Free Dying on Principle by Judith Cutler

tie, and he emitted faint but tantalising odours which showed just how excessive everyone else’s aftershave was. This, Aberlene told us, was Richard Fairfax.
    We all smiled, and he nodded back, hard-mouthed, as if smiles were irrelevant to a serious meeting. Simon restarted the meeting, and the agenda moved along briskly. Then we started on investments.
    My only flirtation with the stock market was a few Abbey National shares. I didn’t even know where to look up share prices in the business pages, so I thought I had more to learn than to contribute. But I did remember Aberlene saying that the orchestra wanted ethical investments, and here was Richard Fairfax talking about firms everyone knew had connections with the arms trade. When Simon made a gentle protest, Fairfax looked at him coolly. ‘Are we discussing what the orchestra want or what would be best for the orchestra?’
    â€˜Even if that goes against the wishes of the orchestra?’ I asked.
    â€˜As a committee, and in particular as trustees, our task is to make money for the society. We have no other brief.’
    Frank, I feared, was about to agree with Fairfax, perhaps out of male solidarity. I caught Simon’s eye, willing him to call for a vote before Frank could succumb. The problem was, I had no idea of the constitution. Did committee members’ votes count as high as the trustees’? Perhaps a vote wasn’t the best manoeuvre after all. I coughed gently. ‘I’m sure some compromise must be available. Perhaps Mr Fairfax’s expertise would enable him to suggest alternative investments with an equally high yield?’
    I must have sounded convincing. Aberlene beamed at me, and Frank sighed with what sounded like relief. Simon seemed about to argue, but Adrian touched his hand lightly and smiled at him. Simon flushed with an embarrassment out of all proportion to any implied rebuke. I looked from one to the other.
    â€˜How soon would you want such suggestions?’ asked Fairfax.
    â€˜Would a week be too soon?’ Simon asked tentatively.
    Fairfax produced a gold-inlaid fountain pen and a slim diary.
    Simon looked hesitantly round the table. ‘Should we – if it’s convenient – decide on a date for our next meeting? We usually rotate venues, Sophie and … Richard,’ he said, with growing confidence, ‘so no one member gets lumbered with us all the time. And we like to ask members who don’t live too far out to let us use their homes – getting us all out to Redditch or somewhere is a bit of a pain. Sorry, Adrian: Alvechurch is too far.’ He smiled apologeticaly at Adrian. ‘But at least we won’t disturb your cats.’
    Adrian held the smile a moment longer than was socially necessary. No one else seemed to notice. I didn’t want to.
    â€˜How about Harborne?’ I asked to end the silence. ‘My place.’
    â€˜Next Thursday we’re in Bristol,’ said Aberlene. ‘And then the following one it’s Newcastle. So it looks like—’
    â€˜I would say this coming Monday,’ said Fairfax. ‘Unless that too is inconvenient?’ His voice challenged us to object.
    No one did.
    The musicians greeted Aberlene’s offer of coffee with delight, and settled down for what was obviously going to be a long gossip. But my biorhythms, centred on nine-o’-clock classes, had started to object to late nights, and I declined any refreshment. I considered calling a taxi, but the Outer Circle bus stop was only half a mile or so away down a well-lit road. Then there’d be a similar walk at the other end. On a May evening, walking would be a pleasure.
    But when I was only halfway to the bus stop, a red BMW stopped a couple of yards ahead of me. Clearly someone didn’t realise that the red-light district of Balsall Heath was two or three miles further into the city. Instead of leaning across to his passenger door, however, the