葬礼之后16
时间：2025-03-03 02:59:48
（单词翻译:单击）
Sixteen
George Crossfield paused irresolutely for a moment as he watched a particular feminine back
disappear through a doorway. Then he nodded to himself and went in pursuit.
The doorway in question was that of a double-fronted shop—a shop that had gone out of
business. The plate-glass windows showed a disconcerting emptiness within. The door was closed,
but George rapped on it. A vacuous faced young man with spectacles opened it and stared at
George.
“Excuse me,” said George. “But I think my cousin just came in here.”
The young man drew back and George walked in.
“Hallo, Susan,” he said.
Susan, who was standing on a packing case and using a footrule, turned her head in some
surprise.
“Hallo, George. Where did you spring from?”
“I saw your back. I was sure it was yours.”
“How clever of you. I suppose backs are distinctive.”
“Much more so than faces. Add a beard and pads in your cheeks and do a few things to your
hair and nobody will know you when you come face to face with them—but beware of the
moment when you walk away.”
“I’ll remember. Can you remember seven feet five inches until I’ve got time to write it down.”
“Certainly. What is this, bookshelves?”
“No, cubicle space. Eight feet nine—and three seven….”
The young man with the spectacles who had been fidgeting from one foot to the other, coughed
apologetically.
“Excuse me, Mrs. Banks, but if you want to be here for some time—”
“I do, rather,” said Susan. “If you leave the keys, I’ll lock the door and return them to the office
when I go past. Will that be all right?”
“Yes, thank you. If it weren’t that we’re short staffed this morning—”
Susan accepted the apologetic intent of the half-finished sentence and the young man removed
himself to the outer world of the street.
“I’m glad we’ve got rid of him,” said Susan. “House agents are a bother. They will keep talking
just when I want to do sums.”
“Ah,” said George. “Murder in an empty shop. How exciting it would be for the passersby to
see the dead body of a beautiful young woman displayed behind plate glass. How they would
goggle. Like goldfish.”
“There wouldn’t be any reason for you to murder me, George.”
“Well, I should get a fourth part of your share of our esteemed uncle’s estate. If one were
sufficiently fond of money that should be a reason.”
Susan stopped taking measurements and turned to look at him. Her eyes opened a little.
“You look a different person, George. It’s really—extraordinary.”
“Different? How different?”
“Like an advertisement. This is the same man that you saw overleaf, but now he has taken
Uppington’s Health Salts.”
She sat down on another packing case and lit a cigarette.
“You must have wanted your share of old Richard’s money pretty badly, George?”
“Nobody could honestly say that money isn’t welcome these days.”
George’s tone was light.
Susan said: “You were in a jam, weren’t you?”
“Hardly your business, is it, Susan?”
“I was just interested.”
“Are you renting this shop as a place of business?”
“I’m buying the whole house.”
“With possession?”
“Yes. The two upper floors were flats. One’s empty and went with the shop. The other, I’m
buying the people out.”
“Nice to have money, isn’t it, Susan?”
There was a malicious tone in George’s voice. But Susan merely took a deep breath and said:
“As far as I’m concerned, it’s wonderful. An answer to prayer.”
“Does prayer kill off elderly relatives?”
Susan paid no attention.
“This place is exactly right. To begin with, it’s a very good piece of period architecture. I can
make the living part upstairs something quite unique. There are two lovely moulded ceilings and
the rooms are a beautiful shape. This part down here which has already been hacked about I shall
have completely modern.”
“What is this? A dress business?”
“No. Beauty culture. Herbal preparations. Face creams!”
“The full racket?”
“The racket as before. It pays. It always pays. What you need to put it over is personality. I can
do it.”
George looked at his cousin appreciatively. He admired the slanting planes of her face, the
generous mouth, the radiant colouring. Altogether an unusual and vivid face. And he recognized in
Susan that odd, indefinable quality, the quality of success.
“Yes,” he said, “I think you’ve got what it takes, Susan. You’ll get back your outlay on this
scheme and you’ll get places with it.”
“It’s the right neighbourhood, just off a main shopping street and you can park a car right in
front of the door.”
Again George nodded.
“Yes, Susan, you’re going to succeed. Have you had this in mind for a long time?”
“Over a year.”
“Why didn’t you put it up to old Richard? He might have staked you.”
“I did put it up to him.”
“And he didn’t see his way? I wonder why. I should have thought he’d have recognized the
same mettle that he himself was made of.”
Susan did not answer, and into George’s mind there leapt a swift bird’s eye view of another
figure. A thin, nervous, suspicious-eyed young man.
“Where does—what’s his name—Greg—come in on all this?” he asked. “He’ll give up dishing
out pills and powders, I take it?”
“Of course. There will be a laboratory built out at the back. We shall have our own formulas for
face creams and beauty preparations.”
