Dead In The Morning Read Online Free Page B

had pinned her brooch on crooked and her lipstick was uneven. She wore a purple and white nylon jersey dress that clung to her too tightly, for she had put on weight. Cathy, who had always taken her kindly, untidy aunt for granted, suddenly saw her as she might appear to a stranger: frumpy, and rather ridiculous. What if Helen found her so?
    Even Aunt Phyllis, who was often brisk but never unpredictable, seemed to be thinking of other things and did not answer when Mrs Ludlow spoke to her.
    “I said, are you sure they will have eaten, Phyllis?” Mrs Ludlow repeated sternly.
    “What? Oh yes, Mother. They’ll have something on the plane. You always do,” said Phyllis.
    “And what do you know about that, may I ask?” inquired Mrs Ludlow. “To my knowledge you have never taken to the air, Phyllis.”
    “Phyl’s quite right, Mother,” Derek said. “They will have eaten on the plane, and if for any reason the airline didn’t feed them adequately, they’ll stop for something on the way down.”
    “And keep us longer from our beds,” grumbled Mrs Ludlow, but the light of battle was shining in her eye. She had decided now how to play the hand, and Derek had been instructed to get two bottles of champagne up from the cellar and put them on ice, ready to greet the newly-married pair when they arrived.
    “Well, I think it’s all most exciting,” said Betty with desperate gaiety. “Don’t you, Cathy? I never thought your father would take the plunge after all this time, though I’m sure he must have had plenty of chances.”
    You don’t know the half of it, thought Derek. He had often found much to envy in his brother’s seemingly carefree bachelor life.
    “Why isn’t Tim here?” Mrs Ludlow asked. “I thought you expected him home by now, Betty.”
    Betty’s heart sank. She exchanged a glance with Phyllis. The sisters-in-law were good friends, both devoted to Tim, and they had often conspired to get him out of scrapes; too often for his own good, his mother was beginning to fear.
    “He’s back from Spain, Grandmother,” she said. “Now he’s staying with a friend.”
    In fact, she had no idea where her younger son might at this moment be, but there was probably some truth in her reply. “What a delicious soufflé,” Betty added, attempting to divert the conversation. “Mrs Mackenzie really is a marvel.”
    “Is there any left? We ought to take it out to her before it collapses,” Phyllis said. “You know how she loves puddings.”
    “That’s why she’s so good at making them, I expect,” said Cathy. “Shall I take it?”
    “Please, dear. Unless anyone would like some more?” Phyllis challenged with her eye anyone to dare, lest Mrs Mackenzie should be deprived of her own portion.
    “I will have just a little, Phyllis,” Mrs Ludlow said. “A spoonful, please.”
    There was hardly any left in the dish when Cathy took it to the kitchen. Mrs Mackenzie was loading the plates and cutlery from the earlier courses into the dishwasher; on the kitchen table sat a yellow plate holding a large meringue, oozing cream: clearly she had not relied on any of the soufflé being left. Cathy was still giggling about this when they all left the dining-room after the cheese.
    Mrs Mackenzie had already put the coffee tray in the drawing-room. A nightly ritual was Phyllis’s supervision of the Cona. Betty always admired this operation; she was impatient, and thought the quick results produced by a tin of instant coffee and a boiling kettle good enough. Nevertheless, she appreciated the results of Phyllis’s efforts. For once Mrs Ludlow did not make critical comments on the strength or otherwise of the flame under the glass; when their cups were filled, no one had anything to say and they all sat round in silence, sipping.
    “Well, my goodness me, what a lot of miserable faces,” said Mrs Ludlow, looking at them all. “Anyone would think this was a funeral feast, not a homecoming. Why are you all so gloomy?