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Four
Mrs. Bantry stepped back a foot or two, surveyed herself in the glass,
made a slight adjustment to her hat (she was not used to wearing hats),
door carefully behind her. She had the most pleasurable anticipations2 of
what lay in front of her. Some three weeks had passed since her talk with
Miss Marple. Marina Gregg and her husband had arrived at Gossington
Hall and were now more or less installed there.
There was to be a meeting there this afternoon of the main persons in-
volved in the arrangements for the fête in aid of the St. John Ambulance.
Mrs. Bantry was not among those on the committee, but she had received
a note from Marina Gregg asking her to come and have tea beforehand. It
had recalled their meeting in California and had been signed, “Cordially,
Marina Gregg.” It had been handwritten, not typewritten. There is no
denying that Mrs. Bantry was both pleased and flattered. After all, a celeb-
rated film star is a celebrated4 film star and elderly ladies, though they may
be of local importance, are aware of their complete unimportance in the
world of celebrities5. So Mrs. Bantry had the pleased feeling of a child for
whom a special treat had been arranged.
As she walked up the drive Mrs. Bantry’s keen eyes went from side to
side registering her impressions. The place had been smartened up since
the days when it had passed from hand to hand. “No expense spared,” said
Mrs. Bantry to herself, nodding in satisfaction. The drive afforded no view
of the flower garden and for that Mrs. Bantry was just as pleased. The
flower garden and its special herbaceous border had been her own partic-
ular delight in the far-off days when she had lived at Gossington Hall. She
garden of any in the country, she told herself with a fierce pride.
Faced by a new front door in a blaze of new paint she pressed the bell.
The door was opened with gratifying promptness by what was undeniably
been Colonel Bantry’s library. This, as she had already heard, had been
thrown into one with the study. The result was impressive. The walls were
room was a small island, as it were, which comprised Persian rugs, a tea
table and some chairs. By the tea table sat Marina Gregg, and leaning
against the mantelpiece was what Mrs. Bantry at first thought to be the
ugliest man she had ever seen.
Just a few moments previously11 when Mrs. Bantry’s hand had been ad-
vanced to press the bell, Marina Gregg had been saying in a soft, enthusi-
astic voice, to her husband:
“This place is right for me, Jinks, just right. It’s what I’ve always wanted.
Quiet. English quiet and the English countryside. I can see myself living
here, living here all my life if need be. And we’ll adopt the English way of
life. We’ll have afternoon tea every afternoon with China tea and my
lovely Georgian tea service. And we’ll look out of the window on those
lawns and that English herbaceous border. I’ve come home at last, that’s
what I feel. I feel that I can settle down here, that I can be quiet and
happy. It’s going to be home, this place. That’s what I feel. Home.”
And Jason Rudd (known to his wife as Jinks) had smiled at her. It was an
acquiescent12 smile, indulgent, but it held its reserve because, after all, he
had heard it very often before. Perhaps this time it would be true. Perhaps
this was the place that Marina Gregg might feel at home. But he knew her
early enthusiasms so well. She was always so sure that at last she had
found exactly what she wanted. He said in his deep voice:
“That’s grand, honey. That’s just grand. I’m glad you like it.”
“Like it? I adore it. Don’t you adore it too?”
“Sure,” said Jason Rudd. “Sure.”
It wasn’t too bad, he reflected to himself. Good, solidly built, rather ugly
Victorian. It had, he admitted, a feeling of solidity and security. Now that
the worst of its fantastic inconveniences had been ironed out, it would be
quite reasonably comfortable to live in. Not a bad place to come back to
from time to time. With luck, he thought, Marina wouldn’t start taking a
dislike to it for perhaps two years to two years and a half. It all depended.
Marina said, sighing softly:
“It’s so wonderful to feel well again. Well and strong. Able to cope with
things.”
And he said again: “Sure, honey, sure.”
And it was at that moment that the door opened and the Italian butler
had ushered in Mrs. Bantry.
Marina Gregg’s welcome was all that was charming. She came forward,
hands outstretched, saying how delightful13 it was to meet Mrs. Bantry
again. And what a coincidence that they should have met that time in San
Fransisco and that two years later she and Jinks should actually buy the
house that had once belonged to Mrs. Bantry. And she did hope, she really
did hope that Mrs. Bantry wouldn’t mind terribly the way they’d pulled
the house about and done things to it and she hoped she wouldn’t feel that
they were terrible intruders living here.
“Your coming to live here is one of the most exciting things that has ever
happened to this place,” said Mrs. Bantry cheerfully and she looked to-
Gregg said:
“You don’t know my husband, do you? Jason, this is Mrs. Bantry.”
