The Blind Side (29 page)

Authors: Patricia Wentworth

BOOK: The Blind Side

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Susan had the strangest feeling of unreality. Bill's arms had been round her like this in so many a dream, his coat rough against her cheekârough and a little wet. It hadn't been raining. She must have cried to make his shoulder wet like this.

She said in a straining voice, “Don't count on it so much, my darlingâ
don't,”
and knew that the words went past him.

“Susanâyou willâif it comes off. You will, darling, you will!”

A shiver went over her. It was a dream like all those other dreams. She would wake up. It wasn't real. But even in a dream kisses are sweet and love is dear. She put up her lips to Bill and clung to him.

Everything seemed much more real again when they were heating up the soup and scrambling the eggs together. Bill let the soup boil over whilst he went poaching amongst Susan's tins looking for candied peel. In the light he could be seen as a hefty, upstanding young man with dark hair and rather nondescript grey eyes, rather square features, rather a jutting chin, rather the look of a man who likes having his own way but will take it with a due regard for other people just so long and just so far as the bounds set by a hot temper and a cool sense of justice. The temper was hot enough. Susan had seen it directed against other people, never yet against herself. She had seen him fight a carter twice his weight when he was fifteen because the man was lashing a horse that was unfit for work. She had seen him throw a tramp who had frightened Cathy into the middle of the village pond a couple of years later. The temper was there all right, but at twenty-seven he had it under control.

He was sitting on the dresser eating his stolen peel. when Cathy slipped in like a little mouse, with her brown dress, her mousy brown hair, and her soft brown eyes.

“Mummy says arc you nearly ready, becauseââ”

“She's going to swoon,” said Bill.

He got down from the dresser with a large piece of green peel in his hand and gave her a sticky kiss.

Susan laughed.

“I shall have to lock everything up when we're married, or he'll ruin us. We're just coming, Cathy. He let the soup boil over.”

They went in processionally, each girl with a soup-plate, and Bill in front with two.

Rather to Susan's dismay, Bill poured out the whole story of Mr. Garnish to the assembled family.

“But, Bill, we mustn't count on itââ”

“Who's counting?”

“You are.”

“I'm not. I'm living in the present. If Gilbert comes off, well, it's all rightâit's all stupendously right. And if Gilbert doesn't come off, a good time will have been had by all over his castle in the air.” He threw back his head and laughed. “I know a chap who says we're going to be able to photograph thoughtsâdreamsâthings like that. I bet Gilbert's castle in the air would come out something like the result of putting Balmoral and the Regent Palace Hotel and one of those big hydropathics into a cocked hat and shaking them up. And Susan and I are going to be married on Thursday, Aunt Milly. No relations, by request, but you and Cathy can come if you're good. Have some more. Susan scrambles a very good eggâthat's why I'm marrying her. Lots of vitamins in scrambled eggs, if you want to get up your strength for the wedding.”

Mrs. O'Hara passed up her plate. She had an excellent appetite.

“My dear boy, how you do run on,” she said in an indulgent voice.

When the meal was over and cleared away there came out of a cardboard cylinder the plans, brought up to date, of the house which they would build if Gilbert came off. Bill had produced the first sketch within twenty-four hours of their engagement two years ago. It had to be as cheap as possible. But it wasn't going to be just like everybody else's house. It was going to be differentâit was going to be theirs. Only three rooms to start withâkitchen and good-sized living-room downstairs and bedroom above. The latest sketch, encouraged by Gilbert, had rather let itself go. The squeezed-in bathroom had become comparatively palatial, and the most exciting things had happened to the garden. They sat with their heads together and babbled about cherry trees and lavender hedges.

It was all very comfortable and comforting, but in the middle Susan looked up and saw Cathy looking at them. She had been reading, but her hands had dropped and her book had fallen. She sat on a square brocaded stool with her back to the fire watching Susan and Bill. Her eyes were frightened. Susan looked back quickly at the plans of her little house. But it didn't look real any more. It was just pencil marks on a sheet of drawing-paper.

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About the Author

Patricia Wentworth (1878â1961) was one of the masters of classic English mystery writing. Born in India as Dora Amy Elles, she began writing after the death of her first husband, publishing her first novel in 1910. In the 1920s, she introduced the character who would make her famous: Miss Maud Silver, the former governess whose stout figure, fondness for Tennyson, and passion for knitting served to disguise a keen intellect. Along with Agatha Christie's Miss Marple, Miss Silver is the definitive embodiment of the English style of cozy mysteries.

All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover design by Mauricio DÃaz

ISBN: 978-1-5040-3325-1

This edition published in 2016 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

180 Maiden Lane

New York, NY 10038

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