Inspector Morse 12 Death is Now My Neighbour

Truth to tell, she was aging rather more quickly than most women of her years. Networks of varicose veins marred the long, still-shapely legs; and her stomach was a little distended around the waistband of the elegant trouser-suits which recently she almost invariably wore. The neck had grown rather gaunt, and there were lines and creases round her eyes. Yet the face itself was firmly featured still; and to many a man she remained an attractive woman - as she had appeared to Julian Storrs when first he had encountered her ... in those extraordinary circumstances. And few there were who even now could easily resist the invitation of those almond eyes when after some dinner party or drinks reception she removed the dark glasses she had begun to wear so regularly.

Having swiftly swallowed her Martini, Angela Storrs got to her feet and poured herself another - her husband making no demur. In fact, he was quite happy when she decided to indulge her more than occasional craving for alcohol, since then she would usually go to bed, go to sleep, and reawaken in a far more pleasant frame of mind.

'What are your chances - honestly?'

'Hope is a Christian virtue, you know that'

'Christ! Can't you think of anything better to say than that?'

He was silent awhile. 'It means a lot to you, Angela, doesn't it?'

'It means a lot to you, too,' she replied, allowing her slow words to take their full effect 'It does, doesn't it?"

*Yes,' he replied softly, 'it means almost everything to me.'

Angela got up and poured herself another Martini.

'I'm glad you said that. You know why? Because it doesn't just mean almost everything to me - it means literally everything. I want to be the Master's Wife, Julian. I want to be Lady Storrs! Do you understand how much I want that?'

Yes ... yes, I think I do.'

'So ... so if we have to engage in any "dirty-tricks" business...'

'What d'you mean?'

'Nothing specific.'

'What d'you mean?' he repeated.

'As I say...'

'Come on! Tell me!'

'Well, let's say if it became known in the College that Shelly Cornford was an insatiable nymphomaniac ... ?'

"Thatjust isn't/air!'

Angela Starrs got to her feet and drained the last drop of her third drink:

'Who said it was?'

'Where are you going?'

'Upstairs, for a lie-down, if you don't object I'd had a few before you got back - hadn't you noticed? But I don't suppose so, no. You haven't really noticed me much at all recendy, have you?'

'What's that supposed to mean?'

But she was already leaving die room, and seemed not to hear.

Storrs took another small sip of his brandy, and pulled die copy of die previous evening's Oxford Mail from the lower shelf of die coffee-table, its front-page headline staring at him again:

MURDER AT KIDLINGTON

Woman Shot Through Kitchen Window

'What did you tell Denis?'

'He's got a tutorial, anyway. I just said I'd be out shopping.'

'He told you about die College Meeting?'

She nodded.

'You pleased?'

'Uh, uh!'

'It'll be a bit of a nerve-racking time for you."

"You should know!'

'Only a month of it, though.'

'What d'you think his chances are?'

'Difficult to say.'

'Will you vote for him?'

'I don't have a vote.'

'Unless it's a tie.'

'Agreed. But that's unlikely, they tell me. Arithmetically quite impossible - if all twenty-three Fellows decide to vote.'

'So you won't really have much say in things at all.'

'Oh, I wouldn't say that. I'll be a bit surprised if one or two of the Fellows don't ask me for a little advice about, er, about their choice.'

'And?'

'And I shall try to be helpful.'

'To Denis, you mean?'

'Now I didn't say that, did I?'

The great cooling-towers of Didcot power-station loomed into view on the left, and for a while little more was said as the two of them continued the drive south along the A34, before turning off, just before the Ridge-way, towards the charming little village of West Ilsley.

'I feel I'm letting poor old Denis down a bit,' he said, as the dark blue Daimler pulled up in front of the village pub.

'Don't you think /do?' she snapped. 'But I don't keep on about it.'

At the bar, he ordered a dry white wine for Shelly Cornford and a pint of Old Speckled Hen for himself;

and the pair of them studied the Egon Ronay menu chalked up on a blackboard before making dieir choices, and sitting down at a window-table overlooking the sodden village green.

'Do you think we should stop meeting?' He asked it quietly.

She appeared to consider the question more as an exercise in logical evaluation than as any emotional dilemma.

'I don't want that to happen.'

She brushed the back of her right wrist down the front of his dark grey suit.

'Pity we've ordered lunch,' he said quietly.

'We can always give it a miss.'

'Where shall we go?'

'Before we go anywhere, I shall want you to do something for me.'

"You mean something for Denis?'

She nodded decisively.

'I can't really promise you too much, you know that'

She looked swifdy around the tables there, before moving her lips to his ear. '/ can, though. I can promise you everything, Clixby,' she whispered.