Read Online Where Death Delights by Bernard Knight - Free Book Online Page B

o’clock news on the massive Marconi radiogram that had been part of the furnishings, but the details of the national rail strike and the disaster at the Le Mans motor race in which a crashed Mercedes had killed over eighty people, were too depressing and they switched it off.
    â€˜No trains, but I think I’ll drive up to Berkshire in the morning to visit my parents,’ announced Angela. ‘I need to bring down some more of my things I’ve left with them since I left the flat.’
    â€˜At least you can get a decent meal when you’re home,’ suggested Richard. ‘I wonder if we’ll get any replies from that advertisement?’
    â€˜Hardly likely in a place as small as Tintern Parva,’ replied Angela. ‘I think you’ll have to put it in the local Monmouthshire paper to get any hope of a response.’
    It turned out that she was wrong about this, for later that evening as she was sitting upstairs her room, enjoying the view of the sunlit valley through the bay window, she heard the distant ringing of their solitary telephone in the hall below.
    It stopped after a few rings and a few moments later, there was a tentative tap on her door.
    â€˜Are you decent?’ came Richard’s voice. Even in the short time they had inhabited the house, they had both become meticulous about respecting each other’s space and he normally kept well clear of Angela’s territory. The bathroom was a problem and he was determined to hive off part of the spare bedroom behind his, to have a second one constructed.
    She went to the door and invited him in, motioning him to another chair opposite hers in the bay window. Because of the wonderful view, she used this front room as her lounge, again with remnants of the original furniture pressed into use. Her bedroom was the one behind and another project they had in mind was a connecting door, to save her having to go out on to the landing each time she wished to move from one room to the other.
    â€˜I heard the phone, was that more business for us?’
    He shook his head and gave her one of his impish grins.
    â€˜Guess what? That was a reply to our card in the post office. It’s only been there a few hours!’
    She leaned forward, as surprised as he had been.
    â€˜Good God? Who was it, someone from the village?’
    â€˜Yep, a lady called Moira Davison, lives just down the valley on the main road.’
    â€˜Moira Davison? Sounds Scottish, maybe all she can cook is haggis!’ said Angela, facetiously.
    â€˜She didn’t sound Scottish, she had a slight local accent. Said she can cook, but her main talent is secretarial work.’
    Angela looked dubious. ‘Can she make beds and clean the house as well, I wonder?’
    Richard shrugged. ‘We’ll find out on Monday. I suggested she came up here to see us in the afternoon. Hopefully, I’ll be down in Chepstow mortuary in the morning.’
    They discussed the economics of the matter and decided to see if she would come for five days at four pounds a week, given that she seemed suitable.
    â€˜What about income tax, national insurance and all that?’ asked Angela, as ever the practical one of the pair.
    â€˜I’ll have to ask my accountant about that – when I get one,’ he said vaguely. ‘Until then, we can slip her a few quid on the quiet.’
    Having committed themselves to the black economy, they had to wait until Monday to see what Mrs Moira Davison was like.
    Left alone on Saturday morning, after Angela had left for Berkshire, Pryor decided to wash his car in the back yard, using a hosepipe, sponge and chamois leather.
    He was very fond of the Humber, a handsome black saloon for which his father had stumped up the cost. Though five years old, it was as good as new and a great improvement on the pre-war Morris Ten he had had in Singapore. The car had survived the Japanese occupation but had been rapidly succumbing to