Sparkling Cyanide

Stephen did not overdo things. He saw Lady Kidderminster entering the room, her eyes in search of her daughter. It was no part of his plan to be introduced now. He murmured a goodbye.

‘I have enjoyed talking to you. I was simply hating the whole show till I found you. Thank you.’

He left Kidderminster House with a feeling of exhilaration. He had taken his chance. Now to consolidate what he had started.

For several days after that he haunted the neighbourhood of Kidderminster House. Once Sandra came out with one of her sisters. Once she left the house alone, but with a hurried step. He shook his head. That would not do, she was obviously en route to some particular appointment. Then, about a week after the party, his patience was rewarded. She came out one morning with a small black Scottie dog and she turned with a leisurely step in the direction of the park.

Five minutes later, a young man walking rapidly in the opposite direction pulled up short and stopped in front of Sandra. He exclaimed blithely:

‘I say, what luck! I wondered if I’d ever see you again.’

His tone was so delighted that she blushed just a little.

He stooped to the dog.

‘What a jolly little fellow. What’s his name?’

‘MacTavish.’

‘Oh, very Scotch.’

They talked dog for some moments. Then Stephen said, with a trace of embarrassment:

‘I never told you my name the other day. It’s Farraday. Stephen Farraday. I’m an obscure MP.’

He looked inquiringly and saw the colour come up in her cheeks again as she said: ‘I’m Alexandra Hayle.’

He responded to that very well. He might have been back in the OUDS. Surprise, recognition, dismay, embarrassment!

‘Oh, you’re—you’re Lady Alexandra Hayle—you—my goodness! What a stupid fool you must have thought me the other day!’

Her answering move was inevitable. She was bound both by her breeding and her natural kindliness to do all she could to put him at his ease, to reassure him.