“On my honour! One of those women who are all shirt and collar and nattiness, with a gold fox for a tie-pin and a hunting-crop under the arm. She was killed schooling a horse in Mexico after making Ulford shy and uncomfortable for fifteen years. Lady Cardington and a Texas cowboy would have been as well suited to one another. Ulford’s been like a wistful ghost, they tell me, ever since her death. I should like to see him and his son together.”
A hard and almost vicious gleam shone for as instant in his eyes.
“You’re as cruel as a Spaniard at a bull-fight.”
“My boy, I’ve been gored by the bull.”
Pierce was silent for a minute. He thought of Lady Holme’s white-rose complexion and of the cessation of Carey’s acquaintance with the Holmes. No one seemed to know exactly why Carey went to the house in Cadogan Square no more.
“For God’s sake give me another drink, Robin, and make it a stiff one.”
Pierce poured out the whisky and thought:
“Could it have been that?”
Carey emptied the tumbler and heaved a long sigh.
“When d’you go back to Rome?”