Free The Thin Woman by Dorothy Cannell Page A

be down for tea.
    Late afternoon moved into twilight. At the stroke of four from the grandfather clock in the hall, the relations assumed their positions.
    Aunt Sybil hovered by the door like an enthralled fan waiting outside the theatre for her idol to appear. Slow muffled footsteps sounded in the hall. “Here he is,” she cried. “My dear Merlin, I wouldn’t let them start tea without you. We have all been waiting.”
    “I’ll bet you have.” Uncle Merlin’s voice was strong though he leaned heavily on Aunt Sybil, a grey shadowy figure in the half-light. “Pack of vultures, the lot of you,” he snorted venomously. “Swooping down to pick the flesh off my withered bones, but I’ll fool you, every last one. I’m not dead yet, and we’ll see who has the last laugh.”
    “Wicked old man,” said Aunt Astrid, almost choking as she tugged at her pearls. “I expect he will leave everything to a cat home. He should be put away.”

CHAPTER
Six
    Our drive back to London the following afternoon was chilly; the weather was cool as well. Ben kept dwelling on my announcement of our engagement.
    “Oh, stuff it, you pompous little prig.” I’d had enough. My eyes were watering with cold and my left leg was in a coma. “What you resent is having Vanessa think you are desperate enough to settle for me. Don’t worry, she won’t think we are sleeping together. I told her you were impotent, a childhood mishap. When she learned you were half-Jewish she was easily convinced. Circumcision sounds like a simple operation, but the knife must slip sometimes.…”
    “Hell, Ellie.” Ben skidded neatly round a curve. “You’re impossible, but I wouldn’t have missed meeting you for anything. I almost hate taking your money.”
    “You’ll manage. In what manner would you like me to terminate our engagement? Will a formal notice in The Times be sufficient?”
    Ben grinned. “I can tell what kind of books you read. My mother reads the same drivel.” His voice sank to a growl.
    “My dearest, we were never meant for one another.… I beg that you put me out of your life forever. And remember whenyou dampen your pillow with your tears, that I was never good enough for you. Somewhere, some day out upon the far horizon …”
    “What? Another man? And give up the thrill of having my life blighted by hopeless passion? Not on your life. I am going home to my cat and life as a disappointed spinster.”
    Ben’s little car threaded its way tidily through the London traffic. We had made surprisingly good time. I had almost adjusted to the numbness below the knees when Ben skimmed into a tiny slot between two parked cars and flipped off the engine. Back to 129 Queen Alexandra Place.
    The interlude was over. I insisted that he not come up with me. We stood on the kerb like a couple of refugees stranded in the desolate wastes of Siberia, hands extended in farewell, the battered suitcase at my feet. We needed music, the poignant anguish of “Lara’s Theme.”
    “Sorry about keeping the top down,” said Ben, hands deep in his pockets.
    “Not at all. I feel all crisped up, like a fresh lettuce.” “I suffer from claustrophobia.” “Nasty,” I said. We stared at each other for those long moments that stretched like elastic until they snap. “Damn it, are you trying to turn this goodbye into a marathon for the Guinness Book of Records?”
    “Sorry.” He sounded huffy. Backs turned, we paced off in different directions. When I looked back he hadn’t moved and I imagined he was thinking how funny I looked from the rear—just like Aunt Sybil.
    The flat wasn’t a bad place to come home to. Tobias greeted me with unusual warmth and a rasp of his rough pink tongue. He even followed me into the bathroom and watched me take a scalding bath from which I emerged gleaming pinkly through a haze of steam. Tobias closed his eyes. “Cut that out,” I snapped. Yawning rudely, he disappeared round the door. “Go ahead, turn tail and run,