Crime Writers and Other Animals Read Free Page A

a thawing chicken breast. ‘I’m not going to say anything like that,’ he confided. ‘I’m so delighted to have you back that nothing else matters.’
    Natalie managed a weak smile of gratitude.
    â€˜How did Trevor take it?’ asked George.
    She grimaced.
    â€˜You said on your phone message you were worried about what he might do. Do you mean you’re afraid he might turn violent towards you?’
    Natalie had prepared her answer to this question carefully. If George thought she was in danger, he might be capable of going round to confront Trevor. The last thing her plans required at that moment was heroics from her husband.
    â€˜Not violent towards me, no. I’m more worried he might turn his violence against himself.’ The thought of what she was saying almost made her laugh. Trevor was so uncomplicated, so full of animal vigour, that the idea of his entertaining even a moment’s thought of suicide became ridiculous. Natalie began to enjoy embroidering the lie. ‘He was terribly cut up about the whole business . . . you know, with his wife having walked out so recently. I suppose he kind of thought I was his salvation. Certainly, the affair went much deeper with him than it did with me.’
    â€˜So you’re genuinely afraid he might try to kill himself?’
    Natalie shrugged. ‘I hope not. I hope the thought of his two little kids’ll stop him, but . . . yes, I have worried about it. He’s very unstable,’ she concluded, secretly gleeful at the incongruity of her words.
    â€˜Dear, oh dear,’ said George. Then, to his wife’s intense satisfaction, he poured another healthy top-up into his brandy glass. To her even greater satisfaction, he picked up a mince pie, lifted its pastry lid and piled the interior with brandy butter.
    Speaking through flakes of puff pastry, George continued, ‘Don’t you worry about a thing, darling. From what I remember of Trevor, I’d think he was an extremely unlikely candidate for suicide. As you say, he’s got the kids to think of, apart from anything else. And, even if he did do something stupid, you shouldn’t blame yourself. Suicide is the ultimate act of selfishness. No one else is ever to blame. It involves only the person who commits the act,’ he concluded pompously.
    â€˜Well, I hope you’re right . . .’ said Natalie, playing out her anxiety a little longer, and noting with satisfaction the sight of her husband decapitating a second mince pie and ladling in the brandy butter.
    â€˜Ooh, now, your present . . .’ George reminded himself. He crammed the whole pie into his mouth and picked up his briefcase. Holding it on his lap with the lid shielding its contents from his wife, he reached teasingly inside. ‘I don’t think you’ll ever guess what I’ve bought you . . .’
    Natalie certainly never would have done. She looked with dumb amazement at the silk lingerie set George proudly produced. Trevor enjoyed that sort of thing; she took pleasure in dressing up for their erotic encounters; but George had never shown interest in anything but the most traditional sex – and not a great deal in that.
    â€˜Do you like them?’ her husband prompted.
    â€˜Well, yes, but . . . why did you buy them for me?’
    George winked roguishly. ‘I read an article in this magazine about how couples who’ve been married for a long time can . . . as it were . . . recharge their interest in each other.’
    Oh my God, thought Natalie, I’m not sure I can cope with this. But then, mercifully, on cue, George yawned.
    She waited until he was snoring heavily. To be extra sure, she spoke to him and shook his plump form, but there was no response. Reassured, she went to the phone and told Trevor she needed his help.
    Briefly she had contemplated doing the job alone. Though he was chubby, George’s lack of height meant that she could have