Preface to Murder by M Morris (best books to read for success .txt) 📗

‘You’re too modest.’

‘Yeah, Bridget,’ said Alfie enthusiastically. ‘Take credit for yourself!’

‘Come on,’ said Chloe with a smile, looping her arm through his. ‘Let’s give the loving couple some time on their own.’ She took Alfie upstairs, leaving Bridget alone with Jonathan in the kitchen.

‘Wine?’ asked Jonathan, pouring a glass of red without waiting for her reply. ‘I have a casserole in the oven.’

‘You are the hero,’ said Bridget. ‘I don’t know how I’d survive without you.’

‘Takeaway pizza, I expect. Or microwaved leftovers. I’m sure you’d get by somehow.’

Bridget took a sip of the wine. ‘But I don’t want to get by. I’ve been just getting by for years, and now I’m nearly forty!’ She knew that she ought to be happy, but for some reason a tear was trickling down her cheek. ‘After Diane was killed, I thought my career was over. I stared into the abyss and everything looked black. You were in New York, Chloe was in London. I didn’t know what to do.’

Jonathan took her hands in his. ‘But you did know what to do. You solved the case and caught the culprit. Now you’re vindicated. Chloe’s back home, and I’m here too. So what’s the matter?’

‘I don’t know. It’s just…’

He studied her carefully. ‘Is this about Ben and Tamsin?’ he asked. ‘After everything you’ve been through, are you still worrying about the wedding?’

Bridget looked at him hopefully. ‘Do you think we could get away with not going to the wedding ourselves? You could arrange another business trip and this time I could go with you. Paris, New York, Tokyo. We could go anywhere, except London.’

‘You know we can’t. We have to be there for Chloe’s sake. It’s important for her to know that her parents can still get along like civilised people.’

‘Is it?’ Bridget thought of Diane Gilbert and Ian Dunn and their so-called amicable divorce. That had turned out to be a seething mass of concealed resentment and bitterness. But perhaps that was what civilisation was for. To put a gloss over the surface and try to keep the bad stuff hidden. She only had to keep her feelings at bay for one day. For Chloe’s sake. And for her own too.

‘Don’t give Ben the satisfaction of knowing how much he still rattles you,’ said Jonathan.

Bridget nodded slowly. ‘You’re right. I can’t let him think that he’s so important. Because he isn’t.’

‘That’s decided, then,’ said Jonathan. ‘See it as an opportunity to enjoy some good food and wine, at Ben’s expense. And besides,’ he added, ‘I’ll be there with you.’

*

Jake was running late. By the time they’d got Annabel back to the station, interviewed her – she admitted everything immediately – and charged her, it was already gone seven. He hurried home, had a quick shower, and put on a fresh change of clothes.

After his date with Lauren he had come to the realisation that although Ryan meant well his advice was hopeless. The problem was that Jake had allowed Ryan to write his dating profile for him, and he could see now that it wasn’t authentic. There was far too much emphasis on his supposed good sense of humour and wanting to have a good time. No wonder it had attracted a woman like Lauren who just wanted a bit of fun on the side.

That wasn’t what Jake was looking for. He wanted a steady, long-term relationship with a woman he felt comfortable with. And so he’d completely rewritten his profile on the dating app. Instead of simply highlighting his good points, he had tried to write a full and honest assessment of himself. There was no point hiding his true nature from a potential partner. If tonight’s date turned out to be as bad as the previous two then he was going to delete his account and learn to accept his single status with stoicism.

Amy had agreed to meet him at a pub down the Cowley Road so at least he didn’t have far to go this time. He checked the photo of her once more to make sure he knew who he was looking for – frizzy red hair and freckles. He wouldn’t have looked twice at her if he’d passed her in the street, but after he posted his new profile on the app, Amy was one of only two women who contacted him. He was a little nervous, as she worked at the Bodleian. He hoped she wouldn’t want to talk about books all evening otherwise it was going to be a very one-sided conversation.

The rain had stopped but the roads were still wet and were full of reflections of car headlights. Jake pushed open the pub door and stepped inside into the warm, fuggy atmosphere. It didn’t take him long to establish that there was no one matching Amy’s description anywhere in sight. He felt rather relieved. Now he could go home, stick a pizza in the oven, and watch TV. His safe routine.

He was just about to step back outside when the door flew open and a short figure in a bright yellow high-vis jacket burst into the pub. She removed her cycle helmet, and her frizzy hair sprang back to life. Her face was bright red from the effort of cycling. She looked at him for a moment.

‘Jake?’

‘Amy?’

She laughed a hearty laugh that showed off her front teeth. ‘Sorry I’m a bit late! Bellringing practice went on longer than usual tonight.’

‘Bellringing?’ Jake had never before met anyone who rang bells.

‘I’ve just come from Mary Mags.’

‘Who?’

She laughed again as if he’d made a joke. ‘The church. St Mary Magdalen. We call it Mary Mags.’

‘Oh, right. If you don’t mind me saying, that’s a very Oxford kind of