Death of a Glutton

when he had seen a light on in one of the fitting rooms. He had pulled back the curtain to switch the light off and had been confronted by a shop girl clad only in bra and pants, who had wet her lips and smiled at him seductively and he had immediately known she had staged the whole thing, had known he would leave by the shop floor and would see the light. He had jerked the curtain closed and had gone to fetch the manager, knowing the girl would be dressed by the time he returned. He therefore did not mention how he had found her but demanded the manager interrogate her as to why she was still on the premises after closing time. She made some lame excuse about getting ready to go to a party. He had drawn the manager aside afterwards and told him to wait three months, then find fault with the girl and sack her, and in the intervening period, he never went near the store. He had handled that properly. But there was something so repulsive, so frightening about Peta. She caused emotional claustrophobia. There was something almost cannibalistic about her. He jerked away from her and said desperately, “Now, now, Mrs Gore, you will be making my fiancee jealous.”

Peta looked at him sulkily. “Fiancee? What fiancee?”

“Deborah,” said Sir Bernard.

“Oh, well…” Peta rolled off in the direction of John Taylor to try her luck there.

“Sorry about that,” said Sir Bernard awkwardly. “I shouldn’t have said that. You must be very embarrassed.”

“Gosh, no,” said Deborah. “I was awfly flattered. For a moment I thought you meant it. Never mind. Look at that rock over there. What an odd shape.”

Sir Bernard looked at her fondly. She was far from pretty with her heavy face and limp brown hair, not to mention the backside, which was shown in all its glory in a brief pair of striped shorts, but she was clean and healthy and a good sort. Nothing messy or clingy about her.

“I don’t know that I didn’t mean it,” he said, taking her hand. “But it doesn’t do to rush things.”

“Gosh, no,” said Deborah. “I mean, we hardly know each other. I feel like one of those Victorian heroines. “This is so sudden.” Chin up! I’m not going to sue you for breach of promise.” But she left her hand in his and the pair suddenly beamed at each other.

Thank God, thought Maria, covertly watching them. Not what I had intended, but who cares? Oh, if only Peta would fall overboard.

The headland fell away and the boat chugged on into the oily swell of the Atlantic. Down in the galley, Priscilla said to Hamish, “Get up and help me start preparing the lunch. I’m beginning to feel seasick.”

Hamish amiably swung his long legs down from the bunk. “Show me where the stuff is and then take yourself up on deck for a breath of fresh air.”

“It’s cold salmon for lunch. The hollandaise is in that plastic container and the other container holds the salad-dressing. You’ve got to tear up the lettuce and stuff in that box and make a big bowl of salad. Then there’s quails’ eggs to be shelled and salted. Lots of French bread. The wine’s still cold and it’s in that crate over there, along with some beer in case anyone wants that. Oh, Jenny, what is it?”

“The skipper’s complaining that he wants some real food. He couldn’t eat the kedgeree. He says it’s foreign muck.”

“He’s got some bacon and eggs here,” said Hamish, stooping down and looking in a small cupboard. “Fry him up some and add a couple of slices of fried bread and then give him a cup of strong black tea and he’ll be happy. You are looking a bit green, Priscilla. Off with you. We’ll manage.”

Priscilla took in great gulps of fresh air and then went into the wheel-house. “Can you find us somewhere on dry land for lunch, Archie?” she yelled above the noise of the engine.

“There’s Seal Bay if I turn down the coast,” said Archie, swinging the wheel. “Usually too rough to get near it, but it should be chust fine the day.”

Priscilla went back out and joined Maria. “How’s it going?” she asked.

“No one seems interested in the ones I chose for them,” mourned Maria. “I must be losing my touch. And Petal What a disaster. Look, she’s oiling around John Taylor and he’s walked away from her several times.”

“The others seem all right,” said Priscilla. Sir Bernard and Deborah were holding hands, Peter Trumpington was being charming to Jessica Fitt – Jessica, who had actually managed to find a grey ensemble even for holiday wear; grey blouse with a thin white stripe and grey trousers. Matthew Cowper was showing off to Mary French, who was looking as smug as any woman who thinks she is a combination of Cleopatra and Princess Di usually looks.

And then Peta abandoned John and lumbered towards Matthew Cowper. “Oh, dear,” said Maria. “Now would you look at her! She thinks she’s irresistible to men, no matter what age. I sometimes think all that food has lodged somewhere in Peta’s brain. She’s barmy.”

Matthew was backing towards the side of the boat away from Peta, who was flirting and ogling. And then Priscilla saw the sudden naked hatred in Mary French’s eyes as she looked at Peta and shivered despite the heat.

“You must send her away,” said Priscilla urgently.

“Peta? My dear girl, I would if I could. We’ll all just need to survive the week.”

“But she’s repulsive. There’s something awful about her,” said Priscilla. “She’s the sort of woman who gets killed.”

“No hope of that,” said Maria.

The boat had swung in towards the shore, bucking up and down in the landswell.

Soon Priscilla recognized the sandy cove which was Seal Bay. It was a beautiful spot, almost inaccessible from the land and barely accessible from the sea except on rare summer days like this.

The Jaunty Lass chugged into calm water and then the engines died. Hamish appeared from below and helped Archie to drop anchor and then they lowered the boat’s dinghy, Hamish going first to row the lunch ashore. He had had to do very little preparation. Jenny had fixed everything, even Archie’s breakfast, and Archie, feeling he had had ‘proper’ food, was joining in the holiday atmosphere.

Peta demanded to go ashore before the rest. By common consent, she was allowed the dinghy to herself. Hamish, rowing her ashore, hoped she would not sink the dinghy, for she was so heavy that the stern was dangerously low in the water.

She climbed out, wading through the shallows, and then flopping on the sand like a beached whale.

Soon they were all on shore and Jenny was spreading a white table-cloth on the sand. Peta sat at the edge of the cloth with a fork in one hand and a knife in the other, her piggy eyes gleaming. Priscilla was glad of Jenny’s efficient help, although she knew Jenny was doing it all for Hamish. But then Hamish always attracted that limpet type of female, thought Priscilla sourly.

John Taylor moved around to the far side of the cloth to put a distance between himself and the glutton. But when Peta began to eat, he realized his mistake. He had a perfect view of all that gorging and stuffing. If she would only eat silently, he thought, it would not be so bad. But she snorted and chomped and breathed heavily through her nose.

“Where’s Crystal?” asked Priscilla, wondering if she could slow Peta down by engaging her in conversation.

“Asleep, probably,” said Peta through a spray of breadcrumbs. “Very fond of me, she is. Doesn’t like her parents much and I can’t say I blame her. Pair of old bores.”

“That does not say very much for her,” snapped John. “Children should honour and obey their parents.”

“You must have come out of the ark, sweetie,” said Peta and then roared with laughter. “You should be a judge. You know, one of those ones who live in the Dark Ages and says things like, ‘What does the witness mean by heavy metal music?’”

And John, who did not know what heavy metal was but had no intention of betraying the fact, said instead, “You have not been very well brought up, Mrs Gore, or rather, that is my impression.”

“Wine, anyone?” said Priscilla desperately.

“Oh, what makes you think that?” Peta batted her eyelashes at him. “I know. You think I am a terrible flirt.”

“You are indeed a terrible flirt,” he said in his dry, precise voice, “in that you have no delicacy of manner. Your eating habits are disgusting.”

They all held their breath. But Peta had noticed a spare salmon steak and that was enough to make her temporarily deaf. She reached out and picked it up with her fingers. It began to disintegrate, but she hurriedly