Free Withering Heights by Dorothy Cannell

Betty send us smartly on our way.”
    Ben kissed me again. I inhaled the spicy scent of his aftershave and the other essence that was essentially him. There are aromatic moments that put romance back into marriage, without thought of a ticking clock or a moody thirteen-year-old girl to be returned home.
    I stroked his crisply curling black hair. “What about Abigail’s?”
    “Freddy will handle things. We got it all sorted out over the phone while you were getting breakfast.”
    “I know the situation has altered since last evening, but you so much wanted to get a quick start on the new book; also, you said you’d feel like a third wheel traveling with Mrs. Malloy.”
    “It was the reverse. I didn’t want her feeling like piggy-in-the-middle when she was already under strain with this reunion with her sister looming.”
    “Oh!” Talk about feeling small!
    “I thought you’d guess where I was coming from.”
    Perhaps I would have if I hadn’t said all the wrong thingsabout the review in
Cuisine Anglaise
and leaped to the conclusion that he was eager for some time alone. I had been petty and petulant, a prey to foolish insecurities. But I wouldn’t let it happen again. From this moment on, I would trust unwaveringly in his love for me. Not a quiver of doubt would intrude.
    “You’re wonderful.” I was bathed in sunlight, inside and out.
    “Let’s hope the Hopkinses do boot us out and I can prove myself tonight in a hotel bedroom,” Ben murmured in my ear.
    “I hope Betty doesn’t know Mrs. Malloy and I have done some sleuthing in the past. If she’s set on making it her mission to prove Lady Fiona murdered her husband, she’s unlikely to want either help or competition.”
    “I don’t think you need worry about that angle. There was only one article in the local paper when the two of you took over that private investigator’s case and solved it—much to his chagrin.”
    “Poor Milk Jugg. I hope he’s forgiven us.”
    “Time to get going.” Ben picked up the suitcase and ushered me out of the bedroom.
    “What’s Tom like?” I asked, as we headed downstairs.
    “Quiet. Low-key.”
    “Any hint of hidden depths beneath still waters?”
    “We were never pals, even when working together at Uncle Sol’s restaurant. The only times I saw any real emotion in him was when he talked about his girlfriend and then on the couple of occasions I saw them together. The one before Ariel’s mother.”
    “Who was his parents’ pick.”
    “Right Angela. Same religious background. Safe choice.”
    “For him, perhaps, but not for her. She died in a car he was driving.” I paused but found myself unable to ask Ben if he thought there was the remotest possibility it hadn’t been an accident.“Poor Angela! I wonder if he was ever madly in love with her. It’s obvious Ariel believes, or wants to, that it was the perfect union and Betty is a poor substitute turned pain-in-the-neck.”
    “Then he’s got double trouble: his wife
and
his daughter.”
    “Tom didn’t insist on coming to collect Ariel?”
    “A halfhearted offer. He said there was some sort of household panic going on that made it difficult for him or Betty to take off.”
    “Maybe they have Lady Fiona tied up in the kitchen waiting for the police to arrive.” We stepped down into the hall to see the front door standing open and Tobias seated on the top outdoor step sunning his coat and lazily stirring his tail. Further investigation showed Mrs. Malloy heaving an enormous suitcase into the back of the Land Rover and Ariel standing off to the side with her skinny arms folded and a disapproving expression on her face.
    “What’s in there,” she snipped, “the washing machine? So you don’t have to wash out your knickers in the sink at Crag-stone?”
    Mrs. M was puffing too hard to reply.
    “Let me help you with that.” Ben hurried over to her, and while he was stowing our luggage along with hers, which included the addition of a couple of