getting any younger and it’s time we did something to fend off middle age.”
“You’re thirty-three, Helen.”
“And destined to be reduced to flab if I don’t do something positive now.” She returned to the shopping bags. “There are shoes as well. Somewhere. I wasn’t entirely sure of your size, but you can always return them. Now where could they be…Ah. Here.” She brought them forth, triumphant. “It’s early yet, isn’t it, and we could easily change and have a quick jog round the square a few times. Just the very thing to work ourselves up to…” She lifted her head, face suddenly pensive. She seemed to regard his clothing for the very first time. The dinner jacket, the bow tie, the pristinely shined shoes. “Lord. Tonight. We were going…Tonight…” Her cheeks took on colour and she continued hastily. “Tommy. Darling. We’ve an engagement, haven’t we?”
“You’ve forgotten.”
“Not at all. Truly. It’s the fact I haven’t eaten. I haven’t eaten a thing.”
“Nothing? You didn’t seek sustenance somewhere between Simon’s lab, Harrods, and Onslow Square? Why is it I have difficulty believing that?”
“I had only a cup of tea.” When he raised a sceptical eyebrow, Helen added, “Oh, all right. Perhaps one or two pastries at Harrods. But they were the smallest of eclairs, and you know what they’re like. Completely hollow.”
“I seem to recall their being fil led with… What is it? custard? whipped cream?”
“A dollop,” she asserted. “A pathetic little teaspoonful. That’s hardly enough to be counted as anything and it’s certainly not a meal. Frankly, I’m lucky to be among the living at the moment, with so little to sustain me from dawn to dusk.”
“We shall have to do something about that.”
Her face brightened. “It is dinner, then. Lovely. I thought so. And somewhere quite wonderful because you’ve put yourself into that ghastly bow tie which I know you loathe.” She rose from her shopping bags with renewed energy. “It’s a good thing I’ve not eaten then, isn’t it? Nothing shall spoil my dinner.”
“True. Afterwards.”
“After—?”
He reached for his pocket watch and fli cked it open. “It’s twenty-five past seven and we’ve only got till eight. We need to be off.”
“Where?”
“The Albert Hall.”
Helen blinked.
“The philharmonic, Helen. The tickets I nearly sold my soul to get. Strauss. More Strauss. And when you’re tired of him, Strauss. Is this sounding familiar?”
Her face became radiant. “Tommy! Strauss? You’re actually taking me to hear Strauss? This isn’t a trick? We don’t have Stravinsky after the interval? The Rite of Spring or something equally loathsome?”
“Strauss,” Lynley said. “Before and after the interval. Followed by dinner.”
“Thai food?” she asked eagerly.
“Thai,” he replied.
“My God, this is an evening from heaven,” she declared. She picked up her shoes and an armful of shopping bags. “I won’t be ten minutes.”
He smiled and scooped up the remaining shopping bags. Things were moving according to plan.
He followed her out of the drawing room and along the corridor past the kitchen where a glance inside told him that Helen was adhering to her usual mode of indifferent housekeeping. The breakfast dishes were scattered on the work top. The coffee maker’s light still shone. The coffee itself had long since evaporated, leaving a deposit of sludge at the bottom of the glass carafe and the scent of overworked grounds permeating the air. He said, “Helen, for God’s sake. Don’t you notice that smell? You’ve left the coffee on all day.”
She hesitated in the bedroom doorway. “Have I? What a nuisance. Those machines ought to shut themselves off automatically.”
“And the plates ought to dance themselves into the dishwasher as well?”
“It would certainly show good breeding if they did.” She disappeared into her bedroom where he heard her
“You’re thirty-three, Helen.”
“And destined to be reduced to flab if I don’t do something positive now.” She returned to the shopping bags. “There are shoes as well. Somewhere. I wasn’t entirely sure of your size, but you can always return them. Now where could they be…Ah. Here.” She brought them forth, triumphant. “It’s early yet, isn’t it, and we could easily change and have a quick jog round the square a few times. Just the very thing to work ourselves up to…” She lifted her head, face suddenly pensive. She seemed to regard his clothing for the very first time. The dinner jacket, the bow tie, the pristinely shined shoes. “Lord. Tonight. We were going…Tonight…” Her cheeks took on colour and she continued hastily. “Tommy. Darling. We’ve an engagement, haven’t we?”
“You’ve forgotten.”
“Not at all. Truly. It’s the fact I haven’t eaten. I haven’t eaten a thing.”
“Nothing? You didn’t seek sustenance somewhere between Simon’s lab, Harrods, and Onslow Square? Why is it I have difficulty believing that?”
“I had only a cup of tea.” When he raised a sceptical eyebrow, Helen added, “Oh, all right. Perhaps one or two pastries at Harrods. But they were the smallest of eclairs, and you know what they’re like. Completely hollow.”
“I seem to recall their being fil led with… What is it? custard? whipped cream?”
“A dollop,” she asserted. “A pathetic little teaspoonful. That’s hardly enough to be counted as anything and it’s certainly not a meal. Frankly, I’m lucky to be among the living at the moment, with so little to sustain me from dawn to dusk.”
“We shall have to do something about that.”
Her face brightened. “It is dinner, then. Lovely. I thought so. And somewhere quite wonderful because you’ve put yourself into that ghastly bow tie which I know you loathe.” She rose from her shopping bags with renewed energy. “It’s a good thing I’ve not eaten then, isn’t it? Nothing shall spoil my dinner.”
“True. Afterwards.”
“After—?”
He reached for his pocket watch and fli cked it open. “It’s twenty-five past seven and we’ve only got till eight. We need to be off.”
“Where?”
“The Albert Hall.”
Helen blinked.
“The philharmonic, Helen. The tickets I nearly sold my soul to get. Strauss. More Strauss. And when you’re tired of him, Strauss. Is this sounding familiar?”
Her face became radiant. “Tommy! Strauss? You’re actually taking me to hear Strauss? This isn’t a trick? We don’t have Stravinsky after the interval? The Rite of Spring or something equally loathsome?”
“Strauss,” Lynley said. “Before and after the interval. Followed by dinner.”
“Thai food?” she asked eagerly.
“Thai,” he replied.
“My God, this is an evening from heaven,” she declared. She picked up her shoes and an armful of shopping bags. “I won’t be ten minutes.”
He smiled and scooped up the remaining shopping bags. Things were moving according to plan.
He followed her out of the drawing room and along the corridor past the kitchen where a glance inside told him that Helen was adhering to her usual mode of indifferent housekeeping. The breakfast dishes were scattered on the work top. The coffee maker’s light still shone. The coffee itself had long since evaporated, leaving a deposit of sludge at the bottom of the glass carafe and the scent of overworked grounds permeating the air. He said, “Helen, for God’s sake. Don’t you notice that smell? You’ve left the coffee on all day.”
She hesitated in the bedroom doorway. “Have I? What a nuisance. Those machines ought to shut themselves off automatically.”
“And the plates ought to dance themselves into the dishwasher as well?”
“It would certainly show good breeding if they did.” She disappeared into her bedroom where he heard her
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