Enter Pale Death(124)

Joe grinned. “Don’t kid yourself. She just doesn’t want to be ‘Hannah Hunnybun.’ ”

“It had occurred to me. But I don’t stop trying. Look, Joe … Don’t mess your life up out of pride or misplaced loyalty. We do a nasty job. The nastiness can rub off on you. What you need is a loving dog who’s never going to notice and, failing that, a good woman who does see it and helps you scrub it off.”

“One more apple brandy and you’ll have me agreeing with you,” Joe said doubtfully.





CHAPTER 26


Joe trailed a hand in the cool green water, snatching at a strand of weed for the pleasure of feeling its slippery smoothness between his fingers. The punt he was lounging in surged forward at a kick from the pole and he cut his hand on the plant’s sharp edge.

“Watch it!” he growled. “I’m supposed to be spending a relaxing afternoon recovering from my exertions. All this swooshing and heaving about makes me feel like a badly stowed cotton bale. Where am I supposed to put my feet? This cushion’s soaking wet! Call this fun? Isn’t it my turn yet to have a go with the punt pole?”

“Not until you’ve fully appreciated the demonstration I’m giving you.”

“I’ve been watching. And—I’ve been meaning to ask for the last mile—aren’t you standing in the wrong place? Why are you balancing precariously on the platform at the back? It would make more sense to put your feet down here in the body of the boat. You’d have much better control, surely?”

“You know nothing of the mechanics of punting. Oxford ignoramuses punt from inside, Cambridge men stand up here on the stern. I don’t want to attract rude shouts and possibly a dunking from the local chaps—they get very picky about style. But I can see you’re the sort of man who can’t bear to be pushed around by a girl. Look—there’s a deep, grassy indent in the bank over there and a convenient willow to hitch the punt to. I’ll make for that. We’re not all that far from Grantchester meadows now. It’s a wilderness of buttercups and tall-growing Queen Anne’s Lace. Plenty of shade. We could be thinking about landing for tea.”

She nodded down at the hamper Joe was struggling to prevent from overturning. “I asked them at the hotel to forget about the flask of tea and put a bottle of champagne in there. For consolation or celebration? I’m not sure yet. Depends on what you have to say for yourself. Or there’s apple juice if you want to keep a clear head. And some ham sandwiches, some spice buns from Fitzbillies and a chocolate cake. That do you?”

The promise of chocolate cake and the sight of Adelaide Hartest’s sunburnt bare feet right in front of his eyes produced a sigh of pleasure and a stir of excitement. Her damp summer frock was clinging in a very indecent manner to her legs and her face was pink with exertion, her eyes alight with humour. Perhaps there was something to be said for punting after all.

“Watch it, Adelaide,” he warned. “I can work magic with spice buns.”

“Joe,” she said with a smile that was uncomplicated, warm and for him alone, “you don’t need the buns.”