The Snares of Death by Kate Charles Page B

Daphne. ‘I’m sorry, Daphne – I didn’t mean to interrupt. I didn’t realise. I’ll just go into the other room.’
    â€˜Don’t be silly. Sit down and join us.’
    â€˜Actually, my boy, it’s time for me to be on my way. I must be up early in the morning – Sunday, you know! Daphne, thank you so much for your hospitality, and for the pleasure of your charming company.’ Ever the gentleman, he took her hand and bowed.
    David hadn’t thought that there were very many things that could disturb the unflappable Daphne, but Cyril’s courtly gesture seemed to agitate her. ‘Don’t be so daft, Cyril,’ she said, colouring. ‘You know you’re always welcome here.’
    â€˜Well, I’ll be shoving off. It’s snowing, you say? Bad luck. Never mind. My boy, it’s a real pleasure to see you again. You must come round for tea sometime when you’re in town, you and Daphne.’ The old man struggled into his overcoat.
    â€˜I’d like that.’
    â€˜We’ll fix up a time, then. Cheerio.’
    When Cyril had gone, Daphne lost no time in fetching the glasses and opening the whisky bottle. ‘Sit down then, David.’
    He complied, choosing a seat near the fire. ‘Mind if I take my tie off ?’ Without waiting for her affirmative reply, he removed it and slung it over the back of a chair, then put his feet up. ‘I really do apologise for charging in like that. I hope I didn’t interrupt anything important.’
    She scowled. ‘No, of course not.’
    â€˜Church business?’
    â€˜Yes and no.’ She handed David a glass, then settled down opposite him. ‘Cyril . . . well, he’s a lonely man. And in the last few months, since Emily’s been gone, he calls round occasionally, just for someone to talk to.’ Cyril’s hopeless attachment to the departed Vicar’s wife was not a very well-kept secret in the parish. Daphne shrugged. ‘I don’t mind. I’ve always been a good ear.’
    David raised his glass in tribute to her and smiled affectionately. Yes, Daphne had always been a good ear: undemanding, understanding, undemonstrative Daphne. Impulsively he said, ‘You’re a good friend, Daphne. I don’t tell you that often enough.’ For the second time already that evening he saw her blush, and wondered anew what was the impetus behind their strange, mismatched friendship. He didn’t usually give it much thought, and it struck him now that it must appear very strange indeed to those on the outside, to people like Lucy and even Cyril: the plain, stout woman, never a beauty, over sixty now, and the reasonably attractive man, no longer young himself yet twenty years her junior. But then people tended not to understand relationships that didn’t fit into neat, easily defined categories. David didn’t really understand it either, but he valued it highly.
    After a flustered moment, Daphne went on with her earlier train of thought. ‘Cyril actually did have some church business to discuss tonight – some last-minute changes in the plans for the new Vicar’s induction service.’
    â€˜Oh, that’s right – he’s arriving quite soon, isn’t he?’
    â€˜It’s less than a fortnight now.’
    Something in her tone of voice intrigued him, and he looked at her curiously. ‘Daphne, you don’t sound too thrilled.’
    â€˜Well . . .’
    â€˜Come on, what is it?’
    â€˜Everyone was really pleased when his appointment was announced – he sounded like just the man we needed. But now . . . well, I’m just not so sure, that’s all.’
    â€˜What’s changed your mind?’
    â€˜For one thing, he’s caused some real problems over this service. The churchwardens had made all the plans, had the orders of service printed, and everything. And then at the last minute he’s