Death of a Stranger by Eileen Dewhurst Read Free Book Online Page A

each of them with annoyance, felt a sense of relief when the half-hour of standing around with glasses was ended by the voice of the hotel proprietor and it became possible to see precisely who was in the restaurant. A friend of both Tim and Anna and, with his wife, just back like everyone else in his restaurant from St James, he led them and their small party to the top table, before suggesting to the guests that they colonise the smaller round tables and then attack the display of food, as wide and colourful as a herbaceous border, that stretched across the opposite wall.
    â€œWe’re the élite, we’re being waited on!’’ Lorna had spotted the shyness of DS Mahy’s small, stout wife, hanging back with a nervous smile and her handbag in a twitchy grip, and was taking her by the hand as Tim and Ted came up. “I’m Lorna, Tim‘s mother. I know you’re Mrs Ted, but I don’t know your own name.’’
    â€œIt’s Marilyn.’’ Dazzled by Lorna’s radiant smile and attentive presence, Marilyn Mahy blinked.
    â€œMarilyn can sit beside me, can’t she, Tim?’’ Lorna asked. “So long as you and Anna are at the centre and I’m next to her and Ted next to you … Oh, dear, that means you’ll have to choose between me and your husband as a neighbour, Marilyn.’’
    â€œOh, dear … I don’t …’’ Mrs Mahy’s face flamed red. Not for the first time, Tim noted resignedly, the teasing element in his mother’s make-up had clashed with the compassionate, and the object of her compassion had been disturbed rather than reassured. But Lorna moved in an aura of unexpectness, and Tim wasn’t really surprised when, suddenly positive, Mrs Mahy elected to sit next to Mr Le Page’s mother.
    Clare sent her handsome husband to the end of the top table on Mrs Mahy’s side and settled down to an animated chat about flower arranging with the wife of the Duke’s proprietor, who had wreathed the restaurant in white and gold and, reluctantly agreeing to let her husband preside on his own, sat down next to Clare, enabling the bride and bridegroom, to the expressed satisfaction of the photographer, to be the precise centre of the line.
    At least, Tim thought, as a colourful plate of food was put before him, he wouldn’t have to sit through a eulogy of his bride from a father or a father figure, mentally adjusting his own sketchily prepared speech to accommodate appreciation of its wit and comment on the revelations it had offered. No one had given away that free spirit Anna Weston, and he need thank no one before thanking the guests for their gifts and their presence, and the hotel for its catering and its flowers. Ted would be spared entirely, as there were no bridesmaids. Within minutes of their cutting the elegant small cake the hotel had made for them, another of his friends, the Duke’s resident musician, would be slipping behind the curtain into the ballroom, where he would join his small team and strike up the band.
    Simon Shaw was sitting with his Chief, Tim noticed with another small shock, and in fluent conversation. He couldn’t see the restaurant doors from his place at the top table, but waiters were milling in front of it, and Constance Lorimer certainly wasn’t in the room …
    â€œAre you hungry?’’ he asked Anna. “I’m not, at all. Which is odd, as everything looks so good.’’
    â€œI know, but I’m not hungry either.’’ Both glanced at Lorna, putting her knife and fork together on an empty plate, then smiled at one another. But Lorna as she looked up found Simon’s eye, and the smile that passed between them put paid to Tim’s.
    Anna took his hand under the table. “You can’t do anything about it, and friends can be close, and concerned about one another, without … Here comes the cake.’’
    Hand over hand