CHAPTER SEVENTEENWe stared at Rosemary—or most of us did—in complete horror. A little self-possessed smile deepened in the corners of her mouth.
“You see,” she said calmly, “it’s rather awful, being in love with a man whose wife’s just been murdered, so that if you speak to him even it looks like collusion.”
I caught my breath sharply. I suppose for a moment we all thought she’d lost her mind completely. Only Colonel Primrose looked at her with perfect calm. Jim Gould stared at her, half rising for an instant from his seat, his face suddenly white, then dark red as the color rushed to his cheeks. Then he smiled suddenly, still staring at her. It was the first time he had smiled, I imagine, for some time. For just an instant he looked like the old Jim of the pre-Sandra days. But not for m
