Free Fatal Frost by Henry James

autumn again, as she had in bed last night. Frost lying prone in Denton Woods, her horror at thinking he’d been shot, and then, as he lay in hospital, the bomb taking out the TA building and damaging the station. Who’d have thought a slovenly, married detective could leave her feeling so exposed. And there he was now, shovelling down a plateful of bacon and eggs and not even bothering to look at her.
    Well, she thought, it didn’t really matter. Given his blatant lack of concern for her welfare, she’d finally resolved to ditch him, or at least bring matters to a head. She had in her bag a letter she’d written last night, expressing her anger and explaining that unless things changed dramatically, she no longer wanted to see him. She would give it to him today.
    She paid at the till and made a beeline for his table before any curious well-wishers could distract her. Noisily she slid her tray across the surface, nudging Frost’s breakfast plate.
    He gave a start before smiling briefly. ‘Morning, love,’ he said. ‘Good to see service has resumed – Dunkirk spirit and all that – Grace is a marvel. Mind you, it was six months ago, so you’d expect things to start improving by now.’
    Typical, she thought. He doesn’t even ask how I am! She was all set to admonish him for his lack of concern but was drowned out by the sudden clatter of workmen beyond the serving hatch.
    Frost folded the
Sun
. ‘I’m a
Times
man myself, but you can’t beat the redtops for a bit of chest-beating.’ He pointed with his fork to the
GOTCHA!
headline on the paper and gave a wry smile.
    ‘Aren’t you going to ask me how I am?’ she said incredulously.
    He looked up blankly. ‘Is there something up?’
    ‘Don’t act as if you didn’t know – I’ll … !’ She clenched her teeth, barely able to control her anger. ‘I was
stabbed
yesterday morning. Stabbed, Jack.’
    ‘Hey, calm down. I thought it was a more of a nick … you know, just a flesh wound.’
    ‘Don’t tell me to calm down,’ she said, her voice rising. ‘A flesh wound? Who told you that? I lost a pint of blood! Half a dozen stitches, I needed.’
    ‘Really? But when Bill called me yesterday afternoon, he said you’d …’ Frost paused, trying to find an expression that wouldn’t get him into more trouble. He wisely gave up. ‘But you’re all right, though? No lasting damage?’
    ‘Didn’t it occur to you to find out how I was?’ she hissed. ‘To find out if I wasn’t a little upset by this … this
flesh wound
? No. Instead, while I suffered alone in my flat you were at home with her!’ Too late she realized that the building work had stopped and that her voice sounded loud above the canteen chatter. She felt suddenly embarrassed.
    Frost put down his knife and fork and smiled a pathetic smile. His eyes were on hers, and for a moment they just looked at each other.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ he said calmly. ‘I didn’t finish until late. I had to ID the girl found down by the railway track yesterday morning.’
    ‘What girl?’ said Clarke in spite of herself.
    ‘A teenager, Samantha Ellis. She was found with a broken neck about a mile outside Denton. Mullett would like it to be suicide, but I’m not so sure—’
    ‘Jack …’ interjected Clarke.
    ‘See, Drysdale found skin under the fingernails, which seems to suggest—’
    ‘Jack, please!’ she said, insistent. He stopped mid-sentence. ‘What are we going to do?’
    Frost raised his eyebrows in puzzlement.
    ‘You said we’d be living together.’
    ‘No need to rush things.’
    ‘What do you mean,
rush
– you said it would be by Christmas! New Year at the latest. Look at us, it’s now May, and you’re still playing the happily married man!’ She felt like a tired record, the grooves blurring from overuse.
    ‘Mary’s ill,’ he said gravely.
    ‘What do you mean,
ill
? How ill? You always say that. She’s been ill since I’ve known you.’
    ‘Always been a pain, I’ll grant