by Peter Helton
‘Yes, well spotted, Honeypot,’ teased Annis as we resumed our journey. ‘I think we’ll go halves on the “dead man fishing” too. Don’t you think? It’s only fair. And I do need a new Land Rover. And paints, of course, and brushes, and I left loads of clothes behind! Loads! In fact, I’ll need to go clothes shopping straight away. Can’t this thing go any faster? Come on, put your foot down. We’ll go halves if you get a speeding fine.’
And thus ended my narrowboat adventure. We did not get a speeding fine but we did nab Henry Blinkhorn and his wife Janette (who both got rather more than a fine – four years, in fact) and collected my – sorry, our – two per cent, which among other things paid for the invisible Honda Jazz and a new ancient Land Rover for Annis. We had seen the last of DI Reid and his equally corrupt cronies and the whole animal-fancier club was rounded up. I had to look for a new life model since Verity definitely wouldn’t be back. She pretty soon gave up on canal life and did what Neil Jenkins had hoped to do with his ill-gotten diamonds: she moved to Spain from where she sent us a couple of postcards. One of my own ill-gotten diamonds now sits in a rather splendid ring we had made for Annis. The other I chucked in a drawer.
For a rainy day.
