Looking Good Dead

little, tired out, struggling to stay awake and completely sober. The car clock read 1.15 a.m.
    The evening at Philip Angelides’ house had gone OK, but the atmosphere had been stilted. Some years ago he and Kellie had joined the National Trust and used to like driving out to visit different stately homes on Sunday afternoons. Some of the houses they had visited were smaller than the Elizabethan pile they had been in tonight.
    There were sixteen of them seated around the antique dining table, served by a retinue of starchy retainers. Angelides forced each guest in turn to guess the provenance first of the white wine, then the red, starting with the country of origin, then going on to grapes, style, maker and year.
    Caro Angelides, the tycoon’s wife, was probably the most stuck-up woman Tom had ever had the misfortune to sit next to, and the woman on his right, whose name he had forgotten, was not much better. Their sole conversation was horses – it veered from eventing to hunting and back again. He could not remember either of them asking him one single question about himself throughout the entire evening.
    Meanwhile, Kellie had had the man on her right brag to her about how clever he was, and the man on her left, an oily-looking banker who had got increasingly drunk, repeatedly put his hand on her leg and tried to move it up inside her skirt.
    All the other guests were clearly seriously rich, and from an entirely different social stratosphere to Tom and Kellie, neither of whom had ever had any exposure to really fine wines, and it had particularly angered Tom to see Kellie’s choices belittled by her host. And he’d had no chance to engage him in any kind of business conversation. In fact,as he drove he wondered why Philip Angelides had bothered to invite them at all. Except perhaps just to show off to them?
    But it was bonding of a sort. He hadn’t misbehaved; he’d managed to keep the conversation going with the two women on either side of him despite zero knowledge of the horse world – apart from an annual flutter on the Grand National. And he had at least guessed that the red wine was French – although that was a total fluke.
    ‘What a horrible bunch of people,’ Kellie said suddenly. ‘Give me our friends any day! At least they are real people!’
    ‘I think I’ll get some good business out of him.’
    She was quiet for a moment then she said, grudgingly, ‘Great house, though. To die for.’
    ‘Would you like to live in a place that big?’
    ‘Yeah, why not, if I had all those servants.’ Then as an afterthought she added, ‘We will one day, I’m sure. I believe in you.’
    Tom put his hand out and found Kellie’s. He squeezed, and she squeezed back. He continued to hold it, driving with one hand as they lapsed back into silence. Into his thoughts. Heading home, heading back to reality.
    His decision to go to the police hung like a dark shadow at the back of his mind. Of course he had done the right thing; what choice did he have? Could he have lived with his conscience? They had made the decision together; that’s what you did as husband and wife. You were a team.
    They were approaching the turn-off now. He moved into the left-hand lane on the almost empty road, freed his hand, needing both now, followed the sharp bend all the way round, then headed up the hill, coming off at the roundabout at the top.
    Less than a minute later, dropping down into the valley, he made a left turn into Goldstone Crescent, then a sharp left into their road. He drove up the steep hill, pulled into the carport, switched off the engine and climbed out. Kellie remained strapped in her seat. Tom, holding the key fob, his finger on the electronic locking button, waited for her to get out. But she didn’t move. He glanced around at the cars parked down either side of the road, all well illuminated by the street lighting. His eyes studied all the shadows. Looking. For what? A sudden movement? A solitary figure in a parked car?

    Paranoid , he told himself. Then he opened Kellie’s door. ‘Home, sweet home!’ he said.
    Still she did not move.
    He looked at her face, wondering for a moment if she was asleep, but her eyes were open; she was just staring ahead.
    ‘Darling, hello?’
    She gave him an odd look. ‘We’re home, I know,’ she said.
    He frowned. She seemed to be having a Kellie moment . And they were getting more frequent. He could not put his finger on exactly what these moments were, but every