Free Last to Leave by Clare Curzon Page A

neighbours seemed the best way out.’
    But not as close as being with her in the same apartment. She seemed to hear warning bells. He was making it sound like building something more permanent between them, but at the same time it was a physical distancing. Wasn’t it?
    â€˜I like having you drop in,’ she told him.
    â€˜But I need somewhere permanent as well. If I give up in Pimlico, this would suit me well. The Prof isn’t asking its full value. A snip, you might say. And who knows, you might get to like seeing me on an almost daily basis. As a run-up to taking me on as a full-time husband.’
    She couldn’t suppress a smile. ‘Infiltration?’ ‘Something like that. I shall go on proposing, of course, if I see any signs of your relenting.’
    â€˜Ah, that reminds me,’ she said brightly, glad of a sideways shift of subject. ‘We’ve been sent a wedding invitation by Paula Musto. It’s for next Saturday. Short notice, owing to Angus getting special leave from duty in Kosovo. They’re taking a four day honeymoon in Scotland, then he has to go back and finish his commitment out there.’
    â€˜So he’s pulled it off at last! There’s hope for me yet.’
    â€˜We don’t have to act like lemmings,’ she said sharply and caught the flicker of some emotion cross Max’s face. ‘I’m sorry, sorry, sorry. You know how it is. It’s just the idea of marriage, being hobbled; the sameness, the dreariness that must inevitably creep in with familiarity. I don’t want that ever to happen to us.’

    He stood there considering her, his head tilted to one side. Then with an index finger he pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose in the familiar way. And just then she felt familiar wasn’t such a bad thing. Quite endearing, really.
    â€˜You’ve witnessed too many bad alliances,’ he said sombrely. ‘I have too, but I believe we could make something good out of it. However, I see that now’s not the right moment to start asking you again. Meanwhile, how do you feel about my taking on this flat? As a half-measure.’
    â€˜You must do as you wish,’ she granted ruefully ‘As you said, you’re sometimes allowed to make decisions of your own.’
    â€˜But your reaction is part of what I have to take into account.’
    Up until then they hadn’t touched. Now she rose and went across to him, put her arms round his neck and kissed his cheek. ‘I can’t imagine anyone I’d rather have living next door.’
    This was his cue for kissing her more thoroughly. From which he finally extricated himself, took a deep breath and demanded in mock-husbandly tones, ‘So, where’s me dinner?’
    Back in her own apartment, while she dealt with the steaks he’d left in her fridge, and Max dribbled vinaigrette into tossed salad, she explained what had taken her into work on a Sunday.
    â€˜Tomorrow,’ she added, ‘DI Salmon’s back from leave and the reign of terror will recommence. Meanwhile we’re free to make hay or whatever. That’s my life. So how was your week?’
    Settling to an evening of quiet companionship began to lessen her unease. Nothing appeared to have changed. Max was his normal gently droll self delivering anecdotes of newspaper life in the city, and if the alarm bells still sounded they seemed to have become less urgent and more distant.

    She had as good as told him to go ahead with his plans to move in next door. If it meant that her own apartment threatened to become sadly empty, at least it wasn’t immediate. He was here now and would be staying on tonight. She switched off all interest in the job to concentrate on the present.
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    DS Beaumont was shrugging on his jacket to take the dog for its evening walk – euphemism for a pint at the local. When the mobile phone buzzed in his pocket he knew in his bones it was