Scold's Bridle

don't we won't have a hope in hell's chance of putting in a counter-claim for the money?

'You're not allowed to benefit from the murder of your mother, you know.'

The silence went on for so long that Violet Orloff began to wonder if they had moved to another part of the house.

'It's entirely up to you, Ruth. I've no compunction at all about saying you were here the day your grandmother died. You shouldn't have stolen her earrings, you stupid little bitch. Or, for that matter, every other damn thing your sticky little fingers couldn't resist. You knew her as well as I did. Did you really think she wouldn't notice?' Joanna's voice grated with sarcasm. 'She made a list and left it in her bedside drawer. If I hadn't destroyed it you'd be under arrest by now. You're making no secret of your panic over this idiotic will, so the police will have no trouble believing that if you were desperate enough to steal from your grandmother, you were probably desperate enough to murder her as well. So I suggest we both keep our mouths shut, don't you?'

A door was slammed so forcefully that Violet felt the vibrations in her kitchen.

Jack perched on his stool and rubbed his unshaven jaw, squinting at the policeman through half-closed lids. Satanic, thought DS Cooper, suited him well. He was very dark with glittering eyes in a hawklike face, but there were too many laughter-lines for a Dracula. If this man was a devil, he was a merry one. He reminded Cooper of an unrepentant Irish recidivist he had arrested on innumerable occasions over a period of twenty years. There was the same 'take-me-as-I-am' expression, a look of such startling challenge that people who had it were impossible to ignore. He wondered with sudden curiosity if the same expression had looked out of Mathilda Gillespie's eyes. He hadn't noticed it on the video, but then the camera invariably lied. If it didn't, no one would tolerate having their picture taken. 'I'll do it,' said Jack abruptly.

The policeman frowned. 'Do what, Mr. Blakeney?'

'Paint you and your wife for two thousand pounds, but I'll string you up from a lamp-post if you tell anyone what you're paying.' He stretched his arms towards the ceiling, easing the muscles of his back. 'I'd say two thousand from you is worth ten thousand any day from the likes of Mathilda. Perhaps a sliding scale isn't such a bad idea, after all. It should be the dent in the sitter's pocket that sets the value on the painting, not my arbitrary pricing of my worth.' He raised sardonic eyebrows. 'What right have I to deprive impoverished vicars and policemen of things of beauty? You'd agree with that, wouldn't you, Sarah?'

She shook her head at him. 'Why do you always have to be so offensive?'

'The man likes my work, so I'm offering him a subsidized portrait of himself and the wife in blues, purples, greens and golds. What's offensive about that? I'd call it a compliment.' He eyed Cooper with amusement. 'Purples represent your libido, by the way. The deeper they are, the randier you are, but it's how I see you, remember, not how you see yourself. Your wife might have her illusions shattered if I paint you in deep purple and her in pale lilac.'

Sergeant Cooper chuckled. 'Or vice versa.'

Jack's eyes gleamed. 'Precisely. I don't set out to flatter anyone. As long as you understand that, we can probably do business.'

'And presumably, sir, you need the money at the moment. Would your terms be cash in advance, by any chance?'

Jack bared his teeth in a grin. 'Of course. At that price you could hardly expect anything else.'

'And what guarantee would I have that the portrait would ever be finished?'

'My word. As a man of honour.' .

'I'm a policeman, Mr. Blakeney. I never take anyone's word for anything.' He turned to Sarah. 'You're a truthful woman, Doctor. Is your husband a man of honour?'

She looked at Jack. 'That's a very unfair question.'

'Sounds fair to me,' said Jack. 'We're talking two thousand pounds here. The Sergeant's entitled to cover himself. Give him an answer.'

Sarah shrugged. 'All right. If you're asking me: will he take your money and run? Then, no, he won't. He'll paint your picture for you, and he'll do it well.'

'But?' prompted Jack.

'You're not a man of honour. You're far too thoughtless and inconsiderate. You respect no one's opinion but your own, you're disloyal, and you're insensitive. In fact,' she gave him a twisted smile, 'you're a shit about everything but your art.'

Jack tipped a finger to the policeman. 'So, do I have a commission, Sergeant, or were you simply working on my wife's susceptibilities to get her to spill the beans about me?'

Cooper pulled forward a chair and offered it to Sarah, She shook her head so he sat in it himself with a faint sigh of relief. He was getting too old to stand when there was a seat available. 'I'll be honest with you, sir, I can't commission anything from you at the moment.'

'I knew it,' said Jack contemptuously. 'You're just like that slimeball Matthews.' He aped the vicar's singsong Welsh accent. 'I do love your work, Jack, and no mistake, but I'm a poor man as you know.' He slammed his fist into his palm. 'So I offered him one of my early ones for a couple of thousand, and the bastard tried to negotiate me down to three miserable hundred. Jesus wept!' he growled. 'He gets paid more than that for a few lousy sermons.' He glared at the Sergeant. 'Why do you all expect something for nothing? I don't see you taking a pay cut,' he flicked a glance at Sarah, 'or my wife either for that matter. But then the state pays you while I have to graft for myself.'

It was on the tip of Cooper's tongue to point out that Blakeney had chosen the path he was following, and had not been forced down it. But he refrained. He had had too many bruising arguments with his children on the very same subject to want to repeat them with a stranger. In any case, the man had misunderstood him. Deliberately, he suspected. 'I am not in a position to commission anything from you at the moment, sir,' he said with careful emphasis, 'because you were closely connected with a woman who may or may not have been murdered. Were I to give you money, for whatever reason, it would be extremely prejudicial to your chances in court if you were unfortunate enough to appear there. It will be a different matter entirely when our investigations are concluded.'

Jack eyed him with sudden fondness. 'If I paid you two thousand, you might have a point, but not the other way round. It's your position you're safeguarding, not mine.'