Scold's Bridle

else in James's life.

I am L36,500 richer today than I was yesterday, and I glory in it. The cheque from the insurance company for the various items stolen from the safe over Christmas while Joanna and I were in Cheshire came to an astonishing L23,500, the bulk of which was for the set of diamond jewellery belonging to my grandmother. The tiara alone was insured for L5,500, although I imagine it was worth more than that as I have not had it valued since Father's death. Extraordinary to have such a windfall for items I, personally, would not be seen dead in. There is nothing so ugly or heavy as ornate Victorian jewellery.

By contrast, James's clocks are anything but vulgar, probably because it was his father who bought them and not James. I took them to Sotheby's to be valued and discovered they are worth more than double the L12,000 they were insured for. Thus, after paying James L12,000,1 retain L11,500 from the insurance cheque and have effectively purchased from my contemptible husband a fine investment, valued at L25,000.

As I said, revenge is a dish best eaten cold...

*14*

Earlier that afternoon, a tall, distinguished-looking man was shown into Paul Duggan's office in Poole. He gave his name as James Gillespie and calmly produced his passport and his marriage certificate to Mathilda Beryl Gillespie to prove it. Aware that he had dropped something of a bombshell, he lowered himself on to a vacant chair and clasped his hands around the handle of his walking-stick, studying Duggan with amusement from beneath a pair of exuberant white eyebrows. 'Bit of a shock, eh?' he said. Even from the other side of the desk, the smell of whiskey on his breath was powerful.

The younger man examined the passport carefully, then placed it on the blotting-pad in front of him. 'Unexpected, certainly,' he said dryly. 'I had assumed Mrs. Gillespie was a widow. She never mentioned a husband or,' he laid a careful stress upon the next syllable, 'ex-husband still living.'

'Husband,' grunted the other forcefully. 'She wouldn't. It suited her better to be thought a widow.'

'Why did you never divorce?'

'Never saw the need.'

'This passport was issued in Hong Kong.'

'Naturally. Out there forty years. Worked in various banks. Came back when I realized it was no place to end my days. Too much fear now. Peking's unpredictable. Uncomfortable for a man of my age.' He spoke in clipped staccato sentences like someone in a hurry or someone impatient with social niceties.

'So why have you come to see me?' Duggan watched him curiously. He was striking to look at, certainly, with a mane of white hair and an olive complexion, etched with deep lines around his eyes and mouth, but closer examination revealed an underlying poverty beneath the superficial air of prosperity. His clothes had once been good, but time and usage had taken their toll and both the suit and the camel-hair coat were wearing thin.

'Should have thought it was obvious. Now she's dead-reclaiming what's mine.'

'How did you know she was dead?'

'Ways and means,' said the other.

'How did you know I was her executor?'

'Ways and means,' said the other again.

Duggan's curiosity was intense. 'And what is it that you wish to reclaim?'

The old man took a wallet from his inside pocket, removed some folded sheets of very thin paper and spread them on the desk. 'This is an inventory of my father's estate. It was divided equally amongst his three children on his death forty-seven years ago. My share was those items marked with the initials JG. You will find, I think, that at least seven of them appear on your inventory of Mathilda's estate. They are not hers. They never were hers. I now wish to recover them.'

Thoughtfully, Duggan read through the documents. 'Precisely which seven items are you referring to, Mr. Gillespie?'

The huge white eyebrows came together in a ferocious scowl. 'Don't trifle with me, Mr. Duggan. I refer, of course, to the clocks. The two Thomas Tompions, the Knibbs, the seventeenth-century mahogany long case, the Louis XVI Lyre clock, the eighteenth-century 'pendule d'officer' and the crucifix clock. My father and grandfather were collectors.'

Duggan steepled his hands over the inventory. 'May I ask why you think any of these things appear on the inventory of Mrs. Gillespie's estate?'

'Are you telling me they don't?'

The solicitor avoided a direct answer. 'If I understood you correctly you've been absent from this country for forty years. How could you possibly know what might or might not have been in your wife's possession the day she died?'

The old man snorted. 'Those clocks were the only things of value I had, and Mathilda went to a great deal of trouble to steal them from me. She certainly wouldn't have sold them.'

'How could your wife steal them if you were still married?'

'Tricked me out of them, then, but it was still theft.'

'I'm afraid I don't understand.'

Gillespie removed an airmail letter from his wallet and handed it across the desk. 'Self-explanatory, I think.'

Duggan unfolded the letter and read the terse lines. The address was Cedar House and the date was April 1961.

Dear James,