Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 100, Nos. 4 & 5. Whole Nos. 603 & 604, October 1992

Anyway, she reflected as she propelled Mrs. Trent and her belongings towards the station entrance, Robert can’t blame me. It’s his mother, and

his binoculars, and he must have known something like this would happen if she travelled down alone. We should have brought her with us last week, of course, only it seemed such a good idea to have at least one week of the holiday on our own.

“On our own.” The words made her smile wryly; and as she set down the suitcases and prepared for the long wait for a taxi, she found herself thinking once again about Corinne.

Corinne. A name that barely a week ago had meant little to her beyond a vague bundle of half-forgotten anecdotes, but which now meant a neglectful husband, a ruined holiday. It meant Robert’s ex-fiancée whom he had not seen for five years — until last Sunday afternoon.

It had been a hot afternoon, the second of their holiday. Joanna was wrestling with the outside water tap which served their beach bungalow, and whose vagaries, it seemed to her, had occupied more of their time than all their other holiday activities put together. Robert, already bored with his masculine role of conscript handyman, was leaving the job to her this time. He was lounging by the porch, looking handsome, and saying at intervals, “Come on,” or “Can’t you leave it for now?” And into this scene, looking more out of place than anything Joanna had ever seen in her life, stepped Corinne. Dressed in a tightly fitting black town suit, high-heeled black sandals and enormous gold earrings, she came stepping daintily through the tufts of grass and powdery dry sand, bending her head elegantly to avoid the lines of assorted garments that dangled everywhere between the bungalows.

Joanna saw her first. Saw the beautifully made-up face prepare itself to look astonished; saw this astonishment sweep over it most convincingly at exactly the right moment, as Robert looked up. And that was why, during subsequent arguments with Robert, Joanna found it so hard to believe that Corinne (having married and discarded two husbands since she had last seen him) had come “quite by accident” on her former fiancé. She “happened to be staying” at the largest hotel at this seaside town; she “happened to have two tickets” for this and that. Disgustedly, Joanna wondered how any man could swallow it, as Robert appeared to do with ease.

“Sorry, Mother, I didn’t catch what you said.” Joanna roused herself to attend to the old lady’s chatter. Whatever happens, she thought, I mustn’t let Mother find out about Corinne. She’d be terribly upset, she thinks that Robert and I are an ideal couple, and that I am the perfect wife for him. I must say, she is very sweet that way — you couldn’t have a kinder, more approving mother-in-law.

Though you could have a more efficient one, she amended grimly, as Polly’s cage door swung open at exactly the moment when their turn for a taxi had at last arrived. By the time the parrot had been retrieved and the crowd of delighted small boys dispersed, they had missed two more taxis, and Mrs. Trent was abject in her apologies.

“I’m so sorry, dear. I keep forgetting the latch...”

But the arrival of the next taxi cut her short; and it was not until they reached the bungalow that Joanna realised just how difficult it was going to be to prevent Mrs. Trent finding out about Corinne. How, for instance, was she to explain Robert’s absence at this very moment, as she staggered unaided through the front door with the two suitcases and the hatbox, followed by Mrs. Trent with the parrot and the umbrella?

“Robert’s awfully sorry not to be here to welcome you,” she improvised hastily. “He’s had to go into the village to see about — about the paraffin. For the stove,” she added, firmly.

But could that really account for the whole afternoon? If — as she suspected — Robert was playing golf with Corinne again, he certainly wouldn’t be back before suppertime. And anyway, he would be sure to say, “What paraffin?” if his mother mentioned it this evening. If only men had a little more tact, one wouldn’t mind these things quite so much. For once, Joanna was thankful for her mother-in-law’s erratic memory. With any luck, she would have forgotten all about the paraffin by the time Robert got back.

But hardly had this comforting thought come into her mind than she heard a sound which made her hold her breath. A coy tap-tap-tapping on the door she had just closed, and a familiar voice full of synthetic warmth and brightness calling: “Joanna? Are you in, Joanna, dear?”