Read Online The Curious Incident at Claridge's by R.T. Raichev - Free Book Online
Authors: R.T. Raichev
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That was said to have been Lucrezia Borgiaâs favourite party trick. Jesty smiled. Could he possibly be in danger ? Well, he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself.
He would watch her like the proverbial hawk.
Io son colei che ognuno al mondo brama â¦
The line popped into his head the moment he set eyes on her across the dining hall. He had little Italian but he knew how it translated. âI am she whom everyone in the world longs for.â That, as it happened, had been the inscription below an etching he had seen once during a holiday in Venice, inside some cathedral or other. What was the etching called? An Allegory of Fame. Something on those lines.
âThe lady at the corner table is expecting me. I booked the table this morning,â he told the waiter, his eyes on Penelope Tradescant.
âWhat name?â
âJesty.â
âCaptain Jesty? For one oâclock? Of course. This way, sir.â
With its grand sweeping curving staircase and illuminated skylight running the complete length of the restaurant, Quaglinoâs had an air of romance about it, also of the theatre. Appropriate on both counts, Jesty thought. He had no doubt that the girlie was a good actress.
The etching he had seen in Venice showed an extremely enticing woman, a proper tigress, who, he assumed, was Fame, flanked by two other figures: an insipid-looking angel, blowing a trumpet and holding a wreath while expertly standing on a sphere, and what looked like a lascivious satyr who was stretching his greedy paws out towards Fameâs breasts. Oddly enough Fame was not gazing at the angel, the representation of all that was good and pure and noble and so on, as one might have expected her to, but towards the satyr, the symbol of evil. Was it possible that Fame was enamoured of the satyr? Jesty felt encouraged, thinking about it.
Penelope Tradescantâs light brown hair fell in a gleaming wave down to her shoulders, her eyes were cosmetically enlarged and darkened, her Chanel suit was a sharp, animated green, the lapels a striking deep kind of red that brought to mind morello cherries, her perfectly shaped mouth a lighter shade of the same colour. The faintly flushed skin of her face wasnât just peachy, it looked softer than velvet. Jesty was sure it would feel soft to the touch too. He had been with some very beautiful women in his time, but nothing like this one. What would it be like to run oneâs forefinger down her cheek and trace her lips?
She had clearly taken the trouble. That was very interesting. She hadnât been exactly forthcoming on the phone, so why had she taken the trouble now? Well, wishful thinking aside, it seemed she was prepared to play ball. She wanted him to fancy her. Or, rather, she meant him to fancy her even more. She had made herself irresistibly attractive. She was trying to mollify him. Whatever you sayâanythingâplease, donât tell the police â
She was ready to give herself to him.
âLady Tradescant,â he said as he stood stiffly beside the table.
Damn. He had meant to address her less formally, as âPenelopeâ. Too late now.
âCaptain Jesty.â
âHope you havenât been waiting long?â His voice, he noticed with astonishment, sounded different, not like his voice at all. His throat felt extremely dry. How ridiculous his name sounded on her lipsâwhy hadnât he noticed it before?
âNot at all. Five minutes at the most. I like to arrive early. Wonât you sit down?â
She looked calm and composedâsereneâever so slightly bored, perhaps. She appeared to be taking control of the situation. He had envisaged her looking tense, nervous, on edge. He hadnât expected her to sit smiling graciously at him. He had imagined sheâd be casting furtive glances around, that sheâd be worried lest she be seen by someone who knew her or her husband, but noâher eyes met his levelly.
He would watch her like the proverbial hawk.
Io son colei che ognuno al mondo brama â¦
The line popped into his head the moment he set eyes on her across the dining hall. He had little Italian but he knew how it translated. âI am she whom everyone in the world longs for.â That, as it happened, had been the inscription below an etching he had seen once during a holiday in Venice, inside some cathedral or other. What was the etching called? An Allegory of Fame. Something on those lines.
âThe lady at the corner table is expecting me. I booked the table this morning,â he told the waiter, his eyes on Penelope Tradescant.
âWhat name?â
âJesty.â
âCaptain Jesty? For one oâclock? Of course. This way, sir.â
With its grand sweeping curving staircase and illuminated skylight running the complete length of the restaurant, Quaglinoâs had an air of romance about it, also of the theatre. Appropriate on both counts, Jesty thought. He had no doubt that the girlie was a good actress.
The etching he had seen in Venice showed an extremely enticing woman, a proper tigress, who, he assumed, was Fame, flanked by two other figures: an insipid-looking angel, blowing a trumpet and holding a wreath while expertly standing on a sphere, and what looked like a lascivious satyr who was stretching his greedy paws out towards Fameâs breasts. Oddly enough Fame was not gazing at the angel, the representation of all that was good and pure and noble and so on, as one might have expected her to, but towards the satyr, the symbol of evil. Was it possible that Fame was enamoured of the satyr? Jesty felt encouraged, thinking about it.
Penelope Tradescantâs light brown hair fell in a gleaming wave down to her shoulders, her eyes were cosmetically enlarged and darkened, her Chanel suit was a sharp, animated green, the lapels a striking deep kind of red that brought to mind morello cherries, her perfectly shaped mouth a lighter shade of the same colour. The faintly flushed skin of her face wasnât just peachy, it looked softer than velvet. Jesty was sure it would feel soft to the touch too. He had been with some very beautiful women in his time, but nothing like this one. What would it be like to run oneâs forefinger down her cheek and trace her lips?
She had clearly taken the trouble. That was very interesting. She hadnât been exactly forthcoming on the phone, so why had she taken the trouble now? Well, wishful thinking aside, it seemed she was prepared to play ball. She wanted him to fancy her. Or, rather, she meant him to fancy her even more. She had made herself irresistibly attractive. She was trying to mollify him. Whatever you sayâanythingâplease, donât tell the police â
She was ready to give herself to him.
âLady Tradescant,â he said as he stood stiffly beside the table.
Damn. He had meant to address her less formally, as âPenelopeâ. Too late now.
âCaptain Jesty.â
âHope you havenât been waiting long?â His voice, he noticed with astonishment, sounded different, not like his voice at all. His throat felt extremely dry. How ridiculous his name sounded on her lipsâwhy hadnât he noticed it before?
âNot at all. Five minutes at the most. I like to arrive early. Wonât you sit down?â
She looked calm and composedâsereneâever so slightly bored, perhaps. She appeared to be taking control of the situation. He had envisaged her looking tense, nervous, on edge. He hadnât expected her to sit smiling graciously at him. He had imagined sheâd be casting furtive glances around, that sheâd be worried lest she be seen by someone who knew her or her husband, but noâher eyes met his levelly.
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