She was driving her own car, so I moved into the passenger seat and buckled up. She leaned over towards me and we kissed. I couldn’t help thinking of what a sight we must have looked: two figures restrained by seat belts, kissing with some difficulty “What kind of week have you been having?” she asked, putting the car in gear. “Ramsden’s been murdered.” “Yes, I heard that on the radio. How are you involved?” “I was tailing the guy who found the body” “Did he do it?” “No, it had to have happened hours before we got there. You’re looking particularly nice this evening.” “Is that a compliment or are you trying to change the subject?” “Both. Where are we going?” She looked in my direction and frowned. “You’ve forgotten! The Christmas party, Benny! The History Department’s Christmas party!” “Damn it. I remember your telling me about it. Should I go home and change?” “You look terrific. We’re only hungry academics. If it’s hot, we eat it; if it burns, we drink it; if it’s footnoted, we read it.”
