Scold's Bridle

report this back to her, and make sure she uses it in court?'

'I'm relying on you.'

Keith's eyes narrowed suspiciously. 'What's that supposed to mean?'

'It means, Smollett, that I expect you to repeat every word of this conversation verbatim.' His expression was unreadable. 'Now do me a favour and take yourself off before I do something I might regret. Sarah's friendships are entirely her concern, of course, but I admit I've never understood why she always attracts domineering little men who think she's vulnerable.' He flipped the tape, pushed it back into the recorder and pressed the 'play' button. This time it was Richard Rodney Bennett's 'I never went away' that drifted in melancholy splendour upon the air.

No matter where I travelled to,

I never went away from you...

I never went away...

Jack closed his eyes. 'Now bugger off,' he murmured, 'before I rip your arms off. And don't forget to mention the sleeping-bag, there's a good chap.'

Duncan and Violet Orloff are the most absurd couple. They spent the entire afternoon on the lawn with Duncan fast asleep and Violet twittering non-stop drivel at him. She's like a manic little bird, constantly twitching her head from side to side for fear of predators. As a result she never once looked at Duncan and was quite oblivious to the fact that he wasn't listening to a word she said. I can't say I blame him. She was empty-headed as a child and age has not improved her. I still can't decide whether it was a good or a bad idea to offer them Wing Cottage when Violet wrote and said they'd set their hearts on spending their retirement in Fontwell. 'We do so want to come home,' was her appallingly sentimental way of putting it. The money was very useful, of course-Joanna's flat was a shocking expense, as is Ruth's education-but, on balance, neighbours should be eschewed. It's a relationship that can all too easily descend into forced intimacy. Violet forgot herself and called me 'love' last week, then went into paroxysms of hysteria when I pointed it out, beating her chest with her hands and ululating like some peasant woman. A most revolting display, frankly. I'm inclined to think she's going senile.

Duncan, of course, is a very different kettle of fish. The wit is still there, if somewhat slower through lack of practice. Hardly surprising when it has been blunted for forty years on Violet's plank of a brain. I wonder sometimes how much they remember of the past. I worry that Violet will twitter away to Joanna or Ruth one day and let cats out of bags that are better confined. We all share too many secrets.

I read back through my early diaries recently and discovered, somewhat to my chagrin, that I told Violet the week before her wedding that her marriage would never last. If the poor creature had a sense of humour, she could reasonably claim the last laugh ...

*9*

Joanna showed little surprise at finding Sarah on her doorstep at noon the next day. She gave the faintest of smiles and stepped back into the hall, inviting the other woman inside. 'I was reading the newspaper,' she said, as if Sarah had asked her a specific question. She led the way into the drawing-room. 'Do sit down. If you've come to see Jack, he's outside.'

This was a very different reception from the one Keith described having the previous evening, and Sarah wondered about Joanna's motives. She doubted that it had anything to do with the drug addiction Keith had harped on about, and thought it more likely that curiosity had got the better of her. It made sense. She was Mathilda's daughter and Mathilda had been insatiably curious.

She shook her head. 'No, it's you I've come to see.'

Joanna resumed her own seat but made no comment.

'I always liked this room,' said Sarah slowly. 'I thought how comfortable it was. Your mother used to sit over there,' she pointed to a high-backed chair in front of the french windows, 'and when the sun shone it turned her hair into a silver halo. You're very like her to look at but I expect you know that.'

Joanna fixed her with her curiously inexpressive eyes.

'Would it help, do you think, if you and I talked about her?'

Again Joanna didn't answer and to Sarah, who had rehearsed everything on the assumption that the other woman would be a willing party to their conversation, the silence was as effective as a brick wall. 'I hoped,' she said, 'that we could try to establish some sort of common ground.' She paused briefly but there was no response. 'Because, frankly, I'm not happy about leaving everything in the hands of solicitors. If we do, we might just as well burn the money now and be done with it.' She gave a tentative smile. 'They'll pick the bones clean and leave us with a worthless carcase. Is that what you want?'

Joanna turned her face to the window and contemplated the garden. 'Doesn't it make you angry that your husband's here with me, Dr. Blakeney?'

Relieved that the ice was broken, though not in a way she would have chosen herself, Sarah followed her gaze. 'Whether it does or doesn't isn't terribly relevant. If we bring Jack into it, we'll get nowhere. He has a maddening habit of hi-jacking almost every conversation I'm involved in, and I really would prefer, if possible, to keep him out of this one.'

'Do you think he slept with my mother?'

Sarah sighed inwardly. 'Does it matter to you?'

'Yes.'

'Then, no, I don't think he did. For all his sins, he never takes advantage of people.'

'She might have asked him to.'

'I doubt it. Mathilda had far too much dignity.'

Joanna turned back to her with a frown. 'I suppose you know she posed in the nude for him. I found one of his sketches in her desk. It left nothing to the imagination, I can assure you. Do you call that dignified? She was old enough to be his mother.'