Free Motive for Murder by Anthea Fraser Page A

be going. I’ve a man coming to see me about some poultry feed at five.’
    â€˜Thanks for meeting me, Mike. I needed to talk to someone.’
    â€˜A pleasure, always!’
    We drove back in silence, and again he stopped outside the gates. He kissed me on the mouth.
    â€˜Don’t worry your pretty head about the past, my love. The future’s all that matters. See you tomorrow?’
    â€˜Fine. What shall we do?’
    â€˜How about dinner at the farm – you’ve not been there yet. Derek and Sandra are coming too.’
    My precarious happiness faded and my face must have shown it.
    Mike said a trifle impatiently, ‘Look, Emily, they’re my friends. Try to like them.’ It sounded to me like an ultimatum – like them, or you kiss me goodbye. And I didn’t want to do that. They’d a longer-standing claim on him than I had, I reminded myself, and if I wouldn’t play ball on his terms, there were plenty of girls who would.

CHAPTER SEVEN
    As I dressed for my date with Mike the next evening, I was determined to be good company. I would not let Derek’s suggestiveness or Sandra’s inanity get under my skin as I had on Saturday. Mike was worth the effort of being pleasant to his friends, whatever my private opinion of them.
    I opened my bedroom door to come face to face with Matthew, on his way upstairs. His eyes took in the new lilac dress.
    â€˜Mike again?’
    â€˜Mike again.’
    â€˜Well, enjoy yourself. You make me feel old!’ He nodded and went along the passage to his room.
    This time, Mike was alone when he called for me.
    â€˜The others will be along later – they’re calling at the pub for a crate of beer.’ His eyes went over me, warm, personal and admiring – quite different from Matthew’s non-committal gaze. ‘You look good enough to eat!’
    We drove down to the main road and turned left, away from the town. The road hugged the coast for a while and I guessed we must have come this way through the fog to the Flamingo. Now, it was a calm September evening, the sky washed with deep blue, pink and gold as though splashed by a careless paint brush. Tiny fragments of cloud trailed like purple chiffon, and the seagulls, soaring into the sunset, became birds of flame. I drew a deep breath. It was all so perfect that it hurt.
    After a while the road left the coast to turn inland, passing scattered cottages and farms until we branched off it altogether up a steep, twisting lane with high hedges on either side. A wooden post announced ‘Chapel Farm. Private Road.’
    â€˜Very imposing!’ I said.
    â€˜We have to keep the rabble out!’ He drew up in front of a white, five-barred gate.
    â€˜I’ll open it,’ I said, and slipped out of the car. The gate swung easily and Mike edged the car through. We were in the farmyard, and I gave an involuntary exclamation of delight.
    The farm buildings and the long, low house formed three sides of a square, all of them painted white, and glowing in the setting sun. In the centre of the yard was a patch of grass, smooth and emerald green, with a copper beech tree in the middle of it.
    â€˜Oh Mike!’
    He got out of the car and came to join me. I could see he was pleased by my delight. ‘Yes, it is rather fine. Those are the byres and stables over there, and opposite us the pig and poultry sheds. This gate leads to the men’s cottages behind the farm house. It’s quite a little colony, as you can see.’
    â€˜It’s lovely, and so spotless!’ True enough, the cobbles underfoot looked as though they’d been scrubbed.
    â€˜â€œSeven maids with seven mops”!’ Mike laughed, taking my arm. ‘Come inside and meet Mrs Trehearn. Since you’re “company” we’ll use the front door.’
    We went through the low entrance into a tiny flagged passage. There was an oak door on either side and one straight