“What a ridiculous thing to say.”
“Did you?”
“Certainly not, dear. I read about Mr. Queen in the papers and it coincided with something that’s been bothering me.”
“I’m sorry, Delia. I’ve been upset.”
“I’ll come back, Mr. Queen.”
“Mrs. Priam, does it concern Miss Hill’s father’s death?”
“I don’t know. It may.”
“Then Miss Hill won’t mind your sitting in. I repeat my invitation.
She had a trick of moving slowly, as if she were pushing against something. As he brought the chartreuse chair around he watched her obliquely. When she sat down she was close enough so that he could have touched her bare back with a very slight movement of his finger. He almost moved it.
She did not seem to have taken him in at all. And yet she had looked him over; up and down, as if he had been a gown in a dress shop. Perhaps he didn’t interest her. As a gown, that is.