isn’t a very exceptional woman?”
“She…well, I don’t think the role of carer came naturally to her. She’s quite selfish and certainly used to be very ambitious. Walter’s long hospitalisation put a damper on her own eventing career, and by the time he was fit again, they couldn’t afford to continue. All the money they’d got they put into buying Long Bamber Stables. From being a jet-set golden couple, they ended up mucking out, dealing with stroppy owners and giving their spoilt little brats riding lessons. I got the impression Lucinda blamed Walter for that.”
“How did you get that impression?”
“Not very difficult. She kept blaming him in public. Not just for that, but for everything else, as far as I can tell. I don’t really know why I felt coy about telling you all this. You’d hear it from anyone else who had met them. The Fleets are one of those couples who are constantly sniping at each other, very publicly failing to get on. Being with them socially was like sitting next to someone with an open wound.”
Sonia shook her head with distaste at the image, but, after her initial reticence, she seemed relieved to have gotten all that off her chest.
“So I suppose,” Jude suggested, “if the marriage was that bad, then Lucinda Fleet definitely had a motive to kill her husband?”
“But why now? If she was going to do it, why didn’t she do it years ago? They’d stayed together for over fifteen years.”
“The final straw. None of our backs are immune to the final straw.”
“Suppose not. Just seems unlikely to me, though.”
“Well, maybe-”
They were interrupted by a ring at the doorbell, which Sonia went to answer. She returned with a girl of about thirteen or fourteen, thin-faced and spotty, still uneasy with the new conformation of her body. Her top teeth were transacted by a metal brace, and a ginger streak had been inexpertly dyed into the front of her wispy brown hair. She wore a puffa jacket a couple of sizes too small for her, grubby jeans and smart ankle-length riding boots. A battered riding hat hung by the strap from her hand.
“Jude, this is Imogen.”
The girl said a quiet hello, without making eye contact.
“Imogen’s been riding Conker-that’s the girls’ pony-while they’re away at school. You know, to see she gets some exercise.”
“Mrs. Fleet up at Long Bamber said you’d brought him back here. She said you might not want me to ride him here, but I knew you would. You don’t mind, do you, Mrs. Dalrymple?” There was a desperate plea in the girl’s voice.
Sonia contemplated turning down the request, but decided against it. “Not a problem, Imogen. She could do with stretching her legs. But just in the nearest paddock, no further. I’ll close the gates to the others.”
“Yes, that’s fine. Thank you very much, Mrs. Dalrymple.”
Sonia looked at her watch. “Shouldn’t you be at school, Imogen?”
“No,” the girl replied quickly. “We finish early on Fridays.”
“Ah.” For a moment Sonia looked as if she might question this, but she didn’t. “So have you been home already?”
“Just to change.”
“Was anyone there? Your mother…or your father?”
“No. Mum’s gone off to work, and Dad…I don’t know where Dad is. He’ll be back later to get my supper.”
There was a defiance in her girl’s tone and Jude was aware of some subtext between Sonia and Imogen in what was said. But what that subtext was she had no idea.
“Jude’s come to look at Chieftain-see if she can sort out the old boy’s lameness.”
“Oh, right.”
“Actually, Jude, you may as well come out with us now. And, Imogen, that hat doesn’t look very safe. Maybe you should borrow one of the girls’…”
They collected Conker’s saddle and tack from a utility room off the kitchen. “We used to leave this stuff in the stables, but there’ve been so many break-ins locally, that, what with a decent saddle costing over a thousand pounds…”
After the warmth of the kitchen, the outside air stung their faces, as Sonia led them through a garden gate to the stable yard. She had put on a weather-beaten Barbour, which on her contrived to look like a designer original. “You saddle her up, Imogen, while I close the gates, then wait till I’ve checked everything before you mount her.”
“I’ve done it lots of times, Mrs. Dalrymple. You don’t need to check anything.”
“I will check, though, thank you.”
The firmness in Sonia’s voice cast the girl down, but her mood was swiftly changed by the sound of a cheerful whinnying from the stables. The three women had just come into the horses’ eyeline, and were accorded an appropriate welcome.
“See, she recognises me,” Imogen shouted gleefully, and rushed off. “It’s all right, Conker. It’s all right, lovely girl. Immy’s here to look after you…”
Jude grinned at Sonia’s raised eyebrow. “Little girls and horses, eh?”
“Yes.”
“So much easier to deal with than boys.”
“At this stage, certainly, Jude.” A shadow crossed her face. “Mind you, things change. I’ll just go and do the gates.”
“I can help. You do that one; I’ll do the one over here.”
They reassembled outside the stables. Chieftain, tall and black, intrigued by the activity, leant curiously over the gate of his stall and let out a few breathy snorts. Conker, a solid brown-and-white pony, was saddled up ready to ride, and Imogen, standing holding her reins, could not disguise her impatience to be off. She was wearing her own battered headgear and, although one of the twins’ hats was once again offered, was determined not to change.
Sonia checked the tension of the saddle girths, and passed them as fine.
“I told you they would be, Mrs. Dalrymple.”
“I still needed to be sure. If you had a fall, it’d be my responsibility.”
Chastened by the slight asperity in these words, Imogen said, “Yes, of course, Mrs. Dalrymple. May I get up?”
“Sure.” Sonia held the pony’s reins, while Imogen, with practised ease, swung herself up into the saddle. “Just in this paddock?” she asked wistfully, eyeing the neat course of jumps that were set out in the field beyond.
“Just in this one for today.” As the girl and pony trotted meekly off, Sonia’s eyes followed them. “Poor kid.”
“Poor? Why?”
“Parents are going through a very sticky divorce, and focusing all her energies on Conker seems to be Immy’s way of coping. She’s actually been very helpful, you know, constantly up at Long Bamber, mucking out for her, all that stuff. But the trouble is, of course, that Conker’s not her pony, and when Alice and Laura come back for the Easter holidays…Well, they squabble enough about getting fair shares on Conker with just the two of them. I see ructions ahead.”
“So maybe you should start to restrict Imogen’s access to the pony?”
“Yes, I should. But I have to tread carefully. That girl’s in a highly emotional state at the moment. She’s very fragile.”
Jude looked across at the paddock. Imogen and Conker seemed to be one creature, cantering around without a care in the world. But if riding the pony represented the only peace in the girl’s fraught teenage life… Jude understood Sonia’s problem.
“Anyway, enough of that. Will you have a look at Chieftain? See if your magic healing hands can do anything for the poor old boy?”
