Read Palmer-Jones 04 - A Prey to Murder for Free Online

wanted to ask him to explain. She knew his father had left them, that his parents were separated. She wanted to ask if she might go with him. But he got quickly to his feet, kissed the top of her head and ran up the grass slope away from her. She wanted to call after him to ask when she would see him again, where they would meet, when he had seen his father, but there was nothing she could do. He had disappeared into the crowd.
    Irrationally she blamed Eleanor for Laurie’s disappearance. She felt foolish, despised, as she had when she had opened her eyes and seen Eleanor staring at her. Her grandmother should not have pried on her. What right had Eleanor to follow her and disturb them in their private moment of pleasure? Miserable and wretched, because Laurie had not confided in her and had run away, she wandered off.
    George woke late but still felt tired and edgy. The noise and good humour of the Wildlife Trust members who were setting up the stalls did nothing to improve his temper. Molly in contrast seemed more relaxed and comfortable. She was back in her old trousers and gym shoes and her confidence had returned. She smiled at the other guests.
    Mrs Oliver served them breakfast. She looked flushed and angry, and when she brought coffee she spilled it into the tray.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, though she was not sorry at all. ‘I’m not used to this. I belong in the kitchen.’ Her resentment was directed at George and Molly. It might have been their fault.
    ‘I suppose everything’s disorganized today,’ Molly said gently.
    ‘Mrs Masefield’s stolen all my staff,’ Mrs Oliver said shortly. ‘I can’t be expected to work properly with all this going on.’
    She nodded towards the long windows. They could see the chaos on the lawn, the streamers and the noisy young people. She seemed to view the proceedings with a deep, puritanical suspicion. The participants were feckless, rowdy, and were disrupting her routine.
    ‘I’ll be glad when it’s all over,’ she said, ‘and everything’s back to normal.’
    George was inclined to agree with her. Lunch was a scrappy affair but the other guests seemed to be enjoying the informality and shouted to each other with comradely good humour. He felt priggish and straitlaced. He would have preferred to remain in his room reading a bird book but Molly dragged him out into the crowd.
    She began to enjoy herself for the first time that weekend. There was the noise and the smell of a fairground in a small country town. Someone had brought a fairground organ and the grating rhythm of the machine was interspersed with the music of the high school brass band. There was a smell of trampled grass and candy floss and frying onions. Molly thought that Eleanor might be disappointed. Surely she would have wanted the event to be more refined.
    Over the muffled public-address system came the announcement that the Puddleworth Falconry Display was about to begin.
    ‘That’s impossible,’ George said softly. ‘Eleanor must hate the idea of falconry. She can’t have invited the Puddleworth Falconry Centre.’
    He meant that he hated the idea of falconry and wanted to think that Eleanor shared all his ideals.
    ‘Why not?’ Molly asked. ‘Wouldn’t all the Puddleworth birds of prey have been bred in captivity?’
    ‘But she’s obsessed about her peregrines, neurotic about them. She wouldn’t risk a falconer coming within miles of them.’
    ‘She didn’t seem very neurotic last night.’
    He hurried away from her to watch the display. The aimless depression had disappeared. He felt there must be some significance in this latest diversion. Despite what Molly had said he found it hard to believe that the Puddleworth falcons had been invited to display there. Falconry was a legitimate sport and Puddleworth was a reputable centre with a history of captive breeding, but many conservation charities believed that showing birds of prey to the public encouraged the theft of raptors from