Chapter Fifty-Seven
‘Freaking hell,’ muttered Dylan, as Jill was handcuffed and led from the restaurant.
I pushed back my wet hair – now an attractive frizz – and glanced about.
Diners were agog. The chuntering was back in full force. Dylan and I were being flashed dark looks. People were discussing us behind their hands.
Despite Jill’s threatening behaviour, patrons were still of the opinion that the nutty blonde had been pushed over the edge by a philandering husband and meddlesome mistress.
If looks could kill, then I’d have been a goner several times over. Numerous scowls were winging my way – mainly from the women within this establishment.
‘Would you both like a brandy?’ simpered the waiter.
‘I think we could do with one,’ Dylan agreed. ‘However, I’m driving. Just give me the bill, please.’
‘Ay could do with a brandy,’ said Plummy. ‘Ay’m feeling a little queer.’
‘You and me both,’ muttered the waiter, before turning on his heel.
Dylan turned to the off-duty policeman.
‘I really must thank you,’ he said. ‘You quite possibly saved my life.’
‘All part of the job,’ said the cop modestly.
Wow. What a night. Dylan had wanted it to be memorable, but attempted murder hadn’t been on the agenda.
‘But who was she?’ said Plummy, confused.
‘My sister-in-law,’ said Dylan.
‘You were having an affair with your sister-in-law?’ spluttered Plummy.
‘I wasn’t having an affair with anyone,’ said Dylan in exasperation. ‘She was a guest at my daughter’s wedding who wrongly believed we had a future together.’
Plummy shook her head, then looked at me.
‘So who are you?’
‘I’m Dylan’s… girlfriend.’
Plummy pursed her lips, then looked back at Dylan.
‘And what does your wife have to say about all this?’ she persisted.
Dylan took a deep breath.
‘My wife is deceased.’
‘Oh,’ said Plummy, the cogs visibly whirring. ‘Ay say. Did your sister-in-law kill your wife?’
Dylan ignored the question. Instead, he turned to the copper.
‘What will happen to Jill?’ he asked. ‘Will she get cautioned?’
The policeman shook his head.
‘A person who has threatened someone with a knife faces a minimum sentence of six months in prison.’
‘What?’ I gasped, as Dylan’s eyes widened.
Omigod. A split second of madness. One pivotal moment. From freedom to incarceration. But then again, perhaps it hadn’t been a split second of madness. After all, Jill had demanded Dylan love her. Refused to accept they didn’t have a future together. Stolen his housekey. Declined to go home. Not exactly the behaviour of your average woman when dealing with unrequited love.
If I’d been her, I’d have bought a box of chocolates, a bottle of plonk, and watched Love Actually on repeat with a packet of tissues to hand.
The waiter returned with the bill. Dylan tapped his pin number into the terminal. We thanked the copper again. Then, ignoring the many eyes upon us, and holding our heads high, we left the restaurant.