Killing Me Softly Read Online Free Page A

distaste. Had he been made differently, he might have walked round the desk and put his arm around her and reassured her, promised her that she would always have his protection, that she need fear nothing from Wishart, but she was still another man’s wife. Despite everything, she remained loyal, misguided though that might be. Clare was a woman who stayed true to her marriage vows, once made, and his Scottish upbringing had not made him the sort of man to encourage her to break them.
    She finished her coffee and put the cup back on the tray. ‘One thing I wanted to talk to you about, David, was Barbie. Ellie and I think some sort of pay rise should be on the cards. I imagine we can justify it, can’t we? She’s worth her weight in gold, really –’
    â€˜In which case we couldn’t afford her at all!’ he said drily.
    â€˜Too true!’ Barbie took jokes about her size in good part. It wasn’t a sensitive issue with her, but it suddenly struck Clare that she’d never before heard David join in the general good-natured ribbing they all indulged in against each other. It was a good sign, she thought, he was learning to take things a bit less seriously. She said, ‘Barbie’ll turn her hand to anything. She’s due for a rise.’
    â€˜I’ll look into it,’ he promised. He had his own reservations about Barbie Nelson. She’d been taken on at his suggestion, so he knew what she was capable of, but it wouldn’t do for her to get ideas. She wasn’t, in any case, doing too badly, moneywise. The flat above the premises more than made up for any inadequacies in salary, in his opinion, and she’d worked her way into the firm’s good books perhaps too easily for his liking. Even so, she wasn’t as tiresome as most of the string of women who’d worked here from time to time. ‘A moderate rise,’ he added temperately, picking his pen up and jotting a note.
    â€˜Good.’ She was collecting the coffee things when he spoke again.
    â€˜Clare, if you’re free on Saturday, might I ask you a favour? Maybe it’s an imposition, I know weekends are a family time, but...’
    â€˜You should tell my family that! No, no, just joking, they’ve got beyond the stage where they want to do anything with Mum and Dad in their free time.’
    â€˜And Tim?’
    â€˜Oh, I think he’s planning on his usual sporting activities,’ she said casually. ‘How can I help?’
    â€˜The fact is,’ he answered, having banked on Wishart occupying himself as he almost always did on Saturdays, ‘I’m thinking of putting my house on the market, looking for somewhere smaller. Since Jane died, I rattle around like a single pea in a large pod. I want to get rid of it.’
    â€˜I can understand that.’ Her voice was warm with sympathy.
    â€˜A place where you’ve once been happy ...’
    â€˜Yes,’ he agreed quietly.
    It seemed to have become darker in the office and he leaned back in his chair, stretching out a well-manicured hand to switch on the floor lamp behind him, glancing out of the window as he did so. The fog was still thick enough to obscure the buildings opposite. He frowned. ‘Flood warnings out last night. But at least if the rain keeps off, the river levels should stay down.’
    â€˜You’re not worried about your garden, surely?’
    He owned one of the larger properties with a long garden fronting the river. Like the house, the garden was immaculately kept. Clare had never known his wife, Jane, but she’d evidently been a woman of discrimination. The house was beautifully and expensively furnished with antiques, some marvellous paintings and Chinese porcelain, all in perfect taste – but too perfect for Clare’s liking. It had felt chillingly like a museum to her, the one time she’d had occasion to visit.
    He smiled. ‘No, it’s big enough to