by Simon Brett
At the interval Charles and Frances snuck out to the pub, giggling like schoolchildren. And somehow they omitted to return for the second act.
On the train back to London on the Tuesday morning Charles gave Frances an edited version of the whole case. When he came to the end, she tut-tutted. ‘Charles, I can’t think why you’ve suddenly developed this very dangerous hobby. Why can’t you take up golf or bowls like most middle-aged men?’
‘I don’t know. It’s not deliberate. It’s just if I get into a situation I have to find out what happened, find out the truth, I suppose.’
‘Well, you did in this case.’
‘Yes. Mind you, I took my time. I think I must have barked up every tree in the park before I found one with anyone in it.’
At King’s Cross Underground Station they paused for a moment, slightly embarrassed. Then Charles kissed Frances goodbye. She caught the Northern Line to Highgate and he caught the Circle Line to Bayswater.