How to Murder the Man of Your Dreams by Cannell Dorothy

Author:Cannell, Dorothy [Cannell, Dorothy]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Mystery, Cozy, Humour, Fiction, Suspense, Thrillers
ISBN: 9780307816641
Publisher: Bantam
Published: 2012-03-14T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter

11

“Giselle Haskell, we meet again at last!”

The woman responsible for bringing Ben and me together through the rent-a-gent business swooped towards me in a flurry of pink-feather boa. “You’re shocked to see me. What in the world has brought me to Chitterton Fells, you’re asking. But all will be explained in the twinkling of an eye when that lovely husband of yours finds us a table for two in some nice, quiet corner. My telephone message didn’t catch you too much on the hop, I hope?” Her eyes sparkled and dimples appeared in her cheeks. For a moment she looked more like a girl than someone’s granny.

“It’s lovely to see you.…” I forced a smile while my eyes strayed shiftily towards the dining room where, thank God, I didn’t see anyone I recognized except my husband, who turned from speaking to one of his waiters and hurried towards us.

“Mrs. Swabucher, what a pleasure!” he exclaimed in a voice better suited to a medieval town crier. “This is quite a moment, Ellie”—arching an eloquent eyebrow—“our very own Cupid, here at Abigail’s.”

“Dear Bentley.” The lady enveloped his hands in her pudgy paws and studied him impishly. “Still as handsome as ever, no crow’s-feet or silver threads among the ebony, I’m glad to see. Marriage suits you, as I knew it would. The moment Giselle walked into my office—why, it seems like yesterday—I took mental inventory of my male escorts and instantly decided that Bentley Haskell was just the man to waken this sleeping beauty with her first kiss.” Mrs. Swabucher beamed in my direction. “And from that moment on, neither one of you, dear young things, had a hope in heaven of escaping your destiny. Not with Aunty Evie waving the magic wand.”

“We’re very happy,” I said, switching Sylvia Babcock’s present from one hand to the other and doing a sort of Charleston shuffle with my feet. Luckily the receptionist had vanished from immediate earshot in response to a waiter’s beckoning finger, but I could not rid myself of the feeling that the secret of my wild past was out and that by nightfall everyone within reach of a hearing aid would have heard how Ellie Haskell met her man. I would be a laughingstock and Ben—my breath faltered as he laid a husbandly arm around my shoulders—would be regarded in many quarters as a gigolo. It was all so unfair! The name without the game! For months into our relationship, my fiancé-for-rent had treated me with the most demoralizing propriety.

“We very much appreciate your looking us up, Mrs. Swabucher.” Ben spoke with all the enthusiasm I lacked. “And I would like to think one of the reasons is that word of Abigail’s delectable cuisine has reached you even in London.”

“I’ve kept abreast of your success, you may be sure of that, dear boy. You have a fine establishment, no doubt about that.” The lady’s glance took admiring note of the Regency ambience and returned immediately to our faces. “But the truth

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