Written in Blood by Caroline Graham Page B

plate by pushing two Florentines into his mouth at once Brian sprang vigorously to his feet. ‘Sue?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Come.’
    ‘But I’ve only just—’
    ‘Very well. Stay here if you wish. Far be it from me—’
    ‘No.’ The aftermath would simply not be worth it: ‘It’s all right.’ She put down her barely tasted coffee.
    Gerald brought Sue’s shawl and Brian’s tartan windcheater out of the downstairs cloakroom. Then he went back for everyone else’s things, whereupon they all felt it was time to go and the meeting was suddenly over.
    Laura, aware that Gerald had been completely routed throughout the evening by forces of which she was completely ignorant, now saw that their guest, who had also risen with an air of imminent departure, would leave without as much as a thank you were it left to the group secretary. So she made a brief speech saying how very helpful and entertaining the visit had been and Rex, Sue and Amy echoed the sentiments and clapped loudly.
    As Gerald opened the front door an icy blast whistled into the house. Amy and Honoria muffled their faces and hurried away, followed by Brian and Sue. Laura turned on the doorstep, looking up at Gerald, who had his hand on the door’s edge as if anxious to push it to. Laura stared hard into his face. Always aware that she had never known him, she now knew, with a terrible daunting certainty, that she never would. It was unbearable. She reached out and seized his arm. It felt like a piece of wood.
    ‘Gerald, what is it? What’s the matter?’
    ‘Nothing.’ Angrily he snatched his arm away. His eyes were screwed up against the glare of the lamp and his mouth was as narrow as a piece of string.
    ‘There’s something wrong.’
    ‘Don’t talk such nonsense.’
    ‘You’re afraid.’
    ‘Really, Laura. What on earth has got into you tonight?’
    ‘It’s true.’ He was about to close the door, she could see it. Without a breath of hesitation (it always seemed to Laura afterwards that she had no choice in the matter) she leaned forward and kissed him.
    With a look of absolute amazement Gerald stepped quickly backwards and forcefully closed the door. He was still trembling when he returned to the living room.
    Max had draped his beautiful camel-hair and cashmere overcoat over the back of a chair and was sitting on the sofa. Rex was stacking the coffee cups. Gerald walked straight through to the kitchen without speaking to either of them.
    A few moments later Rex entered with his loaded tray. The two men stared at each other, then Rex, eyes shining, mouthed silently and with gross over-emphasis, Don’t Worry . Then, aloud and at an equally inappropriate level, ‘Shall I help you wash up, Gerald?’
    ‘Mrs Bundy will be here at ten.’
    He spoke normally but Rex, reluctant to abandon his new plot line, pointed urgently at the other room, mimed the chore, then indicated the kitchen clock.
    Gerald presumed all this to mean that if they took their time over the washing up Max would get tired of waiting and leave. He wished to God they’d both leave. He wished Rex wasn’t enjoying himself quite so much. He wished the pain would go away.
    ‘Could I be a terrible nuisance and ask for some more coffee?’ Gerald and Rex jumped. They hadn’t even heard him get up. ‘Just to keep me going for the drive home.’
    ‘Of course.’ Gerald painted a smile on his face. Hanging on to the words ‘drive home’, he emptied the grounds from the smaller of the cafetières. It slipped from his fingers to lie in the sink.
    ‘Instant will do.’
    ‘I don’t have instant. One for you, Rex?’
    ‘Definitely.’
    They all stood around like figures in an exhibition until the coffee was made, then took their beakers back to the sitting room. Here, in spite of Max’s previous hint of a fairly prompt departure, he began what proved to be a very lengthy conversation about money. The pound against the dollar and why its fluctuations affected his income. How the