Mrs. Bantry looked at Jason Rudd with some interest. Her first impres-
sion that this was one of the ugliest men she had ever seen became quali-
fied. He had interesting eyes. They were, she thought, more deeply sunk in
his head than any eyes she had seen. Deep quiet pools, said Mrs. Bantry to
herself, and felt like a romantic lady novelist. The rest of his face was dis-
wards and a little red paint would have transformed it into the nose of a
clown very easily. He had, too, a clown’s big sad mouth. Whether he was
at this moment in a furious temper or whether he always looked as
though he were in a furious temper she did not quite know. His voice
“A husband,” he said, “is always an afterthought. But let me say with my
wife that we’re very glad to welcome you here. I hope you don’t feel that it
ought to be the other way about.”
“You must get it out of your head,” said Mrs. Bantry, “that I’ve been
gratulating myself ever since I sold it. It was a most inconvenient18 house to
run. I liked the garden but the house became more and more of a worry.
and seeing my married daughters and my grandchildren and my friends
in all different parts of the world.”
“Daughters,” said Marina Gregg, “you have daughters and sons?”
“Two sons and two daughters,” said Mrs. Bantry, “and pretty widely
spaced. One in Kenya, one in South Africa. One near Texas and the other,
thank goodness, in London.”
“Four,” said Marina Gregg. “Four—and grandchildren?”
“Nine up-to-date,” said Mrs. Bantry. “It’s great fun being a grandmother.
them in the most unbridled way—”
Jason Rudd interrupted her. “I’m afraid the sun catches your eyes,” he
said, and went to a window to adjust the blind. “You must tell us all about
this delightful village,” he said as he came back.
He handed her a cup of tea.
quite taken to your English afternoon tea.”
Marina Gregg smiled and looked pleased. The sudden nervous move-
ment of her fingers which Jason Rudd’s eyes had noticed a minute or two
previously, was stilled again. Mrs. Bantry looked at her hostess with great
importance of vital statistics. She could not have been described as Sex In-
carnate, or “The Bust” or “The Torso.” She had been long and slim and wil-
lowy. The bones of her face and head had had some of the beauty associ-
ated with those of Garbo. She had brought personality to her pictures
deep lovely eyes, the faint quiver of her mouth, all these were what
brought to one suddenly that feeling of breathtaking loveliness that comes
not from regularity30 of feature but from sudden magic of the flesh that
now so easily apparent. Like many film and stage actresses she had what
seemed to be a habit of turning off personality at will. She could retire into
suddenly the turn of the head, the movement of the hands, the sudden
smile and the magic was there.
One of her greatest pictures had been Mary, Queen of Scots, and it was of
her performance in that picture that Mrs. Bantry was reminded now as
she watched her. Mrs. Bantry’s eye switched to the husband. He too was
watching Marina. Off guard for a moment, his face expressed clearly his
feelings. “Good Lord,” said Mrs. Bantry to herself, “the man adores her.”
She didn’t know why she should feel so surprised. Perhaps because film
stars and their love affairs and their devotion were so written up in the
Press that one never expected to see the real thing with one’s own eyes.
On an impulse she said:
“I do hope you’ll enjoy it here and that you’ll be able to stay here some
time. Do you expect to have the house for long?”
Marina opened wide surprised eyes as she turned her head. “I want to
stay here always,” she said. “Oh, I don’t mean that I shan’t have to go away
a lot. I shall, of course. There’s a possibility of making a film in North
Africa next year although nothing’s settled yet. No, but this will be my
home. I shall come back here. I shall always be able to come back here.”
She sighed. “That’s what’s so wonderful. To have found a home at last.”
“I see,” said Mrs. Bantry, but at the same time she thought to herself, “All
the same I don’t believe for a moment that it will be like that. I don’t be-
lieve you’re the kind that can ever settle down.”
Again she shot a quick surreptitious glance at Jason Rudd. He was not
The door opened and a woman came in. “Bartletts want you on the tele-
phone, Jason,” she said.
“Tell them to call back.”
“They said it was urgent.”
He sighed and rose. “Let me introduce you to Mrs. Bantry,” he said. “Ella
Zielinsky, my secretary.”
“Have a cup of tea, Ella,” said Marina as Ella Zielinsky acknowledged the
introduction with a smiling “Pleased to meet you.”
“I’ll have a sandwich,” said Ella. “I don’t go for China tea.”
Ella Zielinsky was at a guess thirty- five. She wore a well cut suit, a
black hair and a wide forehead.
“You used to live here, so they tell me,” she said to Mrs. Bantry.
“It’s a good many years ago now,” said Mrs. Bantry. “After my husband’s
death I sold it and it’s passed through several hands since then.”
“Mrs. Bantry really says she doesn’t hate the things we’ve done to it,”
said Marina.
“I should be frightfully disappointed if you hadn’t,” said Mrs. Bantry. “I
going around the village.”
try,” said Miss Zielinsky, champing a sandwich in a businesslike way. “Not
that that’s been really my job,” she went on.
“Everything is your job,” said Marina, “and you know it is, Ella. The do-
“They don’t seem ever to have heard of a picture window in this coun-
try.”
Ella looked towards the window. “It’s a nice view, I must admit.”
“A lovely old-fashioned rural English scene,” said Marina. “This house
has got atmosphere.”
