Poison Flowers Read Online Free PDF

there was someone leaning against one of the pillars beside the front door. She recognised him at once and controlled her instinct to run towards him.
    â€˜Tom,’ she said quietly when she was near enough for him to hear her. The leaning figure straightened up.
    â€˜Willow,’ he said unsmiling, as though he were not sure of his welcome.
    â€˜Come on in,’ she said. She felt a little wary of him, but the sanity and intelligence of his familiar face made a welcome change from the hated lineaments of the Permanent Secretary’s and even the neat grey features of the efficient Marilyn. ‘Are you all right?’
    â€˜I’m fine,’ he answered, following her up the stairs to her flat. ‘I’ve been thinking about the poisoner and – slightly against my better judgment and conscience – I’ve come to ask whether you still want to have a look at some of the reports.’
    â€˜Tom,’ said Willow, turning to smile at him in spontaneous pleasure. He stopped on the step just below her and looked up into her face.
    â€˜Would you, Will?’ he asked.
    â€˜I’d love to,’ she said, turning back to unlock the door for them both. ‘It’s precisely what I need to keep me sane for the next couple of weeks. I’ve just heard that I’ve got to sit on a Fisbe of all exasperating things.’
    â€˜A what?’
    â€˜Final Selection Board, FSB, Fisbe,’ said Willow, dropping her briefcase and gesturing to Tom to do the same. ‘No Leapfrog here, but if you’d like some ordinary whisky I have some – or perhaps a glass of Bulgarian wine?’
    â€˜Any beer?’ he said, amused by her complete transformation from the glamorous, rich creature with whom he had dined the previous day.
    â€˜Snob!’ she said. ‘Yes, I have some rather dull tinned beer, actually. It’s in the fridge: help yourself. I’m going to have wine.’
    When he came back into the living room, Willow had taken off the shapeless jacket of her suit to reveal the plain white cotton shirt, open at the neck. Remembering the elegant clothes and the impressive jewellery she had always worn when they dined together during her days as Cressida Woodruffe, he was amused all over again by her appearance.
    â€˜Let down your hair, Will,’ he said, before he could censor himself.
    â€˜You said that once before,’ she answered, making no move to take out the hairpins.
    â€˜I know,’ he said, coming to sit beside her on the old sofa. ‘And I hadn’t meant to make any allusion to that time. You just look a lot more comfortable when your hair is loose. Go on.’
    Shrugging, Willow pulled the pins out of her hair and shook it free. It was much more comfortable.
    â€˜I wouldn’t want you to think … I always do unpin it when I come home,’ she said in a voice bristling with defensiveness.
    â€˜Good beer, this,’ said Worth ignoring the little scene he had provoked. ‘Now, I couldn’t bring you the actual files about these murders, but I’ve made a précis of their contents. You could probably find out a bit more from the local newspaper reports; and if you’ve any specific questions, let me know and I’ll see if there’s anything useful in the files.’
    â€˜Thank you, Tom,’ said Willow, trying to put enough warmth into her voice to show him that she was as grateful for his refusal to pursue the question of her hair as for the information about the murders. ‘I’ll do what I can for you. I’d like to help you give one in the eye to those wretches – “feminine intuition” indeed!’
    â€˜It’s not so much for that, Will,’ said Tom seriously, ‘as to stop whoever is doing this before anyone else gets killed.’
    â€˜But there’s something else, isn’t there?’ she said, staring at him. ‘You look … yes, shifty, Tom. What is