Here Lies Gloria Mundy

‘It belongs to Mr Wotton.’

‘Well, that’s Tony. I’m his cousin Gloria.’

‘The front door is round the corner. You must have passed it just now,’ I told her. She made a very rude gesture, walked on, and I heard the doorbell ring.

The four young ones had returned from their drive. Aunt Eglantine, who had taken affectionate leave of Dame Beatrice, was looking smug. Dame Beatrice, with the expression of a satisfied snake, had been escorted to her car, Celia, at the foot of the table, was looking pensive, Anthony, at its head, appeared gloomy and the newcomer, seated opposite Aunt Eglantine, was glancing brightly round at the company.

Anthony had introduced her to us as Miss Gloria Mundy, but made no mention of relationship. When it was my turn to greet her I had said that coincidence was a very strange thing.

‘Another friend of mine knows you,’ I said, ‘a man named McMaster. He mentioned you only a few weeks ago.’

‘Oh, dear old Hardie,’ she said. ‘We had great times together. He was tremendous fun.’

‘He’s coming here after lunch,’ said Celia. ‘You’ll be able to talk over old times, as perhaps you had hoped to do with Anthony.’

‘He is coming on business,’ said Anthony. ‘The person he will want to talk to is Corin.’

‘He will want to talk to me,’ said Gloria. She continued to look brightly but, I thought, challengingly around her at the others seated at table. Soup had been served, and she sat there opposite Aunt Eglantine, her soup spoon poised. She waved it. ‘What a bevy of beauties you have assembled, Tony darling,’ she said, looking straight at Marigold Coberley, ‘I wonder how you dare collect young, pretty girls around you now you are a married man. It was different in the old days, wasn’t it? My word! You stepped high and handsome then, you sporty boy, didn’t you? Don’t tell me the old Adam is coming out again. ’

It was Aunt Eglantine who made what I thought was the adequate response to this. She picked up a flat, soft bread-roll and lobbed it neatly and accurately into Gloria’s well-filled plate of soup.

‘Well, her ancient skills have not deserted her,’ said Celia, referring to the incident. ‘Appalling though it was of Aunt, and providing as it did visible proof that we had good reason for having Dame Beatrice take a look at her, it nearly killed me not to laugh.’

‘Dame Beatrice would have remained unmoved,’ I said.

‘I expect she is accustomed to eccentric patients. I thought Cranford Coberley looked distressed. I expect he was glad none of his boys was present to have such a bad example set them.’ Celia seemed to hesitate for a moment and then, presumably because there was no one in the room except ourselves — for McMaster had arrived and Anthony was showing him over the estate before Hardie and I settled down with the brochures — out she came with it.

‘Corin! That awful girl! Whatever could Anthony have seen in her? And why on earth should she come here? He finished with her years ago.’

‘Oh, I expect she found herself in the neighbourhood and thought she would look the two of you up.’

Celia was not pleased. She asked angrily, ‘Oh, why do men always try to cover up for one another?’

‘To oppose the monstrous regiment of women. Besides, aren’t women — don’t women — do the same?’ I asked.

‘Sometimes, I suppose, sometimes not. Well, I’m not always grateful to Aunt Eglantine, but I’m thankful to her for finding a way of getting rid of Gloria Mundy.’

‘Yes, the soup did splash about a bit, didn’t it? I wonder why there is always three times as much liquid when it’s spilt than when it is in the bowl.’

‘One of Parkinson’s Laws, isn’t it? I’ll tell you one thing, Corin. That girl is up to mischief of some sort.’

‘What sort?’

‘If I knew that, I’d know what to do about it. I wish Marigold Coberley hadn’t laughed when the soup went all over Gloria. Did you see the look she got while we were all mopping Gloria up?’

‘I wonder why that staggeringly beautiful young woman married a stick-in-the-mud like Coberley?’

‘Thereby hangs a tale, but it’s not my story. You must ask Anthony.’

Anthony, coming into the room, said firmly, ‘As I tried to tell you, he’s a ravening lion where she’s concerned. He risked a lot to marry her, you know. She stood trial for killing her former husband and only got off by the skin of her teeth. Surely you remember the case, Corin? Her name then was Maria Pinzon Campville. Coberley was called as a prosecution witness (most unwillingly, of course) and he married her as soon as the case was over. He threw up a lucrative job and bought the school just to get her away from all the publicity. He told me the story last Christmas when I’d got him nicely sozzled, but it’s old hat now.’

‘And did she do it?’ I asked. ‘Kill her husband, I mean?’

‘Quien sabe? There were nine men on the jury, and you know how beautiful she is.’

‘At least one of the three women must have voted for an acquittal, though,’ I said, ‘and probably carried the other two with her. There are always women who think a man deserves everything he gets, so perhaps these ladies of the jury approved of the murder. The war between the sexes waxes fiercely in these days of women’s emancipation and the competition for top jobs, I suppose.’

‘I’ve got a bone to pick with you,’ said Hara-kiri after we had gone through my notes and alterations.

‘With me? But you said you liked what I’d done with the brochures.’

‘I’m not talking about the brochures. Do you remember my mentioning Gloria Mundy when we last met?’

‘Yes, of course I remember.’