She’s beautiful and you don’t deserve her!’”
10
In spite of what Lucinda had said in his defence, Donal-who must also have a surname, though neither Carole nor Jude knew it-was looking the most likely candidate for the killer of Walter Fleet. And that impression was confirmed when Jude heard from Sonia Dalrymple that the horses were being allowed to return to Long Bamber Stables. That news definitely implied the police’s investigations were at an end. They had got their man.
Carole and Jude were disappointed by this conclusion, but they couldn’t really argue with it. Starved of information as they were, they knew that any alternative theories they produced about the crime would be nothing more than conjecture. They weren’t privy to the facts at any level, whereas the police seemed to have more than enough facts at their fingertips to secure a conviction.
So, without a murder mystery to worry away at, they would both have to return to their normal lives. For Jude that would not be too much hardship-back to the routine of Woodside Cottage, her clients, her occasional mysterious visits to London. (The mystery of these visits was really only in Carole’s mind. Jude had a wide circle of friends, many of whom her neighbour was destined never to meet. She also had lovers, though there were more of these in Carole’s imagination than in reality. Jude didn’t deliberately hide the details of her London relationships, but Carole was always too genteel to enquire directly about them. So the aura of mystery intensified-a situation that in fact suited Jude very well.)
For Carole, however, the return to normal life would not be so easy. The murder had offered a welcome distraction from thoughts of Stephen and Gaby’s marriage. Her son still hadn’t rung back. She couldn’t put off much longer making a phone call to David.
The evening after their meeting with Lucinda Fleet, she steeled herself to do the deed. Sunday, he was sure to be in. In his little flat in Swiss Cottage. The flat she had never seen and never intended to see. How did retired civil servants like David Seddon spend their time in little flats in Swiss Cottage? That was a question towards which she did not allow her mind to stray.
She had to look his number up. It was the only number she ever had to look up. Every other one she remembered. A psychologist would have had a field day with that.
“Hello.”
“David, it’s Carole.”
“Ah. Erm…hello.”
He didn’t sound either surprised to hear her, or particularly moved by the fact that she’d rung him. It was impossible for her to know what he was thinking-as indeed it had been right through their marriage.
“How are you?”
“Not so bad. You, Carole?”
“Mustn’t grumble.”
Neither of them contemplated volunteering more about their lives than this. In the run-up to Stephen and Gaby’s wedding, David had tried to make some kind of rapprochement towards his ex-wife. Now he seemed to have given up the unequal struggle. Carole preferred it that way.
“I was just wondering, David, whether you’d heard anything of Stephen and Gaby recently.”
“Erm…not very recently.” Apparently it was the first time he’d thought about them for a while. “No, I suppose I haven’t, not…erm…very recently.”
Carole had forgotten how much his little habit of hesitation grated on her. “So you haven’t seen them?”
“Not since…well, not since Christmas, now I come to think of it.”
How could he not have thought of it for so long? How did David actually spend his retirement? What thoughts did actually go through his head?
“No, I haven’t either. I spoke to Gaby a few days ago, but…I just wondered if you had any news of them.”
“No, I haven’t. But I’m…erm…sure they’ll be in touch…you know, when they’ve…erm…when they’ve got something to say.”
Yes. So that was it. As she put the phone down, Carole wished bitterly that she hadn’t made the call. Hearing David’s voice had only upset her more, and brought back to her mind Stephen’s inheritance of bad relationships.
“Jude, it’s Sonia.”
“Hello. Everything all right?”
“Well, yes.”
Tuesday had come round again. Walter Fleet had been dead for nearly a week. There had been no word of funeral plans, and there wouldn’t be any for a while. Police forensic investigations had not finished; they had yet to release the body.
“You sound a bit uptight, Sonia.”
“No, no, I’m fine.” But the tension in her voice contradicted her words. “I just, um…I just wondered whether you would come and have another look at Chieftain.”
“I’m happy to, but I didn’t do him much good last time.”
“No, but you were distracted. With Imogen around and everything. I really do think it’d be worth you having another go.”
“Okay If that’s what you want.”
“When could you come up here?”
“I thought the horses had gone back to Long Bamber.”
“Yes, most of them have. But Chieftain and Conker are still here.”
“Right. Well, I could come when you like, really…”
“This afternoon?”
After the call ended, Jude had the very firm impression that Sonia Dalrymple wanted to see her about something. And it wasn’t Chieftain.
As she walked up from the towpath towards the house, Jude surmised that she was not the only visitor that afternoon. A BMW, built on the lines of an ocean liner, stood on the gravel, and its appearance was quickly explained. As soon as she had opened the door to Jude’s ring, Sonia whispered, “Nicky’s here. He’s come back unexpectedly early from Frankfurt. He mustn’t know that you’ve come to see Chieftain.”
“Oh?”
“I’m afraid he’d be rather sceptical about the idea of healing a horse.”
“Just like my neighbour Carole. Well, look, don’t worry. I’ll just-”
“Good afternoon. I don’t think we’ve met.”
The man who stepped out of the sitting room behind Sonia moved in an aura of charm. Nicky Dalrymple was tall, dark-haired and almost unfeasibly handsome. His welcoming smile was formed by perfect teeth, and though his life seemed to be spent shuttling from one international hotel to another, he clearly spent plenty of time in those hotels’ gyms. The polo shirt, casual jacket and chinos he wore looked like a catalogue illustration. He and Sonia did make a dazzlingly attractive couple, entirely in keeping with their luxurious home and fleet of expensive cars.
“Hello, I’m Jude.” She could see the panic as Sonia searched for an alternative explanation for her arrival.
“Nicky Dalrymple.” His handshake was predictably firm and strong.
“I just popped by to talk to Sonia about a charity event I’m setting up, but I can easily call another time.” Jude had never had a problem with lying when the necessity arose.
“Nonsense. Come on in. We were just having some tea. Be easy enough to find another cup, won’t it, Sonia?”
