Strictly Murder (34 page)

My hands were full of wet rocket leaves when the doorbell rang.

"Jerry! What a nice surprise, Come in."

"I'm not disturbing you, am I?"

He looked tired, hag-ridden and care worn and definitely in need of some TLC. I wondered if that was why he had come or whether he had more sinister motives for arriving, unannounced, on my doorstep.

"No, not at all. I was just making myself some supper. Please say you'll stay and join me."

Was it just my imagination or did he look relieved, less tense, less tight in the shoulders, at my invitation?

"I'd love to, thank you. What are we having?"

"Only omelettes and salad," I told him, putting the now dried rocket into a bowl. "With a selection of cheese, Cheddar, Stilton, Brie, for after."

"Great. What can I do to help?"

"You can open the wine to start with."

I pointed to the wine rack under the work surface.

"Any preference?" he asked, sitting on his haunches for a closer look at the half dozen bottles that constituted my wine cellar.

"Mmm. There's a Montepulciano, left hand side, top row, that should do nicely."

I cracked eggs into a bowl, whisking them with a fork until frothy.

"You'll find cutlery, plates and glasses on the dresser thing, behind you."

"The dresser thing?"

His glance travelled round the kitchen till he found it. I watched him as he laid the table placings with military precision.

"You weren't in the army, were you, Jerry?"

"Me? Good heavens, no!" He caught my glance and grinned. "That's what comes from growing up in a large family with only a small dining table."

I took some ham from the fridge along with the cheese to let it come up to room temperature and added lettuce to the salad. Then I reached the frying pan down from the shelf above the stove.

"So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"

I swung the pan in my hands for a moment. Jerry stared at it as if thinking I might use it to hit him.

"I just wanted to see you. See how the recovery was going. I phoned KD's thinking you were still there. She told me you'd come home, already."

Already? I'd been at Bishop Lea for nearly four days, playing the part of the invalid. While it's nice to be pampered once in a while, I had begun to feel overly protected, wrapped up in cotton wool by KD's kindness. She had brought me home the previous day after a trip to the showroom for me to choose a new car.

"I'm fine," I reassured him. "I still get the occasional headache but that's no reason to lie, malingering, at KD's."

"Malingering? Hardly that, surely? It was a pretty nasty smash you had, Verity."

I shrugged and turned away from him, pouring eggs into the pan. A good omelette needs constant attention. Like a man, really.

I served his before I served my own, urging him to get started.

"You should always eat an omelette whilst it's hot."

I carried my plate to the table a moment or so later, glad to see him tucking in. We ate in companionable silence.

"Mmm. Excellent." He smiled in satisfaction as he finished the last of the eggs and ham. "Did Jacques teach you how to make such a brilliant omelette?"

He sat back in the chair, fingers interlaced over his stomach.

"Cheek!" I laughed. "I'll have you know that Jacques admits I make a better omelette than he does."

"I can well believe it, if that was an example."

I cleared the plates to the draining board and brought the cheese on to the table.

He picked up his wine - he'd barely touched it so far, but then he was driving - holding the glass by the stem, twirling it back and forth in his fingers, an action that reminded me of my employer.

"Do you enjoy cooking, Verity?"

I reached into the back of the cupboard for a packet of crackers to accompany the cheese before I answered.

"I don't mind it but it's more that I enjoy my food. I should have thought that was obvious," I said, putting a hand on my tummy and waist. In fact, I had lost quite a bit of weight after several days on hospital rations.

He ran an appreciative glance over my body.

"From where I'm sitting, I can't see anything I don't like the look of."

I blushed and sat down offering him a grape from the fruit bowl on the table.

"I take delivery of my new car, tomorrow." I changed the subject. "Courtesy of KD."

"That's very generous of her."

"Oh, I shall pay her the insurance money, when I get it, but, yes, she is very kind."

"She obviously makes a lot of money from her books."

"Well, I'm her PA not her accountant," I smiled across the table before cutting a sliver of cheddar, "But I'm sure she does."

"Who says crime doesn't pay?" He laughed. "Maybe I should turn to writing."

