Epilogue
And so it transpired that Freddie and I owed our lives, and Tom his freedom, to Amy's bigamist. Realising that she had forgotten her file, she had turned back to retrieve it, and had been surprised to find the front door of the cottage open. Seeing a man's jacket draped across one of the armchairs had made her suspect that something was wrong. She heard voices upstairs so had pretended to leave, and then parked her car around the corner. Although petrified with terror, she returned to the cottage, fetched the bronze from the cupboard where she had seen me put it, and tiptoed up the stairs. The rest, thank God, is history.
Edward recovered consciousness completely in hospital and was charged by a bemused Inspector Wilkinson with the murder of Michael Corcoran and George Musgrave and the attempted murder of myself. Once again, I was to be a witness for the prosecution, only this time the role held no fears and I intended to play my part in seeing that justice would be done.
Less easy was breaking the news to Freddie that his father was still alive. For the time being, I decided to shelter him from the truth by telling him that Edward had not died in a car accident abroad as we had first thought; but his injuries would keep him away for some time. At least I would be able to give him all the love and attention he needed. Edward's reappearance had prompted a speedy withdrawal by his parents of their wardship application.
Tom was given an official pardon and we celebrated his release from prison by going together to the races. By coincidence it was at Worcester and I was riding a novice hurdler for Ralph. There was a fair amount of barging coming round the final bend, ending up with Eamon Brennan going unceremoniously through the rails, and lo and behold, I found myself in front of the stewards. For once, Sir Arthur was charm itself and went out of his way to exonerate me despite the evidence of the head-on film.
Ralph, Tom and James, who was covering the meeting for the
'Come on,' said Tom, putting his arm affectionately around me, 'what's the secret?'
'Feminine intuition and understanding. Just before the race, I did Sir Arthur a favour. I returned his favourite holiday snap. What he doesn't know is whether I've retained a copy or not.'
'And have you?' they asked in unison.
'Now that would be telling!'
