Free Cast For Death by Margaret Yorke Page A

too?’ he said to Liz.
    She was startled, and looked at Patrick.
    ‘Please,’ said Manolakis, and then was inspired. ‘It will be very happy for me if you are both my guests – I buy the tickets. How can it be done?’ He was delighted at having found a way to return some hospitality, typically forgetting that Patrick had stayed with him in Crete and the debt was quite the other way. ‘You will come, Elizabeth?’ He gave each syllable of her name its full value.
    Why not, thought Liz. Did Patrick want her to accept? His expression did not reveal what he felt, but it would be silly to make an issue of it; she went with him to the theatre two or three times a year, and afterwards he always quietly forgot her till the next time. This would be merely another such occasion. She would like to see Othello at Stratford.
    ‘Thank you, Dimitri. I would like it very much,’ she said.
    ‘We may not be able to get tickets at short notice,’ Patrick warned.
    ‘You sometimes can at the start of the season,’ said Liz. ‘We can try. When shall we go? I might be able to get away early on Friday, but otherwise it would have to be Saturday.’
    ‘Let’s ring them up,’ said Patrick. ‘It may be a different play each night.’
    Liz had a programme for the first weeks of the season. From that, they saw that Othello would be performed on Friday, and also on Saturday for the Birthday performance. They explained to Manolakis that the anniversary of Shakespeare’s birthday was always celebrated.
    ‘We won’t get in to that. It will be booked up for the important guests,’ said Patrick.
    ‘Well, let’s try for Friday, then,’ said Liz. She was about to make the telephone call herself, automatically, but something stopped her. ‘There’s the telephone, Patrick,’ she said. ‘You ring them up.’
    He gaped at her. She sounded so bossy; just like Jane. But he rang up the theatre and was able to book three good stalls seats for the Friday performance; the tickets had just been returned.

 
Part VIII
1
     
    ‘She is a lovely woman, your Elizabeth,’ said Manolakis as they drove away. ‘She is your mistress?’
    ‘Good heavens, no!’ exclaimed Patrick. ‘Nothing like that.’
    ‘But why not? Or you will marry – she is not married, is she?’
    ‘She’s divorced. Her husband was—her marriage was unhappy—they parted years ago,’ said Patrick, feeling flustered at this inquisition.
    ‘You like her.’
    ‘Very much,’ said Patrick.
    ‘Well, then, it is natural – the one or the other,’ said Manolakis in his direct, Greek way.
    ‘It’s not as easy as that,’ said Patrick. ‘You Greeks, with your warm sunshine and your blue skies – these things seem simpler to you.’
    ‘Take her to Greece, then, Patrick, and it will be simple for you,’ said Manolakis.
    Patrick was so stupefied by this conversation that he drove in silence for the next six miles while Manolakis admired the countryside.
    ‘Perhaps she has some other lover,’ the Greek said after a while.
    ‘Who? Liz?’
    ‘Yes. She is attractive. It must be so.’
    The very notion was enough to make Patrick lose his concentration and drive without proper care. He scowled at the road ahead; if Manolakis was right, the fellow might be with her now. What a thought! Patrick gripped the steering-wheel tightly and pushed the car on faster, driving the loathsome idea out of his mind.
    Liz, in fact, spent a solitary evening after they had gone, listening to a concert on Radio Three.
    When they reached the place where Patrick had hit the dog, he turned off across the common.
    Although it was evening now, it was still light, and a few people were strolling about. Some had dogs with them. Several cars were drawn in off the road and parked under the trees. They passed houses which drew surprised and admiring comments from Manolakis. It must all seem very strange to his alien eyes, Patrick supposed. Parts of England were still lovely, despite motorways, flyovers,