"You could always collaborate with KD on your cases."

"Actually, I was thinking of a closer, more personal, collaboration."

His hand closed over mine, hazel brown eyes searched my face, hoping for… for what?

"I'll admit that the middle of an important murder enquiry is hardly the best time to fall in love …" He went on, hesitantly.

"Is that's what happening?" I asked, thinking back to my conversation with Val and Jacques.

"I don't know. But I'd like to find out."

I withdrew my hand. Confused, I left the table, moving our used plates and cutlery to the sink. I squirted washing-up liquid into the bowl before turning on the tap, watching as the contents bubbled and frothed—a pretty good description of my brain at the moment.

He pushed back his chair and came and stood behind me, hands sliding round my waist to hold me, hot breath tickling my skin as he buried his face in my neck.

"Verity, Verity," he murmured.

I could feel my body responding to his, to the brush of his lips on my neck, my throat. I tried to concentrate on the fact that I had my hands deep in soap suds.

"Jerry, this is too soon." I made an effort to sound brisk, matter of fact. "I've barely known you a fortnight."

"Two weeks, three days," he whispered, husky voiced, as his mouth caressed my neck, my cheek, my mouth.

Was the man keeping count? I thought only women did that. Reluctantly I pulled away.

"Tea towel." I pointed to a couple of hooks in the front of the work surface. "Pots. Dry."

"You're a hard woman," he said, sliding his arms, slowly, from around my middle and picking up the cloth.

I wasn't but, never again wanting to be hurt, after Rob had left me I'd built a barrier around my heart. The brickwork had started to crumble when I'd met Valentino but I'd buttressed it well and the wall had remained intact. Did I really want to demolish it now for a man who riled as much as he attracted me? Besides, I had other preoccupations at the moment.

"I'm not, Jerry, believe me, I'm not. I just need time to sort my life out. I need to forget all about JayJay, car crashes, and Greg bloody Ferrari before I can think about other things …"

I placed a freshly washed plate on the drainer.

"Did you fancy Ferrari?"

"No, I fu…"

I'd been about to lash out in fury at the question until I saw the twist to his mouth, the laughter in his eyes.

"His body, yes. Him, no. He was too busy fancying himself."

When we'd finished the pots I took him by the hand led him through to the living room. He slid his arm round my shoulders as I curled up next to him on the settee.

"You know, Jerry, we've forgotten the book."

"The book?"

"Yes, JayJay's exposé. You remember, Holly told me she was writing a memoir."

"Mmm."

"So what happened to it?"

"Well," he muttered in between kissing the top of my head gently, soothingly rather than lustfully like before, "There was a page of it under the bed in Willow Drive. Obviously missed by your eagle eye, Miss Marple."

"What?" I pulled away and turned to face him. He laughed.

"No, I'm joking. We found it in her safety deposit box at her bank."

"Oh! And?"

"Well, as a work of literary merit …"

"Idiot!" I punched him, playfully, on the arm. "Did you find anything in it? Any hint who killed her?"

He drew my head back onto his chest, stroking my hair.

"She certainly didn't hold back. Vicious isn't the word for it, it's pure vitriol in places. And she'd been doing an awful lot of prying into other people's business."

"Mmm? Including Candida Clark throwing acid at somebody, perhaps?"

"How did you know that?" The policeman was back in his voice.

"Just something Holly told me. She overheard part of a conversation JayJay had with Candy without, I think, seeing the significance of it."

I thought back to my first visit to Silverton. According to Holly, JayJay had remarked on 'how disfiguring acid could be'. I'd thought at the time it was a strange way to describe spilling vinegar on a dress and that the presenter had implied far more by it than Holly had realised.

"And you never thought to tell me?"

"Well, you didn't seem to want my help."

I sounded petulant, even to myself.

"I didn't want you getting hurt," he said, quietly.

"And you never told me about finding the book," I pointed out.

"Touché." He smiled briefly before becoming serious again. "She also knew about Ferrari's hit and run and John Brackett's serial womanising."

"But that doesn't help," I cried. "We know that Greg could not have killed her and I hardly think …"