Read Online Mourn not your Dead by Deborah Crombie - Free Book Online
Authors: Deborah Crombie
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park, just as Claire had done, and crossed over Onslow Street into the Friary by the covered pedestrian walkway. Gusts of wind had shaken the bridge as the first drops of rain slicked the street below.
“Mmmm,” she answered, eyes on the dress in the window again. It was short, clingy, and black, the kind of dress she never bought, never had occasion to wear.
“Nice dress. You’d look great in it.” Will studied her, and she felt conscious of her unremarkable trousers and jacket. “How long has it been since you’ve bought something you didn’t need for work?”
Gemma frowned. “I can’t remember. And I’ve never had a dress like that.”
“Go on,” Will urged, grinning. “Treat yourself. Have a quick look while I ring the station and check in.”
“You’re a bad influence, Will. I shouldn’t, I really shouldn’t…” She was still grumbling as Will waved at her and ambled off in the direction of the phone box, but there didn’t seem much point without an audience. Will was uncannily on the mark. She bought good quality, serviceable clothes, neutral enough to wear over and over, conservative enough not to hinder her career prospects—and she suddenly hated them. ‘The condemned went quietly,” she said under her breath and entered the shop.
She emerged feeling a decade older—the teenage sales clerk had been dreadfully condescending—and considerably lighter in her bank balance. Thrusting the plastic carrier bag at Will, she said accusingly, “I can’t go around making inquiries carrying my shopping. Now what will I do?”
“Roll it up and put it in your handbag.” Will demonstrated patiently. “You could hide an army in this thing. I’ve never understood why women don’t get permanently lopsided from carrying around the equivalent of a suitcase all day.” He looked at his watch. “We’ve still Sainsbury’s to try, but I’m starving. Let’s get a bite of lunch first, and maybe the rain will stop.”
After some debate they settled on the fish and chip shop in the food court and carried their trays to one of the molded plastic tables in the common area. Will tucked into his food with relish, but with the first bite of fish, grease coated Gemma’s mouth and ran down her throat, threatening to gag her with its rancid slickness. She pushed the tray away, and when Will looked up and frowned she snapped, “Don’t lecture me, Will. I’m not hungry. And I hate mushy peas.” She pushed at the distasteful mess with the tines of her plastic fork.
When he returned to his lunch without comment, Gemma felt a rush of shame. “I’m sorry, Will. I’m not usually like this. Really. It must be something about this case. Makes me feel all jumpy. And it’ll be worse once the press get in full swing.”
“Sensitive, are you?” Will said as he loaded his fork with fish and peas, adding a chip for good measure. “It’s your guv and mine who’ll have to tread carefully. Heads could roll if things aren’t sorted out fast enough to please the powers that be. I’d just as soon not be in their shoes. Give me door-to-door in the rain any day.” He smiled and she felt restored to his good graces.
When he’d mopped up the last of his lunch, she said, “Sainsbury’s then?”
“And afterwards we’ll stop in at the station and you can get acquainted with the lads in the incident room.”
NEITHER THE DELI CLERK NOR THE CHECKOUT GIRL AT SAINSBURY’S proved the least bit helpful. Gemma and Will came out into the High again discouraged, but at least Will had got his wish and the rain had receded to a soft drizzle. The pavements were thronged with shoppers, and a columned passageway held banks of flower stalls. At the bottom of the steep street, Gemma could see the soft colors of the trees lining the riverbanks.
“You’ll have to see it in better circumstances,” said Will. “It’s lovely when the sun shines, and there’s a first-class museum in the castle.”
“You’re mind
“Mmmm,” she answered, eyes on the dress in the window again. It was short, clingy, and black, the kind of dress she never bought, never had occasion to wear.
“Nice dress. You’d look great in it.” Will studied her, and she felt conscious of her unremarkable trousers and jacket. “How long has it been since you’ve bought something you didn’t need for work?”
Gemma frowned. “I can’t remember. And I’ve never had a dress like that.”
“Go on,” Will urged, grinning. “Treat yourself. Have a quick look while I ring the station and check in.”
“You’re a bad influence, Will. I shouldn’t, I really shouldn’t…” She was still grumbling as Will waved at her and ambled off in the direction of the phone box, but there didn’t seem much point without an audience. Will was uncannily on the mark. She bought good quality, serviceable clothes, neutral enough to wear over and over, conservative enough not to hinder her career prospects—and she suddenly hated them. ‘The condemned went quietly,” she said under her breath and entered the shop.
She emerged feeling a decade older—the teenage sales clerk had been dreadfully condescending—and considerably lighter in her bank balance. Thrusting the plastic carrier bag at Will, she said accusingly, “I can’t go around making inquiries carrying my shopping. Now what will I do?”
“Roll it up and put it in your handbag.” Will demonstrated patiently. “You could hide an army in this thing. I’ve never understood why women don’t get permanently lopsided from carrying around the equivalent of a suitcase all day.” He looked at his watch. “We’ve still Sainsbury’s to try, but I’m starving. Let’s get a bite of lunch first, and maybe the rain will stop.”
After some debate they settled on the fish and chip shop in the food court and carried their trays to one of the molded plastic tables in the common area. Will tucked into his food with relish, but with the first bite of fish, grease coated Gemma’s mouth and ran down her throat, threatening to gag her with its rancid slickness. She pushed the tray away, and when Will looked up and frowned she snapped, “Don’t lecture me, Will. I’m not hungry. And I hate mushy peas.” She pushed at the distasteful mess with the tines of her plastic fork.
When he returned to his lunch without comment, Gemma felt a rush of shame. “I’m sorry, Will. I’m not usually like this. Really. It must be something about this case. Makes me feel all jumpy. And it’ll be worse once the press get in full swing.”
“Sensitive, are you?” Will said as he loaded his fork with fish and peas, adding a chip for good measure. “It’s your guv and mine who’ll have to tread carefully. Heads could roll if things aren’t sorted out fast enough to please the powers that be. I’d just as soon not be in their shoes. Give me door-to-door in the rain any day.” He smiled and she felt restored to his good graces.
When he’d mopped up the last of his lunch, she said, “Sainsbury’s then?”
“And afterwards we’ll stop in at the station and you can get acquainted with the lads in the incident room.”
NEITHER THE DELI CLERK NOR THE CHECKOUT GIRL AT SAINSBURY’S proved the least bit helpful. Gemma and Will came out into the High again discouraged, but at least Will had got his wish and the rain had receded to a soft drizzle. The pavements were thronged with shoppers, and a columned passageway held banks of flower stalls. At the bottom of the steep street, Gemma could see the soft colors of the trees lining the riverbanks.
“You’ll have to see it in better circumstances,” said Will. “It’s lovely when the sun shines, and there’s a first-class museum in the castle.”
“You’re mind
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