The Inspector Walter Darriteau Murder Mysteries - Books 1-4 by David Carter (microsoft ebook reader TXT) 📗

taller than her. She liked his neatly trimmed hair; and the dark suit. She liked his kind face and trim figure; she liked his bright blue eyes, and the neat gold tiepin. Geez, she liked everything about him. To her, he appeared to be perfect husband material. She could imagine herself being married to this guy, having his children. It was quite perfect, this might be her lucky day.

‘Tristram?’ she said, smiling, all hint of discomfort gone.

Samuel nodded.

‘You’re late.’

‘Sorry,’ he said, smiling at the slight admonishment. ‘I had to take my mother to the hospital.’

‘Nothing serious, I hope?’

‘No, it was her monthly check-up, I forgot all about it.’

‘You are here now, that’s the main thing.’

He glanced down at the soppy daffies and slipped them from her hand. She seemed happy to be rid of them, and a moment later he gave them to an ancient woman who was shuffling by.

Samuel said, ‘Shall we go in?’

‘If you want to.’

‘Oh yeah, so long as you do.’

‘I’m hungry,’ she said.

‘Me to. Come on,’ and he strode toward the door and held it open.

Good old-fashioned manners, and she liked that too.

Once seated at the corner table in the Hunting Rooms restaurant, they sat and studied the vast menu.

‘It’s very expensive,’ grinned Sally, all the while thinking, is this guy going to splash this much cash on me? Or did he expect her to go Dutch?

‘Not too expensive for us,’ said Samuel, ‘My invite, my treat.’

Sally smiled across the table. If she hadn’t been impressed before, she was now.

Samuel chose his meal, not the most expensive items on offer, but not far off, and then he said, ‘I always fancy champagne at lunchtimes, don’t you?’

Sally smiled at that too. The date was getting better and better. If she drank too much, she could always leave the car and walk home, and then she said, ‘Yeah, course anything you say.’

They talked about this and that, and something and nothing, and then surprisingly, the plates were empty; the glasses were empty; the bottles were empty; and the meal was over.

She had never once asked him about his home or his work. There didn’t seem the time. The foreign waiter presented the bill. Sam took one look at it, brought a roll of cash from his top pocket, peeled off the necessary and a big tip, and the waiter grinned at the pair of them, grabbed the money and ran.

‘Are you sure I can’t contribute?’ she asked.

She’d come well equipped, plenty of cash in her bag for emergencies, he’d be surprised. One thing that Sally Beauchamp had in abundance was money. Her chosen career path had always paid well, and she had never once been forced to edge downmarket, or take a lower price. Discount was a word that didn’t exist in her language, premium prices, more like. Top of the range is top of the range, she told herself, and people would always pay through the nose for top product.

‘No,’ answered Tristram, ‘but thanks for offering. I appreciate it.’

He had a gentle smile, and a gentle way about him, almost slow, though that wasn’t the right word, relaxed, that was nearer the mark, and she felt relaxed in his company, and she’d felt that way long before she’d dispatched a quantity of vintage Champagne.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘Do you want to go out again?’

Too bloody right! She wanted to blurt, but remembered herself in time. ‘Maybe,’ she said, sucking her finger.

‘Tomorrow night?’

She pulled a face. ‘I could do that.’

She was playing hard to get. He didn’t care. He wanted to date her again; he wanted to see what she was made of; he wanted her back at his place; he wanted...

‘What time did you have in mind?’ she asked.

‘Eight o’clock OK?’

She bobbed her head and said yes.

‘We could go for a meal in some country pub.’

Sally nodded, feeling more secure after she’d secured a second date.

‘Where do you want to meet?’ he asked.

‘Outside the library, by the old picture house.’

‘OK,’ he said, ‘I can do that, I’ll see you there.’

Sam nodded and stood up, and she did too. She didn’t think she was incapable of driving, and the car wasn’t far away, and neither was her apartment, and she hated walking.

‘Thanks for the meal, Tristram,’ she said, as they headed back toward the Audi.

He had insisted on escorting her, and she liked that too.

It was cool.

He was cool.

Sally’s mind lurched into overdrive.

She could see her entire future mapped out before her.

‘Don’t be late,’ she said, as they parted.

‘Don’t be cheeky,’ he muttered, as he strode away, leaving her to watch him go.

He never once looked back.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Donald Shelbourne was putting his life back together. He had given up the tiny flat he shared with Armitage and they moved in with the widow, Mrs Everrit. Six months later they bought their council house under the government’s right to buy scheme, and from somewhere, raked together sufficient cash to add a small extension to the side of the house.

Armitage had his own bedroom again, and if all was not exactly right with the world, it was a heck of a lot better.

Donald was keen to make the arrangement more permanent and married the widow at the earliest opportunity. Smelly Everrit was now Armitage’s stepbrother. That didn’t bother Armitage much. He was too busy with his singing and dancing and flower arranging. Smelly played rugby and football and went fishing in the upper reaches of the River Dee. Came home stinking like a dead crab, even worse than usual, and their paths rarely crossed.

Armitage was ten and due to go to the big school in the city, probably Chester’s most famous school, King’s. They had accepted him under a longstanding scholarship arrangement. Kay, ever mindful of the importance of planning ahead, had put his name down two weeks after his birth, and though the parent’s situation had radically changed, Mrs Kay Shelbourne was long deceased; the school honoured the arrangement, and went further, by waiving the fees.

They might have