3 A Reformed Character by Cecilia Peartree Page B

tea.
    'Well, it's a funny thing,' mused Amaryllis, taking the tea without a whimper. 'He managed to get away from the police outside the court and there was a car waiting for him. The police thought I was in it, for some reason. Maybe someone saw a woman and they assumed it was me. Using a getaway car's a really bad sign.'
    'Why's that, dear?' said Jemima Stevenson. 'By the way, that was David's tea. I'll put the kettle on and get you some coffee.'
    Amaryllis relinquished the tea and said, 'It suggests Darren has connections in the criminal underworld.'
    'Underworld – in Pitkirtly?' said Christopher.
    'Gangs,' said Amaryllis. ‘They don’t have to be based in Pitkirtly – they could be from Dunfermline or Edinburgh. Mr Smith didn't say whether they had a lead on that.'
    'If Mr Smith's on the case, he'll sort it all out,' said Jemima firmly. 'And I must say I hope Darren goes to prison if he did have anything to do with it. Criminal underworld or not.'
    'But you wouldn't want to see him get into trouble for somebody else's crime, would you Jemima?' said Dave. 'That wouldn't be fair at all.'
    'I hope Victoria didn't have anything to do with this latest escape,' mused Christopher. 'It would be a pity to see a nice girl like her get into trouble.'
    Yes, wouldn't it? thought Amaryllis with satisfaction. She said, 'Victoria’s the one who was asking about bail the other day.'
    'But he's got other friends,' said Christopher. 'And I don't suppose Victoria can even drive.'
    'Sorry I missed my time at the Folk Museum this afternoon, by the way – the police pulled me in for questioning. Mr Smith thought I might have helped with the getaway,' said Amaryllis, and waited for an indignant chorus of 'No! How could he? What a thought!' and so on.
    After a short pause, Jemima Stevenson said, 'Well, you can't really blame him, can you? With your history.'
    'I've put all that behind me now,' said Amaryllis. The kettle boiled so she went over to the worktop to make herself a cup of coffee. When she glanced back at the others, she intercepted a number of raised eyebrows and Dave mouthing something that looked like 'Yeah, right.'
    She picked up the coffee mug and set it down again on the table with a clunk. ‘I’m going to change.’
    The others didn’t look nearly as convinced as she had hoped. If anything it was a look of panic and not of inspiration that crossed Christopher’s face.
    ‘I don’t believe anybody ever changes,’ said Mrs Stevenson.
    ‘That’s a sweeping statement, Jemima,’ said Amaryllis.
    ‘It’s true,’ insisted Jemima Stevenson. ‘In my experience anyway.’
    ‘But that means there’s no point in even trying to better yourself or even look nicer!’ said Amaryllis.
    ‘You’ll just end up the same in the end,’ said Jemima stubbornly. ‘If you can’t live with yourself as you are, it’s a sad day.’
    Dave and Christopher seemed reluctant to get involved in this discussion. Amaryllis decided to elaborate on the nature of the changes she was planning, in the hope that this would encourage them. ‘I’m going to forget everything I ever knew about interrogating people, and unarmed combat, and electronic surveillance. I’ll let myself go soft, and not get into situations where I have to use all that stuff.’
    ‘Hmph! Soft in the head maybe!’ was Dave’s contribution.
    ‘I’ll practise my knitting until I’m an expert, better than anyone else at Cosy Clicks,’ Amaryllis continued. ‘I’ll be so good I’ll be invited to international knitting conferences.’
    ‘Do people really go to international conferences about knitting?’ said Jemima Stevenson. ‘Sounds awful boring to me. All that slip one knit one purl two pass slipped stitch over. I can’t be bothered with it myself.’
    ‘Haven’t you ever wanted to go to an international scrapbook conference?’ said Amaryllis. ‘Or – ‘ this was a more likely angle – ‘a family history conference?’
    ‘Funny you should say that,’