Expose! by Hannah Dennison Page A

smell of old lightbulbs. What’s cooking?”
    “Dead fish,” said Mary dryly.
    Not wanting to miss a single minute, I trotted back to the kitchen and stood in the doorway just staring at the most handsome man I had ever met.
    “Why aren’t you in dress uniform?” Eunice scolded, still clutching that wretched spatula. I had to admit that Robin didn’t look as attractive in plain denim jeans and a red-checked shirt. Out of uniform, I noted he had a very small bottom and short, rather thin legs.
    “I hope you’re not going to dine in that dirty apron, Auntie,” he teased. “Oh, wait! What’s that you’re wearing underneath? Is that one of my favorite dresses?”
    Eunice gave a twirl.
    Mary saw me watching and rolled her eyes. “Aren’t you going to say hello to our guest, Robin?”
    Robin turned around, rewarding me with a brilliant smile and a nautical salute. “Oh! It’s Vicky! You look pretty tonight—but not as beautiful as you, Auntie.”
    “I thought you were still in the English Channel on maneuvers,” I said, recalling our last disjointed conversation transmitted from HMS Dauntless . Fortunately, he managed to cancel our date before I reached the Three Tuns. There’s nothing worse than being stood up in a bar packed with farmers, which was what happened the other time we’d tried to make plans.
    “Maneuvers?” Eunice declared. “You told me you were doing shore-based drills this month. I wrote it down on the calendar.”
    “Change of plan, Auntie. You know how it is,” Robin said smoothly. “What’s everyone drinking?”
    “I thought you’d never ask,” Mary said. “I’ll have a large one.”
    “Don’t give her a double,” said Eunice. “You know she can’t take it.”
    “Auntie? Dry martini?” Robin said. “Do we have any olives, Mum?”
    “No olives.”
    At the mention of the word, I felt uncomfortable. Should I mention Olive’s interest in Douglas Fleming? Sooner or later the subject was bound to come up. I resolved to do it later. Eunice was bound to be more affable after a drink.
    “If there are no olives, I can hardly have a martini, can I?” Eunice snapped.
    “In that case, gin and tonics all round,” said Robin cheerfully.
    “A weak one for me,” I said. “I’m driving.” I hated gin. It depressed me.
    Robin disappeared into the walk-in larder and emerged with an enormous bottle of Gordon’s gin and Tesco tonic water.
    “Ice? Lemon?” he said.
    “No ice. No lemons,” said Mary.
    “Never mind.” Robin searched for a space to put down the bottles. “Mum, mind if we shift some of this stuff?”
    “I’ll help,” I said. Between us, Robin and I managed to move the tractor drive shaft under the table. Our fingers touched, twice.
    Eunice produced four grubby glass tumblers and darted back to the Aga as a loud hissing sound signaled that something had boiled over.
    Robin deftly mixed the drinks. I took a sip and practically keeled over. It was pure gin. “Is there a splash more tonic?”
    “I can’t taste anything.” Mary picked up the gin bottle and added a generous slug.
    Robin sashayed over to Eunice who was just in the process of removing the tinfoil from a fish kettle. The smell was beyond nauseating. He handed her a tumbler and they clinked glasses. “What’s on the menu, Martha Stewart?”
    Eunice laughed with delight. “Monkfish medallions with tomato lemon coulis followed by snow eggs with pistachio custard and chocolate drizzle.”
    “Good Lord! We are in for a treat!”
    “Or a visit to emergency.” Mary took a large draft of gin and gave a happy shudder as it went down.
    “What’s the occasion?” said Robin. “Whose birthday?”
    “It’s a practice run isn’t it, Eunice?” Mary said. “Douglas—”
    “Shut up!” said Eunice.
    Robin frowned. “Auntie? You’re not up to your old tricks again, are you?”
    “She most certainly is.” Mary took another sip. “Not even a restraining order can stop your aunt, now that old