George suppressed a grin. He wanted to say: “So baby is to have his playpen,” but he did not
say it. As a cousin he did not mind being spiteful, but he had an uneasy sense that Susan’s feeling
for her husband was a thing to be treated with care. It had all the qualities of a dangerous
explosive. He wondered, as he had wondered on the day of the funeral, about that queer fish,
Gregory. Something odd about the fellow. So nondescript in appearance—and yet, in some way,
not nondescript….
He looked again at Susan, calmly and radiantly triumphant.
“You’ve got the true Abernethie touch,” he said. “The only one of the family who has. Pity as
far as old Richard was concerned that you’re a woman. If you’d been a boy, I bet he’d have left
you the whole caboodle.”
Susan said slowly: “Yes, I think he would.”
She paused and then went on:
“He didn’t like Greg, you know….”
“Ah.” George raised his eyebrows. “His mistake.”
“Yes.”
“Oh, well. Anyway, things are going well now—all going according to plan.”
As he said the words he was struck by the fact that they seemed particularly applicable to Susan.
The idea made him, just for a moment, a shade uncomfortable.
He didn’t really like a woman who was so cold-bloodedly efficient.
Changing the subject he said:
“By the way, did you get a letter from Helen? About Enderby?”
“Yes, I did. This morning. Did you?”
“Yes. What are you going to do about it?”
“Greg and I thought of going up the weekend after next—if that suits everyone else. Helen
seemed to want us all together.”
George laughed shrewdly.
“Or somebody might choose a more valuable piece of furniture than somebody else?”
Susan laughed.
“Oh, I suppose there is a proper valuation. But a valuation for probate will be much lower than
the things would be in the open market. And besides, I’d quite like to have a few relics of the
founder of the family fortunes. Then I think it would be amusing to have one or two really absurd
and charming specimens of the Victorian age in this place. Make a kind of thing of them! That
period’s coming in now. There was a green malachite table in the drawing room. You could build
quite a colour scheme around it. And perhaps a case of stuffed hummingbirds—or one of those
crowns made of waxed flowers. Something like that—just as a keynote—can be very effective.”
“I trust your judgement.”
“You’ll be there, I suppose?”
“Oh, I shall be there—to see fair play if nothing else.”
Susan laughed.
“What do you bet there will be a grand family row?” she asked.
“Rosamund will probably want your green malachite table for a stage set!”
Susan did not laugh. Instead she frowned.
“Have you seen Rosamund lately?”
“I have not seen beautiful Cousin Rosamund since we all came back third- class from the
funeral.”
“I’ve seen her once or twice… She—she seemed rather odd—”
“What was the matter with her? Trying to think?”
“No. She seemed—well—upset.”
“Upset about coming into a lot of money and being able to put on some perfectly frightful play
in which Michael can make an ass of himself?”
“Oh, that’s going ahead and it does sound frightful—but all the same, it may be a success.
Michael’s good, you know. He can put himself across the footlights—or whatever the term is.
He’s not like Rosamund, who’s just beautiful and ham.”
“Poor beautiful ham Rosamund.”
“All the same Rosamund is not quite so dumb as one might think. She says things that are quite
shrewd, sometimes. Things that you wouldn’t have imagined she’d even noticed. It’s—it’s quite
disconcerting.”
“Quite like our Aunt Cora—”
“Yes….”
A momentary uneasiness descended on them both—conjured up it seemed, by the mention of
Cora Lansquenet.
Then George said with a rather elaborate air of unconcern:
“Talking of Cora—what about that companion woman of hers? I rather think something ought
to be done about her.”
“Done about her? What do you mean?”
“Well, it’s up to the family, so to speak. I mean I’ve been thinking Cora was our Aunt—and it
occurred to me that this woman mayn’t find it easy to get another post.”
“That occurred to you, did it?”
“Yes. People are so careful of their skins. I don’t say they’d actually think that this Gilchrist
female would take a hatchet to them—but at the back of their minds they’d feel that it might be
unlucky. People are superstitious.”
“How odd that you should have thought of all that, George? How would you know about things
like that?”
George said drily:
“You forget that I’m a lawyer. I see a lot of the queer illogical side of people. What I’m getting
at is, that I think we might do something about the woman, give her a small allowance or
something, to tide her over, or find some office post for her if she’s capable of that sort of thing. I
feel rather as though we ought to keep in touch with her.”
“You needn’t worry,” said Susan. Her voice was dry and ironic. “I’ve seen to things. She’s gone
to Timothy and Maude.”
George looked startled.
“I say, Susan—is that wise?”
“It was the best thing I could think of—at the moment.”
George looked at her curiously.
“You’re very sure of yourself, aren’t you, Susan? You know what you’re doing and you don’t
have—regrets.”
Susan said lightly:
“It’s a waste of time—having regrets.”
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