Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine. Vol. 101, Nos. 3 & 4. Whole Nos. 610 & 611, March 1993

Introducing the poison into Honoria’s wineglass was going to be difficult. Nicholas spent hours practicing with a similar bottle filled with table salt, trying to uncork and empty it one-handed in a single, deft movement. It was tricky but he persevered. He also rehearsed what he would say to her, what excuse he would offer for suddenly turning up with a bottle of her favourite wine. It wasn’t something he was in the habit of doing — for one thing, her tastes were too expensive. She might suspect his motives if he wasn’t very careful; she had that sort of mind.

At last, confident that he had thought of everything, Nicholas set out on his final, fateful visit. McPhee, unsmiling as ever, ushered him into the stuffy sitting room where Honoria was sitting in her high-backed chair, a wizened, sharp-featured doll who accepted his kiss unemotionally and jabbed with her stick at the holdall he was carrying.

“What have you got there?” she demanded in the thin, throaty voice that reminded him of crackling brown paper.

“A very special treat for a very special aunt.” He pretended not to notice her scornful grimace as he took out two delicate, long-stemmed wineglasses, carefully wrapped in tea towels.

“Found these in the Portobello Road. Nice, aren’t they? I thought we’d christen them together — I know you enjoy a tipple!”

“I hope it’s better than some of the stuff you’ve brought in the past,” sniffed Honoria. “In spite of the quantity you tip down your throat, you’ve never learned how to recognise a good vintage.”

Nicholas winced. Another dig at his lifestyle. Any minute now there’d be some reference to his extravagance and lack of gainful employment. Well, he’d show her. If he couldn’t earn a living, at least he could organise a dying.

Aloud, he said, “I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised at this one.” He unveiled the bottle and displayed it with a flourish.

Honoria scrutinised the label, slit-eyed. “Not a very good year,” she commented. “Anyway, we’ll give it a try.”

Nicholas went to the sideboard and uncorked the bottle. He poured some wine into each glass and handed one to his aunt, setting the other down on the small table beside her chair. He went back to fetch the olives. He’d remembered just in time that she always declared she couldn’t enjoy a drink without them.

Honoria held her glass against the light, head tilted, lips pursed. She sniffed the contents, nose delicately wrinkled as if reluctant to register approval. Nicholas raised his own glass.

“Cheers!” he said, and drank. He considered for a moment, frowning. “I’m afraid you’re right — it wasn’t a terribly good year,” he admitted grudgingly. He held his breath as his aunt rolled a mouthful round her tongue and, after what seemed an eternity, swallowed. She repeated the exercise; to his surprise, she nodded in approval.

“That’s where you’re wrong!” she declared. “It’s better than I expected. You’ve got something right for once!” She began to tackle the olives, looking almost good-humoured.

“Oh well, you know more about these things than I do,” said Nicholas ingratiatingly. Perverse old cow, he thought, she always contradicted him and he had to play the creep and go along with her. Still, he might as well keep it up till the end. He wondered how long it would take. He emptied his own glass and fetched the bottle. “A spot more?”

She nodded, still gobbling olives. As he poured, he glanced over his shoulder at her. She was smiling, something she seldom did in his presence. It was an unpleasant smile and he felt uneasy as he sat down again.

His second glass tasted better. Last night’s bender must have jaded his palate. That, and a certain nervousness. Normally, in spite of his aunt’s jibes, he could tell a decent wine from a dud one. This wasn’t bad after all. He tossed it back.

Honoria was still smiling. He wished she wouldn’t; it wasn’t like her.

“I’m glad you came today,” she said, holding out her glass.

Nicholas beamed and poured generous refills. “It’s always a pleasure to come and see you, dear Aunt!”

“Rubbish!” She bared her teeth, like a terrier about to snap. “You don’t care a fig for me — you’re simply after my money!”

Nicholas jumped at the unexpected attack and his glass slipped from his fingers. He grovelled under the table to retrieve it and emerged flushed and panting.

“Clumsy fool!” sniffed Honoria. “Ring for McPhee to come and mop up.”

“No, it’s all right, I can do it.” He went down on all fours and scrubbed frantically at the carpet with his handkerchief. The last thing he wanted at this moment was the presence of a third party. “There, it’s all right now, no stain at all... good job it’s white and not red...” He scrambled to his feet and grabbed at the back of his chair, conscious that he wasn’t feeling quite himself. His heart was thumping and his head swimming.

Honoria gave one of her cackling laughs. “Didn’t like that, did we?”

“That wasn’t fair, Aunt Honoria,” he protested. “You shouldn’t say things like that, even in fun.”