about the nature of ruthlessness. 'Did the affair with Purdy continue after she married William?'
'No,' said Polly with conviction. 'Once Kate made up her mind to something, that was it.'
'Would that stop her having an affair with someone else? Let's say she was bored with William and met someone younger-would she have been unfaithful in those circumstances?'
Polly shrugged. 'I don't know. I sort of thought she might have something going because she hadn't bothered to phone me for ages, but that doesn't mean she did. It wouldn't have been serious, anyway. She was pleased as punch about moving to Lymington and getting a decent house, and I can't see her giving all that up very easily.'
Galbraith nodded. 'Have you ever known her to use feces as a means of revenge?'
'What the hell's fee-sees?'
'Crap,' Galbraith explained obligingly, 'turds, dung, number twos.'
'Shit!'
'Exactly. Have you ever known her to smear crap over anyone's belongings?'
Polly giggled. 'No. She was much too prissy to do anything like that. A bit of a hygiene freak, actually. When Hannah was a baby she used to swab the kitchen down every day with Dettol in case there were any germs. I told her she was crazy-I mean germs are everywhere, aren't they-but she still went on doing it. I can't see her touching a turd in a million years. She used to hold Hannah's nappies at arm's length after she'd changed her.'
Curiouser and curiouser, thought Galbraith. 'Okay. Give me a rough idea of the timetable. How soon after she told Purdy she was going to marry William did the wedding actually take place?'
'I can't remember. A month maybe.'
He did a quick calculation in his head. 'So if Purdy was off for three months, then it was two months after the wedding that she left work because she was pregnant?'
'Something like that.'
'And how pregnant was she, Polly? Two months? Three months? Four months?'
A resigned expression crossed the young woman's face. 'She said as long as it looked like her it wouldn't matter, because William was so besotted he'd believe anything she told him.' She read Galbraith's expression correctly as one of contempt. 'She didn't do it out of malice. Just desperation. She knew what it was like to grow up in poverty.'
Celia's adamant refusal to go with Harding in the helicopter and her inability to bend at the hip meant that she was going to either have to walk home in extreme pain or travel flat on her back on the floor of Ingram's Jeep, which was full of oilskins, waders, and fishing tackle. With a wry smile he cleared a space and bent to pick her up. However, she was even more adamant in her refusal to be carried. 'I'm not a child,' she snapped.
'I don't see how else we can do it, Mrs. Jenner,' he pointed out, 'not unless you slide in on your front and lie facedown where I usually put my fish.'
'I suppose you think that's funny.'
'Merely accurate. I'm afraid it's going to be painful whatever we do.'
She looked at the uncomfortable, ridged floor and gave in with bad grace. 'Just don't make a meal of it,' she said crossly. 'I hate fuss.'
'I know.' He scooped her into his arms and leaned into the Jeep to deposit her carefully on the floor. 'It's going to be a bumpy ride,' he warned, packing the oilskins around her as wadding. 'You'd better shout if it gets too much for you, and I'll stop.'
It was already too much, but she had no intention of telling him so. 'I'm worried about Maggie,' she said through gritted teeth. 'She ought to be back by now.'
'She'll have led Stinger toward the stables not away from them,' he told her.
'Are you ever wrong about anything?' she asked acidly.
'Not where your daughter's knowledge of horses is concerned,' he answered. 'I have faith in her, and so should you.' He shut the door on her and climbed in behind the wheel. 'I'll apologize in advance,' he called as he started the engine.
'What for?'
'The lousy suspension,' he murmured, letting out the clutch and setting off at a snail's pace across the chewed-up turf of the valley. She didn't make a sound the entire way back, and he smiled to himself as he drew into the Broxton House drive. Whatever else she was, Celia Jenner was a gutsy lady, and he admired her for it.
He opened the back door. 'Still alive?' he asked, reaching in for her.
She was gray with pain and fatigue, but it took more than a bumpy ride to kill the spark. 'You're a very irritating young man,' she muttered, as she clamped her arm around his neck again and grunted with pain as he shifted her along the floor. 'But you were right about Martin Grant,' she admitted grudgingly, 'and I've always regretted that I didn't listen to you. Does that please you?'
'No.'
'Why not? Maggie would tell you it's the closest I'll ever come to an apology.'
He smiled slightly, hefting her against his chest and stepping away from the Jeep. 'Is being stubborn something to be proud of?'
'I'm not stubborn, I'm principled.'
'Well, if you weren't so'- he grinned at her-'principled, you'd be in the Poole hospital by now getting proper treatment.'
'You should always call a spade a spade,' she said crossly. 'And, frankly, if I was half as stubborn as you seem
