Judith by Noel Streatfeild

Author:Noel Streatfeild
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pan Macmillan
Published: 2018-07-24T10:44:23+00:00

PART THREE

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MARION LOOKED round her charming apartment, and at Charles mending a light which had fused, and her face wore a cat-like contented smile.

“I’ll say we had fun at New Year, but I couldn’t mind if we didn’t give another party for months. It’s nice to relax.”

Charles was about to answer when the front door bell rang. He looked at the clock.

“Nine o’clock! You didn’t ask anyone, did you?”

Marion got up.

“On a Thursday with no help! You finish that, I’ll see who it is.”

The apartment was on the ground floor. Marion crossed the hallway and opened the front door. By the street lighting she could see her visitor was a large woman holding a travelling case. Clearly, she thought, someone who had rung her bell by mistake.

“What number were you wanting?”

The woman answered with a noticeably English accent.

“My name is Simpson. This is Mr. Charles Winster’s flat, isn’t it? Could I see him?”

Charles, the door being open, had heard what was said and noticed the accent. Simpson. Simpson, that struck a note. Then suddenly it came to him. Miss Simpson, Simpsy that Judith had always talked about. He put down his tools and hurried into the hall.

“Hullo there. Are you the Miss Simpson who was governess to my daughter?” Miss Simpson made an agreeing murmur. “Well, come in, give me your case, I’ll put it here. Now, what brings you to New York?”

Marion shepherded Miss Simpson into the living-room, and settled her in a large chair.

“Now, before Mr. Winster starts asking questions, what will you drink?”

Miss Simpson saw the bottles, glasses and bowl of ice at which Marion was looking.

“Oh, nothing like that, thank you. But if it was not too much trouble I would love a cup of tea. I had to wait for a taxi at the airport, it’s such a terrible night, isn’t it, and . . .”

“Airport?” said Charles. “Have you just arrived?”

“Yes. I should have been here this morning. The plane was delayed.”

Marion had moved to the door on her way to make the tea. She stopped, an idea forming in her mind. She came back to Miss Simpson.

“Have you flown over just to see Mr. Winster?”

Miss Simpson nodded.

“I couldn’t get away until after the New Year, I work in an old people’s home, and they enjoy little festivities, but Lady Mercy and I . . .”

“Charles,” said Marion, “carry Miss Simpson’s bag to the guest room.” She saw Miss Simpson was about to protest, so she laid a hand on her shoulder. “Relax, and you’re not to say a word until there’s something hot inside you.”

Ten minutes later Miss Simpson, warmed by Marion’s idea of a cup of tea, and comforted by the kindness that exuded from Marion like the scent of flowers, explained her presence.

“Of course it is about Judith. I, and Lady Mercy . . .”

“That’s the woman who married Ambrose Stratford- Derickson,” Charles reminded Marion. “Judith wrote a lot about her at one time. Go on, Miss Simpson.”

“Well, as I was going to say, we thought you would be over for your Mother’s funeral, so we would see you then .

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