The Ambiguity of Murder Read Free Page A

‘I’m surprised he’s let you loose.’
    â€˜I told him you were taking me to see the garden with hundreds of bulbs that are out.’
    â€˜What garden’s that?’ He braked to a halt, checked the narrow road was clear, turned left.
    â€˜The one belonging to your Dutch friends.’
    â€˜Acquaintances. The Dutch are so very serious it’s almost impossible to become friendly. Did he believe you?’
    â€˜Of course he did.’
    â€˜Silly man. If I were he, I wouldn’t believe a single word you told me.’
    â€˜Do you have to be so beastly?’
    â€˜I was complimenting you.’
    â€˜That’ll be the day.’
    â€˜Believe me…’
    â€˜Not a single word you tell me.’
    He laughed. ‘You’re in good form. Why so? All excited?’
    â€˜Why not?’
    â€˜Performance seldom matches expectation … You do know how I hate prying into other people’s affairs, don’t you?’
    â€˜You spend your life doing nothing else.’
    â€˜I think you’ve been drinking vinegar to clear your complexion.’
    She hastily pulled down the sun blind and examined her reflection in the small mirror. ‘What’s wrong with it?’
    â€˜Isn’t that a small pimple on the tip of your nose?’
    â€˜No, it bloody well isn’t.’
    â€˜Just a reflection of the sun … I swear I long to stay silent, but duty calls and I must answer. Do you think, my sweet, that it’s a good idea to go on seeing Guido?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜Just yes?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜You don’t want to know why I ask?’
    â€˜It’ll be for some nasty reason.’
    â€˜I’m thinking only of your happiness. I hear things, Karen.’
    â€˜So what have you heard about Guido?’
    He braked at a T-junction, turned into a lane even narrower than the one they had just left. On their right was an orange grove, on their left a field in which grew a mixture of oats and wheat that would be fed green to stock.
    â€˜Aren’t you going to answer? I suppose you think I’m being stupid?’
    â€˜Never stupid. Just ill-advised.’
    â€˜Then whatever it is you’ve heard, it’s crap. He’s genuine with me and he’s sworn he’ll marry me the moment I say.’
    â€˜Sweetie, the end of the rainbow always remains just out of reach.’
    â€˜You’re being sour because you’re wrong.’
    â€˜I’m only thinking of you.’
    â€˜You never think of anyone but yourself.’
    â€˜You’re the complete bitch!’
    She turned to look at him, spoke curiously. ‘Don’t tell me you really are concerned on my behalf?’
    He didn’t answer.
    â€˜You are! You’re being sweet! I think I adore you.’
    He once more spoke facetiously. ‘Please never say anything like that in front of my closest friends or you’ll confuse them.’ He had to slow down to overtake a donkey cart – a form of transport which had become very seldom met, yet only twenty years before had been ubiquitous. ‘What will happen to your husband if you leave him?’
    â€˜He’ll become my ex-husband.’
    â€˜I simply can’t wait for the day. There’s nothing more amusing than a pompous, self-satisfied, middle-aged man with horns on his head.’

CHAPTER 3
    Pons silently cursed the American who had invented poker, Belmonte who’d suggested a game, and his run of bad luck. He pushed a chip into the centre, discarded three cards.
    â€˜You won’t get rich on a pair,’ sniggered Moya.
    Like all lawyers, Moya made a fortune by exacerbating other people’s miseries. Pons picked up the three cards he’d been dealt and saw to his elated surprise – since this was so against the run – that he now had a third jack. His optimism, nurtured by several glasses of wine, returned. He watched the play with