Troubled Deaths Read Online Free PDF Page B

house and saw the pool for the first time.
    ‘The water’s heated, so you can have a dip.’
    ‘No, I can’t. I haven’t brought a costume.’
    ‘Why should that stop you?’
    She giggled.
    They went from the patio into the sitting-room. She had expected comfort, but not the degree of luxury she saw. The furniture, furnishings, silver, and paintings, all spoke of considerable wealth. His wife would be able to dress in expensive clothes and drive around in her own Mercedes . . . Di would choke with envy . . .
    ‘What’ll you drink?’ he asked.
    ‘I wouldn’t mind a very little gin and tonic’
    ‘On this island, no one’s ever heard of a little gin.’ He crossed to the cocktail cabinet. ‘Park your bottom. There’s no extra charge for sitting.’
    She sat on the settee, crossed her legs, and with great affectation tugged her skirt an inch further down her thighs.
    Matilde came into the sitting-room and looked with brief curiosity, and perhaps a suggestion of criticism, at Veronica, then said in Spanish:
    ‘Everything is ready for the meal, señor.’
    ‘All right.’
    ‘I have put on the table chicken and ham and potato salad and lettuce . . .’
    ‘OK.’
    ‘Should there be anything more you want, señor . . .’
    Til shout.’
    She left.
    ‘Was that the cook?’ asked Veronica, and although she wasn’t aware of the fact her voice had sharpened slightly.
    ‘She does the cooking, sure. But like I said earlier, the only thing she can cook well are beans.’
    Then there was a readily available excuse for sacking her at the first opportunity, thought Veronica, who had been disagreeably surprised to see how attractive Matilde was.
    He poured out the drinks, gave her one, and then went and sat in one of the armchairs and not on the settee with her as she’d obviously expected. He talked casually, lightly, and maliciously, about the people who lived in the area, making it seem as if the rich and the titled were his constant and boon companions. He gave her a second and even stronger gin and tonic and after handing her the glass he let his hand slide along her arm. She smiled coyly at him, was clearly very surprised, even disconcerted, when he did not follow up his advance, but retired to his chair. She was not used to very strong drinks on an empty stomach and after a third one she began to tell him about how she’d always wanted to live on a sunny island.
    A grandfather clock struck the half hour. He crossed to the settee and she put her nearly empty glass down on a piecrust table and waited. He kissed her with skilful passion and began a pincer sweep of his hands. She did not retreat and when his advances threatened to become a full frontal attack, she murmered: ‘Not here, Geoff darling.’
    ‘What’s the matter?’
    ‘Someone might come in. Your cook . . .’
    ‘I told her to keep right out of it.’
    ‘Let’s go upstairs?’
    ‘You’re not living in Clapham now,’ he said cryptically, as he began a flanking movement.
    She lifted herself up to aid him in his task and then suddenly thought she heard something. ‘What’s that?’ She instinctively grabbed his right hand which was making a final tactical withdrawal.
    ‘My hand. What in the hell d’you think it is?’
    ‘But I heard something go bang.’
    He suggested what she had heard and she giggled and let go of his hand in a sign of total surrender. She began to unbutton him.
    A high-pitched voice cried out: ‘Oh, my God!’
    They turned, their hands momentarily frozen in position. When Veronica saw Mabel, she gave a muted scream. She released him, made a grab for her pants and tried to pull them up from her ankles, rolled off the settee and landed on the floor with a thump that made her gasp.
    ‘Oh, my God!’ cried Mabel for the second time. Her face was working and her expression was one of tortured shock: she kept looking away and then back at the two of them.
    ‘What in the hell are you doing here?’ demanded Freeman. He began to