Page 75 of The Little Porto Book Club

‘Yeah, lucky we had a spare.’ He grins. I’ve got a lifetime of keeping this guy alive.

‘Couple more questions and we’ll get out of your way,’ the paramedic says. ‘So how did you come to eat almonds? We just want to ascertain you won’t come to any harm once we leave.’

I narrow my eyes at Mother. ‘Sorry,’ she says, and cups her face. ‘I totally forgot he was allergic. I used almond meal in one of the pastries.’

‘No harm done,’ Tiago says affably.

‘Well, that’s not entirely true, Tiago. You nearly died.’

‘Not quite.’

‘Right, well just to be certain,’ the paramedic says, ‘best not to consume anything from this table in case it’s been contaminated.’

I’m not sure whether my mother is innocent in this little scenario, The Strange Poisoning of the Guy Who Told a Lie. Or whether she orchestrated such a dramatic event, so I’d be forced to realise my feelings for Tiago. When it comes to Portuguese mothers, you never can tell …

Chapter Fifty-Three

On Wednesday Thomas arrives at book club with a friend. When I recognise her I have to do my level best not to let the surprise show on my face. ‘Hi, everyone, this is Mary, my mother-in-law. She’s keen to join book club, if that’s OK?’

I give her a welcoming smile. ‘More than OK. I trust Thomas has told you we have a strict no-talking policy that absolutely no one follows?’

She smiles, her eyes crinkling at the corners like stars. ‘He did. And he also told me what happens at book club stays at book club. Whatever that means!’

‘Right, well, then I can see no reason why you can’t join. We’re delighted to have a new member,’ I say and find myself meaning it.

Old Albert shuffles in, grin splitting his face. ‘Hello, hello, fellow bookworms. What a glorious day it is. Should we take this meeting outside, share some wine perhaps?’

‘At 4 p.m.? I don’t think so, Albert,’ I say.

‘It’s practically dinner time.’

‘Not quite.’

The group chatters away about what they’ve been reading. The nosy waitress is nowhere to be seen so I bring out the notebook of mysteries. ‘Last time we met we discussed the most likely method Lucinda would use to kill her husband was …’

‘Kill my husband? Me?’

I gasp as I turn to the raised voice. Lucinda. In the flesh. A murderous glint in her eye.

‘Did I hear that correctly?’ She unwinds a stripey scarf and takes her place next to Tiago. ‘Well? Don’t leave me in suspense!’

‘I-I.’ I may as well lay our cards on the table. ‘Lucinda, I saw you plotting six ways to kill your husband. And I overheard you on the phone asking about toxins. The cut on your hand, I didn’t buy that it was a gardening accident.’

‘Put us out of our misery, did you knock the guy off or what?’ old Albert says, leaning back on his chair, hands over the swell of his belly, like he’s ready for all the juicy details.

‘How many shovels do we need?’ Zephyr adds.

‘And who is The Man in the Blue Beret? We know his name, but that’s about it. Hitman for you? Or henchman for your significant other?’ Tiago asks.

‘And did your man deserve to die? Did he fit in the suitcase?’ Zephyr asks.

Lucinda guffaws. ‘You think I killed my—’

‘Get to the point, Lucinda,’ I spit. ‘We’ve got reading to do.’

‘Fine. I did write a note saying six ways to kill my husband, yes.’ There is a chorus of gasps around the table. ‘And I did speak to a chemist and ask how long a certain toxin lasted in the body, a toxin strong enough to subdue a man. And as for the cut, you’re right, it wasn’t a gardening accident. It was from trying to get ice cream out of the tub with a knife, when my long-term partner Sofia told me to be patient and let it melt. I had a bad case of writer’s block and I was impatient.’

‘You’re not in a long-term relationship with a man?’ Albert booms. ‘Well, now that makes more sense. I just couldn’t see you with The Man in the Blue Beret, somehow.’