Free The Saint Valentine's Day Murders by Ruth Dudley Edwards Page B

one, Horace at the next.’
    ‘Where was Shipton?’
    ‘At a table for higher ranks.’
    ‘Was there a band?’
    ‘No. They used to have one in past years, but the recession’s put an end to that. There were a lot of moans about that – hardly reasonable when you consider the whole thing was free. We had a disco with a DJ who specializes in catering for the over-forties, with an unrivalled collection of James Last records. You know the sort of thing – Bach, the Beatles, country and western, rock and roll, all brought down to the lowest common denominator and scored for quick step, waltz, fox trot – whatever you like.’
    She sniggered. ‘You must have been in your element.’
    ‘Absolutely. I was the only one at the table who couldn’t dance properly, having been brought up on the Do It Yourself method. Except for Bill, of course. That’s another thing he doesn’t like doing.’
    ‘Don’t keep me in suspense. What were the wives like?’
    ‘Dreadful. Oh, not so much individually as collectively.’
    ‘Come on. Do this in an orderly manner. Start with Henry’s wife. I bet I know what she looked like – podgy and crimplene-clad.’
    ‘That’s our Edna all right. Though I have to say she’s more fat than podgy. She was at my right hand during the meal. I was the young squire, you understand, and the placing was organized according to seniority.’
    ‘Conversation?’
    ‘Weather, grandchildren and television programmes.’
    ‘Fair enough. Now the wife of the mean one.’
    ‘Tony.’
    ‘Yes, of course. My guess is rather dolled-up. There must be some reason why he’s so preoccupied with money.’
    ‘Right again. Gloria’s hairdo must have cost buckets – all streaks and elaborate curls. She was on my other side. Conversation: a three-piece suite she’s got her eye on; the job she’s sick of; Tony’s promotion chances. She’s sure he’s being pessimistic’
    ‘Is he?’
    ‘No. He’s OK at this level, but he doesn’t have any of the qualities or qualifications that BCC want nowadays.’
    ‘Poor devil. Right. What’s his name? – Graham. The boring one. Presumably a dowdy wife.’
    ‘Nope. You’re fallible after all. Val’s quite a smart piece with a sharp tongue. Conversation: funny stories about the customers at the bar she works at in the evening – all malicious.’
    ‘Who’s left? Of course – Tiny. How could I forget him? No guesses this time except that his wife is probably a bit of all right.’
    ‘Fran’s not unattractive. But I really disliked her. Her main line in chat is mocking Tiny’s clumsiness.’
    ‘Did you meet Horace’s wife?’
    ‘Oh, yes – Rita. She’s lovely. Plump, sweet and terribly proud of Horace. Completely deluded about him, but that came as a relief after the others. They didn’t seem to have a civil word to say about their husbands. Oh, I forgot Charlie. He wasn’t at our table, of course, but I went over to pay my respects and have one of the more manageable dances with his wife. She seemed OK. Quite fun, really. But like all the rest, anti-husband. It was a bit late by then and she’d had a few – kept complaining that Charlie was a kill-joy. That seemed out of character, but sure enough, I caught sight of him looking at us anxiously.’
    ‘Maybe he’s ferociously jealous.’
    ‘Maybe. I doubt it, though. He knows about you. He was the one who warned me to stow the duty-free in my briefcase.’
    ‘Well, so far it sounds boring, but not deadly. What was the problem?’
    ‘Two things mainly. The social indignity of making a fool of myself on the dance floor, being bundled about by partners like Edna who really knew how to dance. Still, I didn’t mind that too much. It’s no harm to see the young master at a disadvantage. Good for marital relations. What shook me more was what I overheard of the women’s conversation.’
    ‘Complaining, you mean?’
    ‘The nature of the complaints. I’m used to hearing the blokes at it. You know