appropriate. Altogether, Archie Smyth was much less gracious on the subject of his discovery and a good deal more forthright. "This thing. This skeleton. What the hell can we do about it? Sarah says we can't just wall it up and of course she's right as usual. But Christ, it's nothing to do with us, Jemima. We just don't want to be involved."

None of this neither Sarah's social manner nor Archie's aggression prepared Jemima for the grisly sight in the inner cellar. The three of them gathered around the hole. Then Jemima, granted Sarah's torch, crouched by it and the twins stood behind her. The

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