Agatha Raisin and the Perfect Paragon - M. C. Beaton [46]
Later that day, Harry, with not a stud or earring in sight, and dressed conservatively in a soft brown suede jacket, Tattersall shirt and tailored slacks, sat in his parents’ Audi at the end of Joyce’s street. His parents were well-to-do, and as Harry was their only child, they indulged him with a generous allowance.
He knew there was a supermarket nearby, within walking distance, and hoped Joyce would go there. But she came out of her house at last and got into a battered Mini parked outside and drove off.
Harry followed. Joyce drove into the centre of Mircester and parked. Harry parked as well and followed her at a discreet distance. She went into the Abbey Tea Rooms. Harry waited a few minutes and went in as well. The tea room, famous for its cakes, was crowded. Joyce was sitting at a table in the comer by herself. There were no empty tables. Blessing his luck, Harry approached Joyce. “Do you mind if I sit here? Seems to be the only seat.”
“No, go ahead,” said Joyce. The waitress came up. Joyce ordered a pot of tea and a slice of carrot cake and Harry ordered coffee and a toasted teacake. He knew he would have to go carefully. Joyce had taken out a paperback romance and started to read, so he unfolded the newspaper he had originally bought to hide behind when he was watching her house, and pretended to read.
The waitress came up with their orders. Now what? Harry had thought of spilling his coffee on her as a way to break into conversation but rejected the idea almost immediately. All that would do would make her furious.
The table was very small. Joyce’s tea was served in one of those metal pots that always seem to pour anywhere but in the cup. Her saucer filled with tea and she gave an exclamation of dismay.
Harry summoned the waitress with an imperious wave of his hand. “The young lady’s teapot is not pouring properly. Please get her a good one.”
“Oh, thank you,” said Joyce. “But you really shouldn’t have bothered.”
Harry smiled. That smile he used so rarely but when he did, it lit up his face. “Least I can do for a pretty lady.”
Then, so that he wouldn’t appear so pushy, he picked up the paper again.
When her new pot of tea and clean cup and saucer arrived, he lowered his paper and said, “Allow me.” He reached over and deftly poured a cup.
“Thank you,” said Joyce.
Harry began to drink his coffee and eat his toasted teacake. Let her make the first move, he told himself.
Then Joyce spoke. “Are you new to Mircester?”
“No, I live with my parents out on Bewdley Road.”
Joyce was impressed. She knew Bewdley Road. That was where the most expensive villas in the town could be found. Her eyes took in the expensive suede jacket.
“It’s odd to find a young man living with his parents these days.”
“I’m taking a gap year before I go to university,” said Harry. He had decided not to try and cover up his age. Joyce would probably be flattered that a young man was interested in her.
He was about to pick up the paper again, but Joyce’s curiosity had been awakened. She noticed he was wearing a Rolex. Joyce was attracted by any show of wealth.
“And what are you doing in your gap year?” she asked.
“I’m doing freelance computer programming work.”
“And will you do that when you leave university?”
“Maybe. I’ll be studying physics.”
Joyce let out a sigh. “I wish I’d gone to university instead of being just a secretary.”
“Where do you work?”
“Smedleys Electronics.”
Harry let his eyes widen. “Good heavens! Wasn’t there a murder there?”
“My boss.” Joyce began to cry.
“Oh, don’t cry.” Harry edged his chair round next to hers and handed her a large white handkerchief.
He put an arm lightly round her shoulders until she gave a final gulp. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “It’s all been such a strain.” She tried to hand him back his handkerchief, now liberally smeared with make-up. “Keep it,” said Harry. Seeing she had recovered, he moved his chair back.
With bent head, she picked at her carrot cake and sipped a little tea.
“I’m sorry,” she said again.
“Don’t be,” said Harry bracingly.