Dead Man's Dinner - Una Gordon Page 0,3
did you do that? Why didn't you do that? Why does everyone have such and such except us?” The monstrous whine of her voice had worn away any sweetness there had once been in the relationship and if he had loved her that love had all disappeared in the mists of time, but he was used to her; she had become a habit. Anyway he couldn't afford to divorce her and pay her maintenance. The idea of Derwent's money became more and more attractive. As the day wore on, Peter even convinced himself that he and Derwent had been mates, close friends, and he romanticised his few meetings with Derwent until he saw himself as Derwent's saviour, the shoulder on which he had cried, the one friend on whom Derwent could call if he was in trouble. He became so overcome by his own imaginings that he almost shed a tear at the thought of Derwent's lonely death. Derwent had died in hospital without apparently letting anyone know how ill he was. Why? It did not occur to Peter that if he had been the close friend he was now purporting to be he would have known because he would have been in touch with him regularly.
Peter's frame of mind by the time he went to bed that night was benevolent. All was well in his world. He had been, he now firmly believed, a good friend to Derwent and he was about to be repaid for that kindness. He fell asleep to sweet dreams in which he was now in some sunny paradise far away from Bianca's nagging. Even his headache next morning could not dispel the golden glow in which he now basked. Roll on the 22nd and money galore!
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Marcus Reeves' frame of mind was very different from Peter's as he went to bed that night. Marcus' lover, Perry, had been in a particularly difficult mood and that was quite a statement because none of his moods was ever easy. Marcus often felt he couldn't live with him, but then realised he couldn't live without him. Perry often took the liberty, as he did in so many other ways, of opening Marcus' mail, and when Marcus had arrived home that evening Perry was sulking and pouting like some child who has not been invited to the party and that, of course, was exactly what was wrong with him. He had read the invitation and had seen the scrawl which this time substituted “lover” for “wife”. All evening he had gone on and on about it. Why had Marcus been invited and not him? What special relationship had Marcus had with Derwent that he didn't know about? Marcus was as much in the dark about the invitation as Perry, but Perry would not believe him. Marcus had had a tough day at the gallery; his head was pounding and he could not have cared less whether or not he went to Derwent's dinner party. He had told Perry he would refuse the invitation, but that would not do. Why had he got an invitation in the first place? The more Marcus tried to reason with Perry, the more unreasonable Perry had become. He even packed his bags as he had done many times before and waited for Marcus to coax and cajole him to stay, but this time Marcus could think of nothing to convince him that he had not known Derwent well. Perry wept like a child, hurled abuse at Marcus that would have made Bianca's nagging sound like pleasant conversation, went into deep silences followed by long, wailing accusations of “You don't love me. If you did, you wouldn't behave like this.”
Like what, Marcus wondered? He had done nothing except receive an invitation to a dinner at the flat of a dead man – an invitation he did not even want. In the end, exhausted, Marcus went to bed, unaware that Perry had not left, but had sat up all night brooding. Of course, thought Marcus, I should have known he wouldn't leave. He'll want to find out what happens. Perry was nothing if not curious. Marcus couldn't have cared less what was to happen at the dinner party. One way and another Derwent had caused him a lot of trouble when he was alive and he was causing more now he was dead. Blast the man! Marcus knew he would go to the dinner party. Perry would insist.
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When the sixth envelope plopped through the letterbox, the