Free Who Saw Him Die? by Sheila Radley Page B

try.’
    â€˜No thanks .’ Quantrill had never had any inclination to go abroad, and he saw no reason why he should have abroad foisted on him when he was at home. ‘But at least there’s plenty of elbow room here, and it’s not a bad cup of coffee,’ he conceded. ‘If the management has the decency to give us a free refill I might even come again.’
    He signalled to the waitress – the refills were free – then sat back and looked round the buttery. It had been completely refurbished since his last visit, but now he was here again he could recall that occasion as though it were yesterday. He was with a woman then – Jean Bloomfield, who had been headmistress of the girls’ grammar school when his daughters were pupils. Jean, a widow with whom he had fallen so blindly in love that he had publicly held her hand across the table as he tried to repudiate his marriage … Jean, who for a moment had returned the strength of his clasp and acknowledged that the attraction, at least, was mutual …
    Well, that was all four years ago. The tragedy and heartbreak of that relationship had shaken him profoundly, and had taught him to keep his emotions in check. True, he’d since had some long-term eye contact with a shapely woman police constable – but he’d made no attempt to take it any further, and WPC Patsy Hopkins had eventually deserted him to marry his boss.
    And now here he was with Hilary Lloyd, who had neither the sad beauty of Jean nor the obvious physical attractions of Patsy. What she had instead was capability, directness, a shining intelligence. Having at first resented her intrusion into the masculine world of Breckham Market CID, Quantrill had found himself increasingly glad of her presence both professionally and personally. He valued her, desired her company; desired her.
    He wasn’t in love with her, he knew that. Having had the experience of falling in love with Jean Bloomfield, he couldn’t confuse that overwhelming passion with the lesser longing he felt for Hilary. This, he supposed wryly, was probably what was known as infatuation … And yes, common sense told him that if he pushed his chances with her, he might not only make a fool of himself but lose her completely. One wrong move from him, and she’d almost certainly ask for a transfer.
    But to hell with common sense. That was what had kept him from taking advantage of Patsy Hopkins’s friendship, and look where that had got him: best man at her wedding!
    Besides, time wasn’t on his side. Lesser longing or not, what he wanted was an opportunity to prove to Hilary – and therefore to himself – that he was still young, still capable of ardour. He was working on the problem when he heard her say, ‘What about the bedroom?’
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜Clanger Bell’s bedroom. Why did you make a point of asking Eunice Bell if you could look at it before we left Tower House?’
    â€˜Oh – sorry, I was thinking of a different person.’ He lit one of the appetite-quelling small cigars that he occasionally smoked. A man was entitled to some pleasures.
    â€˜Yes, Clanger … Well, when it was obvious that we couldn’t shake Miss Bell’s claim that her brother was murdered,’ he explained, ‘I thought we ought to let her see us starting an investigation. And having a look at poor old Clanger’s bedroom was the only thing I could think of.’
    â€˜His sister was completely taken aback when you asked to see it,’ said Hilary. ‘She certainly wasn’t expecting that. She carried it off very well, I thought, considering that her brother can’t have slept in the room she showed us for at least thirty years. It was very sad, really – all those ancient teenage adventure magazines, and the model aircraft, gathering dust in that cold room … I wonder where he really slept?’
    â€˜By the kitchen