The Alex King Series by A BATEMAN (free ebook reader for ipad TXT) 📕

As usual, there was a pang of emptiness as he walked through to the kitchen. Jane had designed and furnished and decorated. It still had her stamp on it. Caroline had respectfully started to leave her mark on the property, with little knickknacks and ornaments, a few scatter cushions and lifestyle magazines on the coffee table. And candles. Always candles. King would often joke that she needed to embrace electricity. But it was all about the various aromas, apparently.

There was always a feeling of being torn between the material things, the two defining chapters of his life, but King was not big on possessions and if he couldn’t carry it on his back, he knew he didn’t really need it.

He made his way back out into the hallway and took the bag upstairs to the master bedroom, dumped it on the bed and considered whether he had time to take a quick shower. He got his answer when he saw the headlights sweep across the window. The vehicle emerged from the rutted lane and the headlights swept across the cottage as the car parked next to his hire car and the lights switched off.

He knew he had made an error in judgement.

The end of a conversation, the offer, the rebuff, the alternative, the acceptance.

Twenty-seconds of conversation that he now needed to move past, control and not allow to escalate. He took the stairs quickly, glanced into the hall mirror as he walked towards the front door. He was a rugged man, fit and handsome in an untidy, naturally casual way. But he only saw a man and had no idea whether he appealed to people. He thought his grey-blue eyes looked cold, a little cruel. People often thought he was angry when in truth, he was just looking at them. Caroline would often joke that his lack of pride in his appearance was what made him so appealing. He remembered his wife had said something similar. Like Indiana Jones towards the end of an adventure. Beaten up, but still going. Still worth betting on.

He opened the door and smiled at Amanda Cunningham. She had changed, put on a figure hugging dress. It was low and high. Low cut on the cleavage and high up the leg. Caroline always insisted that she would only ever do one, but not both. Flesh both top and bottom was an indication of desperation and sent out signals. King felt a pang of anguish. He had been naïve. Old enough to know better, young enough to still feel schoolboy excitement.

“Are you going to let me in?” she asked. She wore red lipstick and her hair was down, waves running through it. It looked salon-fresh. Smelled like a salon too.

“Sorry,” he said, stepping backwards and holding the door open. Stupidly he had stepped the wrong way and when she stepped in, she was forced to duck under his arm and brushed across his chest. She smelled of subtle perfume, hints of jasmine. She smiled again, handed him a bottle of wine. “Thanks,” he said, taking it from her.

“What are we having?”

“Steak,” he replied. He was regretting his offer. He had wanted to talk further, maybe over a drink. In truth, he had just needed a cup of tea after seeing all the death. He had made a point, a long time ago, of not drinking alcohol when his mood was down. Many years later he realised his mood was seldom up. His work had made for a flatline of emotion. “Is that okay?”

“Delicious,” Amanda smiled. “I’ll get some glasses, red okay?”

King wasn’t planning on drinking more than a glass. He nodded and opened the patio doors. Outside was a barbecue he had paid too much for and he lifted the lid and looked at the bag of charcoal underneath. He had left a box of matches on top. It may have been a little OCD, but he just liked to be prepared. He opened the box, struck a match and lit the corner of the bag. The fuel-soaked paper caught quickly, and flames licked high in the air.

Amanda joined him with two glasses of red and brushed against his shoulder. She shivered. “Rather chilly for a barbecue,” she said. She sipped from the oversized glass. Caroline had picked them out at a local art shop.

“Well, I’m only here for one night, two at the most, and it saves on dishes. Besides, it’s the best way to cook steak,” he replied. “Thanks for coming,” he added, a little offhandedly. “I wanted to talk about your findings, see what you have planned for tomorrow. It’s not the sort of talk for a hotel lobby.”

“Quite right,” she said. “You live here? I’m confused. I thought you came down from London?”

“I own it, used to live here with my wife,” he said.

“And, where is she?”

“She died,” he said, though not casually enough to make her feel uncomfortable. “Five years ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

King shrugged. “It’s all part of life, isn’t it? I come down here a few times a year,” he said, then added, “With my fiancé.”

“Congratulations,” she said and sipped more wine. “I’m in a relationship. Have been since university.” She held out her ring finger for inspection. It was quite a rock. “We’re getting married next year. Just as soon as his divorce is finalised,” she smiled. “It’s complicated…”

Complicated or not, King relaxed a little. Mutual talk of their partners put a barrier out there. A condition. They wouldn’t cross the line if they talked about the significant other in their lives.

Would they?

“What does he do?”

She laughed. “Jesus, relax, will you?”

“What?”

“I’m not going to jump on you, Mister King! You’re worried that you invited me here now. Well, don’t be. No one will ever know. It will be our little, secret…” She sipped more of the wine and walked back into the lounge.