“Didn’t she mention that she had another boyfriend?”
“Oh, yes,” he recalled. “There had been someone, apparently. But she implied that that had been over for a long time.”
Taking a leaf out of your book then, thought Jude. “No more details?”
“No, she said she’d got rid of him.”
“Hm.” Jude took in the implications of this for a moment, then said, “I actually asked whether your affair with Sophia was still going on.”
“Well, no.” He screwed up his face wryly. “We had had a bit of a falling-out, during the last week, really. I mean, often the really powerful loves have only a limited duration. ‘So quick bright things come to confusion’, and all that. I had to tell her that it wasn’t working. And, you know, I was beginning to feel guilty about Esther.”
Oh yes, very handy – the married man’s time-honoured way of getting out of an extramarital entanglement: he’s worried about his wife.
“How did Sophia take the news?”
He grimaced. “Not very well, I’m afraid. She was terribly upset, talk of suicide, all kinds of things.” He smiled a put-upon smile. “Clearly, the whole thing meant much more to her than it did to me.”
Once again Jude was struck by Andy’s arrogance. He saw himself doomed to go through life as a babe- magnet, powerless against the devastating strength of his own attractiveness.
“So thoughts of Esther were the only reason you said your affair with Sophia must end?”
“Well…” He smiled winningly. “There was another reason.”
“What was that?”
“I thought maybe things were going to work out with you.”
This time Jude had great difficulty containing her anger. Even from his hospital bed the sleaze-bag was coming on to her. One moment he was talking of breaking off one relationship out of consideration for his wife, the next he was proposing to start a new one. She calmed herself, and said, “Going back to what happened to you last night, you didn’t get any sight of your attacker, did you?”
He shook his head. “It was pitch dark. And it happened so quickly. The whole thing was over in a matter of seconds.”
“So nothing? No glimpse of a face? No touch of a body?”
“Well, as a matter of fact, as I tried to defend myself, I got hold of his or her coat. And it felt like waxed fabric.”
“A Barbour?”
“That kind of thing, yes.”
Jude nodded thoughtfully. “Oh, well, no doubt the police will catch the culprit.”
“I doubt it.”
“Why not?”
“Well, it was probably a drifter, who just broke into the Drama Studio in hope of finding some equipment he could sell to buy drugs.”
“That’s nonsense, Andy. Too much of a coincidence. My view would be that your attacker was very definitely targeting you. You said as much yourself. It was someone who knew your habits very well, knew that you frequently went into the Drama Studio without switching on the working lights.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t.”
This was said with such intensity that Jude suddenly understood. Andy Constant thought he knew precisely who had attacked him. And at that moment Jude reckoned she did too.
“Andy, was it Sophia who stabbed you last night?”
“No. Of course it wasn’t.”
But he didn’t sound convincing, so Jude pressed on. “I think it was. And I think that’s why you’re going to push your theory about the perpetrator being some nameless drifter. You’re afraid that if the police get on to Sophia, Esther will find out about the affair you’ve been having with her.”
“No, Jude. I’m sure it wasn’t Sophia. It wouldn’t be in her nature to do something like that.”
“You don’t think so? ‘Hell hath no fury’…et cetera.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t her.” But now he sounded as though he were trying to convince himself.
“It could have been, though,” Jude persisted. His silence was more eloquent than an admission. “Come on, Andy, tell me what it was made you think it was Sophia?”
“Well,” he said feebly, “it’s just an impression I got, split-second thing. But there’s a very distinctive scent she wears. I thought I got a whiff of that last night.”
? Blood at the Bookies ?
Thirty-Six
It was nearly nine o’clock when Jude left the hospital. Her route back to Clincham Station took her past the university campus. Which meant that she also passed by the Bull, from which emanated the sound of music and weak applause.
Of course. Friday night. She had witnessed the workings of synchronicity too often to be surprised by its magic. Friday night was the night the Bull hosted ‘Clincham Uni’s Number One Folk?Rock Band.’ Magic Dragon, the band fronted by Sophia Urquhart. Who were actually playing in the pub at that moment. Now that was magic.
She called Carole on the mobile. “Look, I haven’t got time to explain the details, but could you come to Clincham straight away? Meet me in the Bull. And could you check at Woodside Cottage to see if Zofia’s there? If so, could you bring her too?”
Magic Dragon didn’t seem to be much of a Friday night draw. Maybe the University of Clincham students went further afield for their weekend entertainment, to the clubs of Brighton or Portsmouth. Or maybe they wanted a more up-to-date musical repertoire than the band provided.
There had been so many sixties revivals, but Jude was still surprised to hear the songs that Magic Dragon had chosen. It was mostly the Joan Baez back catalogue. Given Sophia Urquhart’s voice, this made sense. The songs suited her pure soprano. But they seemed an odd choice for a student group in the early twenty-first century.
‘Farewell Angelina’, ‘Banks of the Ohio’, ‘Go ‘Way from My Window’, ‘There But for Fortune’, ‘With God on Our Side’…they all brought back Jude’s youth and she loved hearing them, but she wondered who had made the selection. Was one of the band members an enthusiastic researcher of the period? Had there been some influence from Tadek, with his love of sixties music? Or from Andy Constant, who seemed never to have left the sixties? Maybe Jude would find out when she finally spoke to Sophia. Though she had more serious things to discuss with the girl than her musical tastes.
Carole and Zofia arrived in the pub at about twenty to ten. Which was good timing – more synchronicity, thought Jude – as Magic Dragon took a break, after their first set, at nine forty-five. So she was up at the bar buying drinks when the thirsty band approached.
“Sophia!” she cried. She was aware once again of the girl’s expensive perfume, the smell that Andy Constant had detected on his attacker. “I’m Jude – remember?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Wanted to hear your band. Your father was telling me how good you were. Wonderful stuff! Can I get you a drink by way of congratulation?”
“Well, erm…”
“Go on, what would you like?”
Like most students, the girl didn’t prevaricate long over the offer of a free drink. “Pint of Stella, please. I get very thirsty singing.”
“I’m sure you do.” Jude added it to her order. “Do come and join us. I’ve got a couple of friends who’d love to meet you.”
“Well, I…” She didn’t want to, she wanted to be with her mates, but Sophia Urquhart was a well-brought-up girl and knew that accepting a drink from someone did involve certain social responsibilities. “Yes, fine. But I’d better not be long, because we don’t get much of a break before the next set.”
