Dead Man's Dinner - Una Gordon Page 0,5

tell his wife.

Chapter Two

The evening of 21st October saw Graham Carson preparing for the evening of the 22nd. He laid out his clothes, ensuring each garment was clean, uncreased and thoroughly brushed. He was meticulous in everything he did – a place for everything and everything in its place. He was, therefore, rather annoyed when he discovered that his gold cufflinks were not in the leather box, marked “cufflinks” on his dressing table. He thought he had looked in every conceivable place without success when his eyes alighted on Rachel's large, leather jewel box. Could they be in there?

He knew Rachel would know where they were, but he baulked at phoning her because when she got these calls from her mother, he always insisted how independent he was, trying to conceal his annoyance at her impending departure with an air of “Who needs you anyway?” Rachel, like him, did not like other people meddling with her things, but he'd look anyway. The jewel box had several compartments and he drew a blank in every one, then he remembered (for he had bought the jewel box for Rachel) that it had a kind of drawer underneath, access to which was obtained from the back of the box. He turned the box round and pulled the small handle. The drawer did not budge. He tugged, but still nothing happened. Obviously something was jamming it. As he kept tugging, he inserted his fingers in the narrow opening, trying to hold down whatever was preventing the drawer from opening.. It appeared to be paper of some kind. Graham could not imagine what on earth Rachel could keep in her jewel box – except, of course, her jewellery. At last with a jerk the whole drawer came out. The wad of paper which had been jamming the drawer was quite thick and as Graham opened it, he noticed that the top sheet, and he was to discover all the others, were closely typed. At the top was what appeared to be a title, but his struggling with the drawer had torn the paper and obliterated the title, but he could read by Rita Carstairs – obviously a pseudonym for Rachel Carson. His wife was writing a book and had never told him. How nice, thought Graham smugly. She has found a new interest – something to fill her time while I am at work. He began to read it, already planning to tell Rachel he had discovered her little secret and intending to encourage her whether the content was any good or not. He took the manuscript through to the sitting room, poured himself a glass of wine and began to read, all thoughts of cufflinks temporarily banished from his mind.

The first page set the scene for what was obviously a romantic novel. There was nothing very original in the boy meets girl plot except perhaps the prospective hero and heroine were rather older than a boy and girl – mature perhaps would have described them or, perhaps less flatteringly, middle-aged.

The benign expression on Graham's face had altered to a stony expression by the time he had reached the third page. The erotic love scene verbally unfolded before his eyes. Where had Rachel learned about such things? Their sex life, his and Rachel's, had always been so, so decorous. Perhaps dull would be a better word. He remembered reading once about a vicar who had described his sex life with his wife as “surreptitious fumblings in the dark”. Is that how Rachel had seen their love life? She had never complained or had she? He remembered once, a long time ago, she had tentatively suggested they try something different – nothing very adventurous – just a change of position. They had tried it once, rather unsuccessfully, and she had never mentioned the subject again. She always complied when he made advances and he had believed she was perfectly satisfied.

But had she really? Had he ever considered her feeling on the matter; had he ever asked? He knew the answer although he found it difficult to admit it to himself. The expression on his face now was that of a spoiled child – pouting and sulky. It was obvious that Rachel had gone elsewhere for her sexual adventures. He looked at the manuscript again. She could not have learned such things from films, television or reading books. Before many minutes he saw himself in the role of the wronged husband and was uttering such phrases to