In the middle of it Patrick came in and good-naturedly entered into the spirit of the recital—going so far as to enact himself the part of Rudi Scherz.
‘And Aunt Letty was there—in the corner by the archway…Go and stand there, Aunt Letty.’
Miss Blacklock obeyed, and then Miss Marple was shown the actual bullet holes.
‘What a marvellous—what a providential escape,’ she gasped.
‘I was just going to offer my guests cigarettes—’ Miss Blacklock indicated the big silver box on the table.
‘People are so careless when they smoke,’ said Miss Bunner disapprovingly. ‘Nobody really respects good furniture as they used to do. Look at the horrid burn somebody made on this beautiful table by putting a cigarette down on it. Disgraceful.’
Miss Blacklock sighed.
‘Sometimes, I’m afraid, one thinks too much of one’s possessions.’
‘But it’s such a lovely table, Letty.’
Miss Bunner loved her friend’s possessions with as much fervour as though they had been her own. Bunch Harmon had always thought it was a very endearing trait in her. She showed no sign of envy.
‘It is a lovely table,’ said Miss Marple politely. ‘And what a very pretty china lamp on it.’
Again it was Miss Bunner who accepted the compliment as though she and not Miss Blacklock was the owner of the lamp.
‘Isn’t it delightful? Dresden. There is a pair of them. The other’s in the spare room, I think.’
‘You know where everything in this house is, Dora—or you think you do,’ said Miss Blacklock, good-humouredly. ‘You care far more about my things than I do.’
Miss Bunner flushed.
‘I do like nice things,’ she said. Her voice was half defiant—half wistful.
‘I must confess,’ said Miss Marple, ‘that my own few possessions are very dear to me, too—so many memories, you know. It’s the same with photographs. People nowadays have so few photographs about. Now I like to keep all the pictures of my nephews and nieces as babies—and then as children—and so on.’
‘You’ve got a horrible one of me, aged three,’ said Bunch. ‘Holding a fox terrier and squinting.’
‘I expect your aunt has many photographs of you,’ said Miss Marple, turning to Patrick.
‘Oh, we’re only distant cousins,’ said Patrick.
‘I believe Elinor did send me one of you as a baby, Pat,’ said Miss Blacklock. ‘But I’m afraid I didn’t keep it. I’d really forgotten how many children she’d had or what their names were until she wrote me about you two being over here.’
‘Another sign of the times,’ said Miss Marple. ‘Nowadays one so often doesn’t know one’s younger relations at all. In the old days, with all the big family reunions, that would have been impossible.’
‘I last saw Pat and Julia’s mother at a wedding thirty years ago,’ said Miss Blacklock. ‘She was a very pretty girl.’
‘That’s why she has such handsome children,’ said Patrick with a grin.
‘You’ve got a marvellous old album,’ said Julia. ‘Do you remember, Aunt Letty, we looked through it the other day. The hats!’
‘And how smart we thought ourselves,’ said Miss Blacklock with a sigh.
‘Never mind, Aunt Letty,’ said Patrick, ‘Julia will come across a snapshot of herself in about thirty years’ time—and won’t she think she looks a guy!’
II
‘Did you do that on purpose?’ said Bunch, as she and Miss Marple were walking home. ‘Talk about photographs, I mean?’
‘Well, my dear, it is interesting to know that Miss Blacklock didn’t know either of her two young relatives by sight…Yes—I think Inspector Craddock will be interested to hear that.’
Chapter 12
Morning Activities in Chipping Cleghorn
I
Edmund Swettenham sat down rather precariously on a garden roller.
‘Good morning, Phillipa,’ he said.
‘Hallo.’
‘Are you very busy?’
‘Moderately.’
‘What are you doing?’
‘Can’t you see?’
‘No. I’m not a gardener. You seem to be playing with earth in some fashion.’
‘I’m pricking out winter lettuce.’
‘Pricking out? What a curious term! Like pinking. Do you know what pinking is? I only learnt the other day. I always thought it was a term for professional duelling.’
‘Do you want anything particular?’ asked Phillipa coldly.
‘Yes. I want to see you.’
Phillipa gave him a quick glance.