Death of a Delft Blue

‘Morgen,’ she said.

‘Vanvond,’ contradicted Bernardo. Binnie gave a little shriek.

‘Zestien,’ she said. Bernardo looked pained.

‘Is that the hour or the room number?’ he enquired. ‘I ask because, as neither of us happens to be surnamed Zestien, (unlike our near relatives), I can only imagine that you mean Sixteen. Or is that, by any chance, your age? You certainly don’t look any more than that. And as for your behaviour…’ He smiled at her again, and took the glass out of her hand.

‘Oh, Bernie, is it really all on again?’ asked Binnie. For answer Bernardo felt in a pocket, drew out the engagement ring, took her left hand and slipped the sign and token of his intentions on to the required finger.

‘He’s a long time getting those drinks,’ said Laura.

‘I do not think it is time wasted, though,’ said Dame Beatrice, who, from her seat in the alcove they had chosen, could see the bar counter, whereas Laura could not. ‘An affecting little scene of reconciliation is taking place. Ah, here comes our cavalier now.’

‘With nods and becks and wreathed smiles, too,’ said Laura, when he came within her orbit, ‘so I feel you must be right.’

‘So now?’ said Bernardo, when he had set down the drinks and seated himself. ‘Cheers! And on two counts. More important, the drinks themselves. Less important, (but I shall hope for your felicitations), my engagement appears to be on again. But let’s not worry about that. May I be allowed to know what lies behind your request that I should join you here?’

‘Well, you do know,’ replied Laura, grinning. ‘Dame B’s alter alias is The Marriage Mender.’

‘It does not fit with the general situation for you and Binnie to be estranged any longer,’ said Dame Beatrice. ‘She may need you badly in the foreseeable future. Her brother has disappeared, as, of course, you know.’

‘Disappeared? Oh, I wouldn’t let that worry you. I’lorian always was a melodramatic young ass. It’s just a stunt of his to attract attention to himself.’

‘Professor Derde van Zestien does not seem to think so. He is sufficiently worried to have asked us to look for him.’

‘Uncle Derde’s a spinsterish nit-wit. What does Uncle Sweyn think?’

‘He does not seem particularly concerned.’

‘Well, there you are, then. Are you going over to Holland, or what?’

‘We are going first to talk with Mrs Colwyn-Welch from whose house the disappearance took place. It was from her, of course, that the news came.’

‘Well, yes, it would be, and I must admit that it’s not like old Great-aunt Binnen to panic. When did you think of going? Look here, perhaps I can save you a journey. I’ve got to see a man in Amsterdam. I was over there a few days ago, but he wasn’t available, so it’s inevitable I go again soon. I could step up the time and be off the day after tomorrow. What do you think?’

‘Very kind and thoughtful of you,’ said Dame Beatrice, in her mellowest tones, ‘but I shall enjoy the trip — that is, if it proves necessary to go to Holland at all.’

Binnie, having found one of the staff who could look after the bar, came over and joined them. She placed both hands on the table so that the engagement ring could be seen without difficulty.

‘Do let me stand the next round,’ she said. “We’ve got two things to celebrate. One is the engagement being on again, and the other is that Dame Beatrice and darling Laura are going to find Florian and make him come home.’

‘Why should anyone bother?’ asked Bernardo.

CHAPTER NINE

Speculation about a Troglodyte

‘Ah, wretched and too solitary he

Who loves not his own company.’

Abraham Cowley

« ^ »

Why Bernardo’s unselfish desire to save us a journey?’ enquired Laura, that evening. ‘It didn’t strike me as being quite in character. What did you think?’

‘That it was an unselfish desire to save us a journey, child.’

Laura glowered at her employer suspiciously and changed the subject — changed it, at any rate, to some extent.

‘How do we go about bearding Mrs Colwyn-Welch?’ she asked.

‘Face to face, man to man and with what is called brutal frankness,’ Dame Beatrice replied.

‘Not the wisdom of the serpent and the venom (or what have you) of the dove? I loathe that awful cooing noise doves make. It makes me think of Early Victorian wives bleating to their husbands for another farthing.’

‘Farthings are no longer legal currency,’ said Dame Beatrice, as though she was thinking of something else.