“It wouldn’t look so rural if it wasn’t for the trees,” said Ella Zielinsky.
“That housing estate down there grows while you look at it.”
“That’s new since my time,” said Mrs. Bantry.
“You mean there was nothing but the village when you lived here?”
Mrs. Bantry nodded.
“It must have been hard to do your shopping.”
“I don’t think so,” said Mrs. Bantry. “I think it was frightfully easy.”
“I understand having a flower garden,” said Ella Zielinsky, “but you folk
over here seem to grow all your vegetables as well. Wouldn’t it be much
easier to buy them—there’s a supermarket?”
“It’s probably coming to that,” said Mrs. Bantry, with a sigh. “They don’t
taste the same, though.”
“Don’t spoil the atmosphere, Ella,” said Marina.
The door opened and Jason looked in. “Darling,” he said to Marina, “I
hate to bother you but would you mind? They just want your private view
about this.”
Marina sighed and rose. She trailed languidly towards the door. “Always
something,” she murmured. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Bantry. I don’t really think
that this will take longer than a minute or two.”
“Atmosphere,” said Ella Zielinsky, as Marina went out and closed the
door. “Do you think the house has got atmosphere?”
“I can’t say I ever thought of it that way,” said Mrs. Bantry. “It was just a
ways.”
“That’s what I should have thought,” said Ella Zielinsky. She cast a quick
direct look at Mrs. Bantry. “Talking of atmosphere, when did the murder
take place here?”
“No murder ever took place here,” said Mrs. Bantry.
“Oh come now. The stories I’ve heard. There are always stories, Mrs.
Bantry. On the hearthrug, right there, wasn’t it?” said Miss Zielinsky nod-
ding towards the fireplace.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Bantry. “That was the place.”
“So there was a murder?”
Mrs. Bantry shook her head. “The murder didn’t take place here. The
girl who had been killed was brought here and planted in this room. She’d
nothing to do with us.”
Miss Zielinsky looked interested.
“Possibly you had a bit of difficulty making people believe that?” she re-
marked.
“You’re quite right there,” said Mrs. Bantry.
“When did you find it?”
“The housemaid came in in the morning,” said Mrs. Bantry, “with early
morning tea. We had housemaids then, you know.”
“I’m not sure about the print dress,” said Mrs. Bantry, “it may have been
library. I said ‘nonsense,’ then I woke up my husband and we came down
to see.”
“And there it was,” said Miss Zielinsky. “My, the way things happen.”
She turned her head sharply towards the door and then back again. “Don’t
talk about it to Miss Gregg, if you don’t mind,” she said. “It’s not good for
her, that sort of thing.”
“Of course. I won’t say a word,” said Mrs. Bantry. “I never do talk about
it, as a matter of fact. It all happened so long ago. But won’t she—Miss
Gregg I mean—won’t she hear it anyway?”
“She doesn’t come very much in contact with reality,” said Ella Zielin-
sky. “Film stars can lead a fairly insulated life, you know. In fact very of-
ten one has to take care that they do. Things upset them. Things upset her.
She’s been seriously ill the last year or two, you know. She only started
making a comeback a year ago.”
“She seems to like the house,” said Mrs. Bantry, “and to feel she will be
happy here.”
“I expect it’ll last a year or two,” said Ella Zielinsky.
“Not longer than that?”
“Well, I rather doubt it. Marina is one of those people, you know, who
are always thinking they’ve found their heart’s desire. But life isn’t as easy
as that, is it?”
“No,” said Mrs. Bantry forcefully, “it isn’t.”
“It’ll mean a lot to him if she’s happy here,” said Miss Zielinsky. She ate
two more sandwiches in an absorbed, rather gobbling fashion in the man-
ant train to catch. “He’s a genius, you know,” she went on. “Have you seen
any of the pictures he’s directed?”
Mrs. Bantry felt slightly embarrassed. She was of the type of woman
lists of casts, directors, producers, photography and the rest of it passed
her by. Very frequently, indeed, she did not even notice the names of the
stars. She was not, however, anxious to call attention to this failing on her
part.
“I get mixed-up,” she said.
“Of course he’s got a lot to contend with,” said Ella Zielinsky. “He’s got
her as well as everything else and she’s not easy. You’ve got to keep her
happy, you see; and it’s not really easy, I suppose, to keep people happy.
Unless—that is—they—they are—” she hesitated.
“Unless they’re the happy kind,” suggested Mrs. Bantry. “Some people,”
“Oh, Marina isn’t like that,” said Ella Zielinsky, shaking her head. “It’s
more that her ups and downs are so violent. You know—far too happy one
moment, far too pleased with everything and delighted with everything
and how wonderful she feels. Then of course some little thing happens
and down she goes to the opposite extreme.”
“That’s right,” said Ella Zielinsky. “Temperament. They’ve all got it,
more or less, but Marina Gregg has got it more than most people. Don’t we
know it! The stories I could tell you!” She ate the last sandwich. “Thank
God I’m only the social secretary.”
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