Free Home through the Dark by Anthea Fraser Page A

“Marcus, what is your job? What do you do?”
    â€œChanging the subject? All right. Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but there’s nothing mysterious about it. I’m a building consultant. I draw plans for extensions, new houses, all that kind of thing, and see them through from the drawing board to the planning department and beyond. Satisfied?”
    â€œWhich is why you went to Culpepper’s?”
    â€œOf course, and Freeman’s, and Jones, Henry. Why? Had that appeared sinister in some way too?”
    â€œYou work from home?”
    â€œI do. It’s easier and cheaper than paying for office premises. Next question!”
    I smiled reluctantly. “I’m sorry. I have been a bit jumpy lately.”
    â€œI’ve noticed. But you’re not going to tell me why?”
    â€œNot at the moment, anyway. Heavens, look at the time! I must go.”
    I met Sarah that evening as I was walking back from garaging the car.
    â€œWhat did you think of M.M.?” she demanded. “I bet he only came because of you. He’d seen you before somewhere, hadn’t he? He seemed pretty attentive – you’d better watch him!”
    I laughed. “Relax, Sarah, he’s not in the microfilm business after all!” Briefly I told her of his joining me for lunch and the explanation of his job. She looked rather disappointed.
    â€œWell, he certainly seems interested in you, whatever he does. How’s your job going?”
    â€œOkay. Having just got used to Miss Davidson, she’s off on a fortnight’s holiday today and on Monday I have to start getting to know the other girl.” Who, I added privately, might well be a likelier bet for my purposes than Isobel Davidson had proved.
    Looking back on that week, it is obvious that I was treating the whole rigmarole as a sort of game, a mental stimulant in the same vein as a crossword puzzle. As time passed without any further development and the seeming mysteries surrounding Marcus were peeled innocently away, the initial uneasiness I had felt faded and I was far from convinced that anything untoward had actually taken place.
    â€œHow about you and Andy coming round for supper tomorrow evening?” I suggested impulsively. The weekend stretched emptily ahead and I wanted to avoid at all costs the danger of allowing myself time to brood over Carl.
    â€œThat would be super! I’d like him to see how the other half lives!”
    It passed through my mind that Marcus would have made up a foursome, but I dismissed the idea at once. He wasn’t much given to small talk, I didn’t feel that he and the Fosses would find very much in common, and, most important to my way of thinking, it seemed wise not to become too involved with Marcus myself.
    The following morning I met Kitty at the supermarket. “Have you been along to the theatre this week?” she asked, as we trundled our baskets side by side.
    â€œNo, have you?”
    â€œA couple of times. Actually, I volunteered to go along and cook them some lunch tomorrow. They’re rehearsing like mad all day and Laurence doesn’t like going out for lunch – it breaks the continuity, he says. They’ve been living on sandwiches all week so I thought I’d rustle up something on the little stove at the theatre – nothing complicated, just a change from sandwiches.”
    Sunday was completely clear, a potential Carl-trap. “Like any help?”
    â€œI certainly would!”
    â€œWhat lines are you thinking along?”
    â€œOh, spaghetti Bolognese or something. I’ve bought a few tins of mince as a start.”
    â€œHow many will be there?”
    â€œAbout a dozen or so, I imagine, plus the stage manager, stage director and possibly some of the lighting people. I don’t know how far they’ve got.”
    â€œWhat play are they doing?”
    â€œ Twelfth Night. They double up some of the minor parts,