Trouble on the Heath Read Online Free Page B

eyes became narrow slits, he would have to do a lot of soothing before they returned to their proper shape. If they remained as narrow slits for more than five minutes, his life would not be worth living for the rest of the evening.
    â€œOf course not, my dear! You know I don’t do that sort of thing!” Malcolm tried to sound as indignant as possible.
    In fact Malcolm’s relations with his students had always been entirely correct. But several years ago, he’d received a note in his pigeon hole which read ‘I love you dearly X X X’.
    Malcolm had assumed it was from Angela and had thanked her for the note at the end of the day. But Angela had not written the note. She assumed (correctly as it turned out) that it was from one of Malcolm’s female students. Angela also assumed (incorrectly as it happened) that something had been ‘going on’ between Malcolm and the student.
    In the end Malcolm had managed to persuade Angela of his innocence, but the suspicion still stayed in Angela’s mind. Or perhaps it wasn’t the suspicion of something that might have happened, but the fear that something might happen in the future.
    â€œI have always kept my relations with the students on a professional level. You know that, my angel. Don’t you?”
    He checked Angela’s eyes for any sign of narrowing, but to his relief they remained unnarrowed. He relaxed.
    â€œCould it be the Planning Application?” she said.
    Oddly, Malcolm hadn’t thought about the Highgrove Park Residents’ Association’s latest fight, since he’d sent off their letter of objection, after the meeting at Lady Chesney’s place.
    â€œBut who would have sent it?” he said, and pulled a face that meant: “Surely someone rich enough to buy both numbers 26 and 27 Highgrove Park can’t also be a complete loony?”
    Angela was familiar with the meaning of Malcolm’s various faces, and she replied, “Just because they’re rich enough to buy numbers 26 and 27 doesn’t mean they’re not complete loonies.”
    Malcolm stared at the note again, and then weighed it in his hand, as if there were some well-known connection between weight and sanity.
    â€œAnd isn’t the company that’s bought the site Russian?” Angela added, pointing to the Russian stamps on the envelope.
    â€œGood heavens!” exclaimed Malcolm. “But what do they mean by STOP DOING WHAT YOU’RE DOING? I’m just objecting on behalf of the Association to a planning application.”
    â€œOh damn! There’s Freddie!” muttered Angela taking a sip of the Merlot.
    â€œI’ll go,” sighed Malcolm, and he got up from the table, taking his glass of wine with him, to look at their six-year-old son, who was yelling that he couldn’t sleep without his submarine.
    As he reached the door, Angela put her glass back on the table.
    â€œMaybe it’s one of those Russian tycoons,” she said. “Maybe he’s a gangster?”

Chapter Seven
    Trevor Williams smelt trouble. His senses were finely tuned to trouble. In fact, if the Olympic Games held a ‘Smelling Trouble over 500 metres’ event, Trevor would have been a gold medallist.
    It started at the back of his neck and worked its way up and over his scalp in a matter of seconds. Then it would lunge down into his tummy and produce a knot of indigestion. It would then radiate outwards towards his hands and feet, until eventually he would feel his eyes turn, as they were doing now, to the source of the ‘Trouble’.
    It was a mild-looking young man in a brown corduroy jacket and grey flannels. He was speaking to Cynthia, who looked after the filing.
    Cynthia was following the Number One Golden Rule of the Planning Department, which was to pretend innocence. She was looking at her watch, which meant she would be telling the young man that the person he wanted to see was out of the