The Other Linding Girl by Mary Burchell Page B

she told him she was going out with his assistant. “Simply delighted. He is a man in a thousand. Nay—” for Sir Everard actually did use that remarkable monosyllable occasionally—“in a million. He has taken a bad knock recently, poor fellow, and nothing would please me better than that—”
    “Well, Uncle dear,” interrupted Rachel firmly, before he could develop his theme to embarrassing proportions, “I’m glad you’re pleased. I must run up
    and get dressed now.”
    They dined at a quiet and extremely attractive place, where the food and wine were excellent and the service impeccable. To her surprise, she found it not at all difficult to make conversation with him. For, away from his work, he was a much more relaxed and lively person. And unquestionably the loss of his Thea was beginning to weigh less heavily upon him.
    He asked Rachel quite a lot about her home, and she was only too happy to tell him about the family and to relive, with enjoyable nostalgia, the days which were already beginning to seem a very different life. She had an amusing way of describing things and people, and she made him laugh a good deal over Hazel’s pranks and Elizabeth’s conquests.
    “It isn’t that Elizabeth is a flirt or at all heartless,” she explained. “She just can’t help being beautiful. And when she opens her great blue eyes and looks soulful, strong men go weak at the knees. They’re not to know that she’s really wondering what we should have for lunch on Sunday or if Christine remembered to check the laundry before putting it away.”
    “She sounds irresistible,” Oliver Mayforth laughed.
    “Oh she is. They both are-and I miss them a lot,” Rachel sighed involuntarily. “But it was better I should go.”
    With remarkable tact, he refrained from asking why it was better that she should have gone, and presently they went on to the theatre.
    Since Oliver Mayforth was efficient in this, as in most things, it turned out that he had tickets for the most popular show in town. And, as they settled into their excellent stalls, Rachel could not help reflecting that an evening with her uncle’s assistant surgeon was something of an event.
    The audience was an elegant one, and Rachel looked round with interest, identifying with some pleasure a minor film star and a well-known author. She was just about to point them out to her companion when, looking up, she saw that two people were coming into the stage box. The woman was unusually good-looking, and wearing furs to make one gasp.
    But it was not the sight of her furs which made Rachel catch her breath. It was the sight of her companion. For the man who followed her into the box was Nigel. ‘Why, there’s Nigel!” she exclaimed, before she could stop herself, “In the stage box.”
    Her companion glanced upwards.
    “Hm—yes. He’s certainly having a night out.” Oliver Mayforth sounded amused.
    “But I don’t understand—” In her surprise, and her odd dismay, Rachel could not keep her thoughts to herself, “He was going to take out someone quite different tonight. An old lady he was hoping to interest in his research work. Dull, but rich and very charitable. A Miss McGrath.”
    “Dull but charitable? Fiona McGrath?” Oliver Mayforth laughed. “Never let it be said! That is Fiona McGrath, and though she may be charitable—in fact, I believe I’ve heard she and her elder brother are—no one has ever called her dull. She’s a beauty, as you see, immensely wealthy, and probably the best catch in London. Where did you get the idea that she was dull?”
    “I don’t know,” said Rachel. And she sat there staring at the rich and beautiful Miss McGrath, while dismay seemed to settle upon her—chill, complete and inexplicable.
    CHAPTER IV
    Afterwards, Rachel had some difficulty in remembering the first act of that play she saw with Oliver Mayforth. Others seemed to be finding it very amusing, but she was too busy thinking about Nigel—and the