‘I shouldn’t think that would find much favour with the monks,’ I said lightly.
‘Oh, the thing would have been sculptured long before the Dissolution. There are connections with Catherine of Aragon. Her badge of a pomegranate surmounted by a crown is to be seen here and there, and on the ceiling of the old chapel, which dates back to the later Middle Ages and has a misericord to every stall, there is the badge of Edward the Fourth, a rose and a falcon.’
At this point a servant came in to say that I was wanted on the telephone. As the only person to whom I had given my address in case there should be any queries about the brochures was McMaster, I guessed correctly that the call must come from him. I took it and went sadly back to the dining-room to tell Wotton that I had to leave forthwith.
‘I promised to place myself at McMaster’s disposal,’ I said apologetically, ‘so I’m afraid I shall have to go and see him.’
‘Oh, but why? Couldn’t you suggest meeting him here? I would like to see the old buster again. We used to play in the college fifteen, if you remember. Do ask him to come. Is he married?’
‘Yes, to somebody called Kate,’ I replied.
‘Well, tell him to bring the girl along. We have plenty of room now that Dame Beatrice has to leave us.’
I had discovered that Celia had repented of putting the earnest young Underedge on a camp bed in one of the attics. (In fact, I doubted whether that had ever been her serious intention.) ‘Roland and Kay are leaving after lunch, too.’ Anthony added.
Except for Wotton himself, the dining-room was empty when I came back from the telephone for the second time.
‘Grateful thanks from McMaster,’ I said. ‘Kate’s decided not to come. He hates leaving her, but won’t be here long. He thinks he and I can be through in about an hour.’
‘Oh, good. It would have been a great pity to lose you so soon after your arrival,’ said Anthony.
‘Thanks very much.’
‘You’ve made a big hit with Celia. She has never met a real live author before. I noticed you seemed to be getting on extremely well with Dame Beatrice, too. A pity you had to say goodbye to her so soon.’
‘She was telling me I ought to visit Prinknash Abbey.’
‘Oh, yes, you must do that. Apart from a lovely old house which used to be the monastery before they needed more room, the setting is quite supremely beautiful. The place lies in a valley surrounded by wooded hills. You can’t imagine a more delightful spot. I’m glad Dame Beatrice mentioned it.’
‘Does one ask any sort of permission to go and see the place?’
‘Oh, no. The grounds are open to the public. I don’t know whether you could be shown over the house, but at least you could look at the outside of it. It really is a picture.’
‘Talking of pictures,’ I said, ‘Coberley showed me the one in your other house.’
‘That’s the lady my great-grandfather kept there,’ he said. ‘She was reputed to have been a witch. I don’t have the picture in this house because it’s supposed to be unlucky. I’d get rid of it if it weren’t such a marvellous bit of painting.’
‘Strangely enough, McMaster described it to me,’ I said.
‘McMaster? He couldn’t have done. He’s never seen it. Of course, though! You mean he described Gloria Mundy to you.’
I could feel that there was tension in the air, so, to relieve it, this time it was I who changed the subject. I asked a question which it would have been impossible to put in the presence of the old lady herself.
‘You told me how you came to be acquainted with Dame Beatrice, but what was she doing here? I shouldn’t have thought psychiatry was much in your line. Was she here on the same terms as the rest of us, merely as a guest?’
‘It was Celia’s idea. She thinks — and with some justification — that poor old Aunt Eglantine is going off her rocker, so Dame Beatrice came to take a look at her and to advise us whether treatment is necessary.’
‘How is Aunt Eglantine going to respond, if Dame Beatrice does think it’s necessary?’
‘I don’t know what the outcome will be. Dame Beatrice will send us a report.’
McMaster was to join us after lunch, so, accepting Wotton’s offer to put a writing-desk in my room, I watched the four young people go off for a Sunday morning drive in Roland Thornbury’s car and then went upstairs to go through my notes for McMaster’s brochures so that I should be prepared for his arrival.
The desk Wotton had given me faced the window, so that every time I looked up I had a view of the lawn, the trees and the hills. There was not a great deal to go through in my notes, and at about eleven a servant came in with coffee, a flask of whisky and some biscuits. I had disposed of the coffee and biscuits, and was relaxing and wondering what queries McMaster might have to put to me concerning the brochures, when I saw a girl approaching the house. She was dressed in jeans and a sweater and was carrying a small suitcase. She was a stranger to me until I realised that I had seen, not herself, but a portrait of her. Allowing for the fact that she was clad, whereas the picture I had seen was that of a nude, she bore an uncanny resemblance to the picture of the girl in the old house. What clinched it was her hair. As she approached my window she had pulled off the woollen cap she was wearing and her hair, which had been tucked up under it, fell to her shoulders. Half of it was a fiery red, the rest of it was black.
She passed in front of my window, but very shortly she was back again. I was standing up by this time and she must have seen me, for she called out, ‘Hi, there! Come and let me in.’
The window was open at the top. I pushed it up from the bottom and leant out.
‘Ring the bell,’ I advised her. ‘I can’t let you in. I’m a visitor here.’
‘This is Tony’s pad, isn’t it?’
