Free Why Aren't They Screaming? by Joan Smith

living in the cottage, as a matter of fact. When did he go?’
    Loretta folded her arms, a gesture that succeeded in removing her from contact with Jeremy’s hand without actual rudeness. She didn’t like being addressed as ‘love’ at the best of times, and certainly not by this petulant little creep. She was saved from replying to his question by the sudden appearance of Clara at the bottom of the lawn. She waved vigorously in their direction as she toiled up the hill.
    â€˜Jeremy, dear, you’ve met my new tenant,’ she said, dropping a light kiss on his forehead. She straightened up, beaming at Loretta and giving the distinct impression ofsomeone who was rather pleased with herself. ‘Good trip?’
    â€˜Eh? Oh, fine, fine.’ Jeremy got to his feet. ‘Clara, what’s all this about – urn’ – he looked at Loretta, obviously unable to recall her name – ‘about you letting the cottage? I’m sure I told you I wanted it for a friend of mine. Don’t you remember? We were talking about it last weekend, before I went to New York.’
    â€˜Really?’ Clara’s forehead wrinkled, as though with the effort of dredging something from the deepest recesses of memory. ‘I don’t
think
so, darling. Are you sure you mentioned it? Because it’s a bit late now. Loretta’s here, and I’ve promised the cottage to her for as long as she likes. So I don’t see there’s much to be done. Sorry.’
    â€˜Clara! I remember the conversation perfectly! You happened to say Wayne was moving out early and I –’
    â€˜Darling, I really don’t want to discuss it, especially not in front of Loretta. She must be feeling frightfully embarrassed.’ This much at least was true, especially as Loretta was pretty sure Clara was faking her memory lapse. Who could blame her, if Jeremy was responsible for installing the unlovable Wayne as her previous tenant? ‘Let’s leave it,’ Clara finished briskly. ‘I must see to lunch or we’ll have nothing to eat.’
    â€˜I’d like another beer,’ Jeremy called after his wife’s receding back, subsiding into the chair he’d just vacated. Clara showed no sign of having heard him.
    Loretta reached for her book and sat with it open on her lap, pretending to read. It had hardly been an affectionate reunion between husband and wife, and her own position was anything but comfortable. She didn’t relish the thought of living next door to someone who had made it clear that he resented her presence, and Clara had made no attempt at all to ease the atmosphere. Did she really want to move into the cottage in these circumstances? Her chief reason for staying – her anxiety that Clara shouldn’t be left alone to face the consequences of her role as protector of the peace camp – was no longer valid. Unprepossessing as Jeremy might be, he was still Clara’s husband, and on hand if anything untoward did happen. At this point in Loretta’s deliberations Clara reappeared and plonked a can of lager on the table in front of Jeremy.
    â€˜Clara,’ Loretta said, seizing her chance, ‘I’m feeling very bad about the cottage. If Jeremy wants it for a friend, wouldn’t it be better if I went back to London? I’m sure I can find something else if I hunt around for a bit. I don’t want to–’
    â€˜Heavens, Loretta, don’t even
think
of it! Jeremy doesn’t mind
really,
do you, darling?’
    Loretta waited for Jeremy to say that he did, and was disappointed.
    â€˜No, no, now that you’re here ...’ he said in resigned tones, picking up the can and pulling the ring to open it.
    â€˜But–’
    Loretta wasn’t allowed to get any further.
    â€˜I completely forgot. I’ve got a message for you, Loretta. Ellie and Here are going riding this afternoon and they wondered if you’d like a