The Kill Read Free Page A

said you found Christine attractive.’
    ‘Do you reckon?’ Derwent leaned back, hands in his pockets, thinking. ‘I bet I can come up with something more offensive than that.’
    ‘Please don’t bother.’ I stood up.
    ‘Aw. I was enjoying the view.’
    ‘What view?’
    The grin again. ‘You should always wear skirts like that. With a slit, I mean.’
    I had forgotten about the slit. It ran up as far as my thigh, and when I sat down, most of my left leg was on display. I blushed, which was annoying. ‘Not exactly ideal for work.’
    ‘No. Not with stockings, anyway.’ The grin had got wider. ‘Lace tops, too. Nice.’
    ‘What are you two talking about?’ Rob had finished moving the boxes from Derwent’s car, as well as the ones Derwent had abandoned outside the marquee. Now he strolled across the grass to stand beside me. He slung an arm around my shoulders and pulled me towards him so he could drop a kiss on my cheek. I knew my face was hot.
    ‘I was just saying what a lucky man you are,’ Derwent said smoothly.
    ‘You won’t get any arguments from me.’ Rob’s arm tightened around me for just a second and I didn’t duck away. Having him there was like emotional body armour, which I badly needed when Derwent was around.
    I twisted to see the church, where there was a growing crowd centred on Dornton. ‘Let’s go and talk to the others.’
    Derwent had come with us, but diluted by lots of other people he wasn’t as bad. The conversation had been distinctly less personal, at least until Rob and he had started placing bets on whether I’d cry or not.
    I looked across the aisle again, to where Derwent was sitting, sombre in dark-grey. He looked more like he was at a funeral than a wedding, I thought. Coming into autumn he was at his leanest, with two marathons done for the year and another lined up before winter. His jawline was sharply cut, his cheeks slightly hollow, and to me he looked hungry, but possibly not for food. He was sitting quite still, his attention directed somewhere other than the couple standing at the front of the church, exchanging their vows with tremulous sincerity. I followed the line of his gaze to see where he was looking and I was not in the least surprised to find that he was staring at the prettier of the two bridesmaids. Nor was I all that surprised that she was staring back. He looked all right, from a distance. It was only when you got talking to him that you realised he was the last man on earth you should tangle with.
    I just hoped she’d have the sense to run away.
    It was after the dinner (excellent), the speeches (long) and the bride and groom’s first dance (awkward but tender) that Derwent came for me. I was sitting beside Rob, my back to the rolled-up side of the marquee. I was enjoying myself in a mild way but I hadn’t said much all evening. I was missing Liv, my friend and colleague, who was recovering from a nasty injury and had been off work for almost a year. She was travelling with her girlfriend, and had sent good wishes. I would have preferred to have her there. A light breeze from the garden sighed across my skin, but it was hot in the marquee and I didn’t need or want my jacket. Rob had taken off his too, and his tie, and rolled up his sleeves. His hair was a little bit rumpled and I watched him laughing at one of Chris Pettifer’s jokes, the lines lengthening around his eyes in a way that made my heart turn over. True to my word, I hadn’t had a drop to drink but I felt not quite sober, all the same, when I looked at Rob. I wanted to lean against him and whisper in his ear. I wanted to tangle my fingers in his hair and kiss him. I wanted to press my body against him. I wanted to draw him into the dark garden and be alone with him. I settled for dropping a hand on his long, lean thigh, feeling the muscles move under my palm as he registered the contact and knew just what it meant.
    Derwent’s voice shattered my reverie. ‘Can I borrow your