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remembered something that upset her. You know, as she says, her memory is a little erratic.'
    'It is not!' Mrs Mendlingham spoke with surprising venom. 'I don't know what you're talking about, Mrs Pargeter. There is absolutely nothing wrong with my memory.' She rose out of her chair. 'The reason for the accident was that the teapot handle was greasy. That is not the first time I have noticed a certain slapdashness in the washing-up in this establishment. I trust, Miss Naismith, that this situation will shortly be remedied.'
    Flinging this exit line behind her, she moved out of the Seaview Lounge with as much dignity as can be mustered by an elderly lady who has tea stains down the front of her skirt.
    Her unexpected change of manner had the rare effect of striking Miss Naismith dumb.
    And the proprietress of the Devereux was then presented with another bombshell.
    'Well, I've done quite a lot of walking today,' said Mrs Pargeter. 'I think I'll go up and have a bath now.'
    Miss Naismith rediscovered the power of speech. 'Um, no, Mrs Pargeter. Residents of the Devereux tend to have baths before breakfast or after dinner.'
    'Oh. Well, I tend to have baths when I feel like them.'
    An icicle formed on Miss Naismith's smile. 'We all have to adjust our behaviour a little when we enter a new environment.'
    'Are you saying that there is no hot water at this time of day?'
    Miss Naismith looked shocked. 'No. Of course not. The boiler is always on. There is constant hot water in the Devereux.'
    'Good,' said Mrs Pargeter. 'Then I'll go and use some of it.'
    She had a good, long soak, continually topping the bath up with more hot water.
    And, as she lay there, Mrs Pargeter thought long and deeply about the late Mrs Selsby.
    And the still-living Mrs Mendlingham.
    CHAPTER 10
    An interesting conversation took place after dinner that night between Miss Wardstone and Miss Naismith.
    Dinner itself was a formal affair, a kind of static square dance to which, Mrs Pargeter recognised, there were fixed rules. That evening she was content to be an observer, not yet committing herself as to whether she intended to abide by those rules.
    All of the residents sat at separate tables, except for Colonel Wicksteed and Mr Dawlish who seemed happy to share. There was no ordering; the day's menus had been displayed in the Entrance Hall in the morning and they had all made their choices for the two main meals before eleven o'clock.
    Some of the guests drank wine. The Colonel and Mr Dawlish shared a bottle of Cftes du Rhone. A half-empty litre of Italian white with a stick-on label reading 'Miss Vance' was on Eulalie's table when she arrived; from this she filled her glass regularly and took long, sighing draughts. Lady Ridgleigh had in front of her a bottle of Malvern water, though her conversation constantly implied that, but for her doctor's orders, she would be outdoing them all in her discriminating use of the wine list.
    Mrs Mendlingham and Miss Wardstone drank ordinary water. The latter did not hide her disapproval of alcoholic indulgence; many sniffs were heard whenever the subject was discussed. She frequently reasserted that she had never touched the beastly stuff and appeared to regard even the intake of food as a regrettably sybaritic necessity.
    Mrs Pargeter contented herself that night with a half-bottle of Beaujolais. It complemented Mrs Denyer's excellent steak pie. The cabbage and carrots had also been carefully cooked, avoiding the curse of sogginess, which afflicts most English provincial cuisine.
    Mrs Pargeter was pleased. Her life with the late Mr Pargeter had taught her to appreciate good food, and, after two dinners, she felt cautiously optimistic about the standards of the Devereux's kitchen.
    The square dance quality of dinner at the Devereux also applied to the conversation, though here the rules were so complex that Mrs Pargeter reckoned it might take her some time to understand them fully.
    Colonel Wicksteed and Mr Dawlish maintained