cousin’s failings, he would never have stooped to setting his cap at my husband. I didn’t doubt that the most venomous of the gossips were those same women who were bumping off their husbands right, left, and center.
Eyes closed so their expression wouldn’t give me away, I groped for Ann’s hand. “What a coward I have been! I haven’t wanted to face the truth about those nights when Ben and Freddy stopped for a drink after work, the hours they spend engrossed in each other, talking about secret”-I had to do better than recipes-“things.” Then I let my anger work for me. “Ann, I can feel it! The beginning of that murderous rage!” I pounced out of the chair and paced the crowded room. “They have taken me for such a fool! I could kill them! Kill them both!” My voice spiralled. I could feel the heat of Ann’s eyes on my back.
She gave a light laugh. “Wouldn’t one of them be sufficient? It does, after all, take two to have an affair. Ellie, have you ever heard of a novel called
I tensed. So this was how the approach was made. “I… I can’t say I have.”
“Not surprising. It’s been out of print for years; a book that sank without a ripple. We get boxes of such in the shop and end up using the paper for packing. This one’s by Edwin Digby actually and is about a group of wives who form a club, the purpose of which is to murder off their adulterous husbands. The especially nice thing about the scheme is that one doesn’t plunge the knife or the poison… into one’s own mate. The necessary steps are taken for one, and afterward, an abundance of emotional and social support is provided.”
Silence.
“Amusing, don’t you think?” Ann peeled a price tag off a decanter.
“I think… it’s a pity there isn’t something like that locally. I could divorce Ben, but then he would get a share of the inheritance and I… I can’t bear the thought of him walking away with more than the clothes on his back.” Pressing my fingers to my brow, I waited.
“What if there were such a group?” Ann circled around me, fingers trailing the furniture.
“I suppose… I wouldn’t be eligible. After all, mine isn’t a case of another woman.” I fought a feeling of sickness.
“Oh, I don’t think that-it’s only a technicality. The important thing is knowing the right people.” Ann brushed my arm. “And, of course, we
I moved away from her to stand in front of a Victorian standing lamp. “Fictitiously speaking, how would someone apply for membership?” The room seemed to dim.
“Come here.” Ann pulled a chair away from a table with claw feet. “Sit down and tear a sheet off that pad of paper, and yes, there’s a pen behind this vase. You are going to write a letter.”
“I am?” My heart pounded.
“Yes, to Dear Felicity Friend.” The paper nearly blew off the table. Ann stood in front of me, tapping out a beat on the table. “Wisest, I think, to keep the message short and sweet: Dear Felicity Friend, Please help me get rid of a terrible problem-my husband.” Ann picked up a cigarette and flipped it between her fingers. “Sign it with your full name and a code.”
The pen dug a hole in the paper. Could I assume that Felicity Friend was The Founder, or was Felicity merely an unwitting instrument? “Why a code?”
Ann touched a cold finger to my cheek. “Why, Ellie, so Dear Felicity can answer you in the confidential column. Let’s see, how about something charmingly traditional like Heartbroken. That’s it! Write it down.” When I had done so, she tweaked the paper out of my slack grasp and folded it in two. The urge to snatch it back made my throat hurt.
“What next?” I managed. “… if this were fact, not fiction.”
Ann folded the paper again. “I would take this to the president of the club and urge your admission to our… the ranks.”
“The president being…?”
“Let us say Mrs. Amelia Bottomly, although I don’t suppose I should be saying anything of the sort. But we don’t have to be terribly discreet, do we, as this is only fiction. She would then get in touch with the founder of the organisation, who would make the decision as to whether or not you were eligible.” Ann straightened the Sylvania photo. “Then if you got clearance from the top, you would be contacted by telephone and asked in so many words if you wished your husband murdered. If you answered yes, you would be told the amount of dues payable and where to deposit. Simple, isn’t it?”
“Admirably.” My hands relaxed. No need to snatch back the letter to Dear Felicity. It only constituted an application; it was not a signing of the contract. I was ready to get out of here.
Ann held the paper between a finger and a thumb. Her eyes gleamed.
“Would you want me to tear this up if this were fact?”
“I…” Remember two important things, Ellie, I thought. You are not endangering Ben’s life and you are serving mankind. If you proceed to Point B-the telephone call-you may help accumulate enough evidence to call a halt to these vile murders. “Widowhood certainly becomes you, Ann.” I stood up.
She tapped the paper to her lips, picked up a black suede handbag, and dropped the paper inside. Then she went to stand by the fireplace, looking up into the gilded mirror. Her reflected eyes met mine.
“Life is what we make of it, don’t you agree, Ellie? If there were a Merry Widows Club, I would have had to worm my way in because my marital situation wouldn’t have met the admission requirements. Charles was incapable of having an affair, that is, with anyone except himself. But rumour, goodness knows who started it, buzzed it about that he was carrying on with Miss Thorn, of all pitiful people. I have always thought that lies are so much more credible when far-fetched. Although Charles did seem to rather like the poor wretch.”
Ann turned back to me, her fingers stroking the blackbird brooch. “My only regret concerning this death was your involvement. I like you, Ellie, and I don’t like most women.”
“Bunty Wiseman, for instance?”
“You noticed.”
“Could it be that you are in love with her husband?” When would I learn to be discreet?
Ann’s smile vanished. She stared at me, perhaps without seeing me. I had gone too far.
“You’re right,” Ann said softly. “Lionel Wiseman affects me as no man ever has, and he was showing definite signs of being attracted to me before he went and married that piece of candy floss. The day you and I went to his office, I felt the room begin whirling the moment he entered. Here’s something amusing. I wrote a letter to Dear Felicity myself several weeks ago, just to cool off. I told her that I had this uncontrollable urge to rush into Lionel’s office and fling off my clothes.”
“I have the feeling I read that,” I murmured.
Ann gave no sign of hearing me. She removed a black hat from a rack on the wall and stood in front of the mirror, tilting the brim over her brow. “Of course, that was before I knew that there were other, more valid reasons for writing to Dear Felicity.” She adjusted the hat to another angle. “Ellie, I do hope our little chat has helped clear your head. It has mine. If there were a Merry Widows Club and I had my suspicions as to the identity of its founder, I might decide that I had waited long enough to approach that person and request a small favour. Widowhood is pleasant, as I have said, but I don’t think I want to make it a way of life.” She stopped talking to herself in the mirror and addressed me. “How about lunch, after which I do have an errand to run…”
Run was what I was going to do, run to the nearest telephone kiosk. Ann’s last words were fraught with ominous possibilities. I stammered that I couldn’t make lunch. I had to get out of this room. But suddenly it was a long way down the stairs, through the amber velvet curtains, across the shop floor to the fresh air of the world outside.
21
“Miss Hyacinth or Miss Primrose Tramwell, please.” I stood in the telephone kiosk at the corner of Market and Herring streets, convinced I was being photographed by hidden cameras.
“Sorry to keep you, love,” said the female voice from the Pebblewell Hotel. “Our gentleman at Reception says the ladies left word they’d be out all afternoon, fishing.”
