Scold's Bridle

'Ah,' he murmured, 'passion at last.' He stood up and approached her, spreading his hands wide in an invitation to do it. 'Feel free. It's all yours.'

She took him by surprise and kneed him in the groin instead. 'Next time,' she said through gritted teeth, 'I'll break Mathilda's canvas over your head. And that would be a shame because it's probably the best thing you've ever done.'

'GODDAMMIT, WOMAN, THAT HURT!' he roared, clutching his balls and collapsing back on to the stool. 'I asked for passion not fucking castration.'

Sarah's eyes narrowed. 'It was supposed to hurt, you cretin. Don't even think about getting your hands on Mathilda's money. You're certainly not getting any of mine if I can help it. Fifty-fifty? Fat-bloody-chance. I'll sell up and give it to a cats' home before I see you living the life of Riley on the back of my hard work.'

He poked his fingers into his Levi's pocket and removed a folded piece of paper. 'My contract with Mathilda,' he said, holding it out to her with one hand while he fondled himself gingerly with the other. 'The silly old sod snuffed it before she paid me, so I reckon her executors owe me ten thousand and her heir gets the painting. Jesus, Sarah, I feel really sick. I think you've done me some severe damage.'

She ignored him to read what was on the paper. 'This looks kosher,' she said.

'It is kosher. Keith drew it up.'

'He never told me.'

'Why should he? It was none of your business. I just hope I've got a claim on the estate. The way my luck's running, the contract's probably invalid because she's dead.'

Sarah passed the paper to DS Cooper. 'What do you think? It would be a shame if Jack's right. It's his second major sale.'

She was genuinely pleased for the bastard, Cooper thought in surprise. What a peculiar couple they were. He shrugged. 'I'm no expert but I've always understood that debts have to be met out of an estate. If you'd supplied her with new carpeting, which she hadn't paid for, the bill would presumably be honoured. I don't see why a painting should be any different, particularly one where the subject is the deceased. It's not as though you can sell it to anyone else, is it?' He glanced at the canvas. 'Bearing in mind, of course, you might have a problem proving it's Mrs. Gillespie.'

'Where would I have to prove it? In court?'

'Possibly.'

His eyes gleamed as he clicked his fingers for the contract. 'I'm relying on you, Sarah,' he said, tucking the paper back into his pocket.

'To do what?''

'Tell the executors not to pay, of course. Say you don't think it's Mathilda. I need the publicity of a court battle.'

'Don't be stupid. I know it's Mathilda. If the contract's legally binding on her estate, they'll have to pay.'

But he wasn't listening. He tossed his paints, brushes and bottles of turpentine and linseed oil into a hold-all, then released the canvas of Joanna Lascelles from the easel. 'I've got to go. Look, I can't take the rest of this stuff because I haven't found a studio yet, but I'll try and get back for it during the week. Is that okay? I only came for some clothes. I've been sleeping in the car and this lot's a bit rank.' He padded towards the door, slinging the hold-all over his shoulder and carrying the painting in his hand.

'One moment, Mr. Blakeney.' Cooper stood up to block his path. 'I haven't finished with you yet. Where were you on the night Mrs. Gillespie died?'

Jack glanced at Sarah. 'I was in Stratford,' he said coolly, 'with an actress called Sally Bennedict.'

Cooper didn't look up, merely licked the point of his pencil and jotted the name on his pad. 'And how can I contact her?'

'Through the RSC. She's playing Juliet in one of their productions.'

'Thank you. Now, as someone with material evidence, I must warn you that if you intend to go on sleeping in your car then you will be required to present yourself at a police station every day, because if you don't I shall be forced to apply for a warrant. We also need your fingerprints so that we can isolate yours from the others we lifted in Cedar House. There will be a fingerprinting team in Fontwell Parish Hall on Wednesday morning but if you can't attend, I shall have to make arrangements for you to come to the station.'

'I'll be there.'

'And your whereabouts in the meantime, sir?'

'Care of Mrs. Joanna Lascelles, Cedar House, Fontwell.' He booted open the door into the hall and eased through the gap. It was clearly something he had done many times before to judge by the dents and scratches on the paintwork.

'Jack!' Sarah called.

He turned to look at her. His eyebrows lifted enquiringly.

She nodded to the portrait of Mathilda. 'Congratulations.'

He flashed her an oddly ultimate smile before letting the door slam behind him.

The two, left behind in the studio, listened to his footsteps on the stairs as he went in search of clothes. 'He's a law unto himself, isn't he?' said Cooper, drawing thoughtfully on his cigarette.

'One of life's great individuals,' Sarah said, consciously echoing Jack's description of Mathilda, 'and very difficult to live with.'

'I can see that.' He bent down to stub the butt against the rim of the wastepaper basket. 'But equally difficult