The Jewel That Was Ours

Sheila shrugged: 'Whatever you like. I've got most things — if you know what I mean.'

'I drink too much as it is.'

'So do I.'

'Look, I know it's late—'

'I'm never in bed before about one — not on my own!' She laughed cruelly at herself.

'You've had a long day.'

'A long boozy day, yeah.' She took a few sips of the hot coffee. 'There's something in one of Kipling's stories about a fellow who says he knows his soul's gone rotten because he can't get drunk any more. You know it?'

Morse nodded. ' 'Love o' Women'.'

'Yeah! One of the greatest stories of the twentieth century.'

'Nineteenth, I think you'll find.'

'Oh, for Christ's sake! Not a literary copper!' She looked down miserably at the table-top; then looked up again as Morse elaborated:

'It was Mulvaney, wasn't it? 'When the liquor does not take hold, the soul of a man is rotten in him.' Been part of my mental baggage for many a year.'

'Jesus!' whispered Sheila.

The room in which they sat was pleasantly furnished, with some good quality pieces, and several interesting and unusual reproductions of Dutch seventeenth-century paintings. A few touches of good taste all round, thought Morse; of femininity, too — with a beribboned teddy-bear seated upright on the settee beside his mistress. And it was in this room, quietly and simply, that Morse told her of the death of Theodore Kemp, considering, in his own strange fashion, that it was perhaps not an inappropriate time for her to know.

For a while Sheila Williams sat quite motionless, her large, brown eyes gradually moistening like pavements in a sudden shower.

'But how. why.?'

'We don't know. We were hoping you might be able to help us. That's why I'm here.'

Sheila gaped at him. 'Me?'

'I'm told you had a — well, a bit of a row with him.'

'Who told you that?' (The voice sharp.)

'One of the group.'

'That Roscoe bitch!'

'Have another guess.'

'Ugh, forget it! We had a row, yes. God, if anyone was going to kill themselves after that, it was me— me, Inspector — not him.'

'Look! I'm sorry to have to ask you at a time like this—'

'But you want to know what went on between us — between Theo and me.'

'Yes. Yes, I do, Mrs. Williams.'

'Sheila! My name's Sheila. What's yours?'

'Morse. They just call me Morse.'

'All bloody 'give' on my part, this, isn't it?'

'What did pass between you and Dr. Kemp, Mrs. — er, Sheila?'

'Only my life—that's what! That's all!'

'Go on.'

'Oh, you wouldn't understand. You're married, I'm sure, with a lovely wife and a couple of lovely kids—'

'I'm a bachelor.'

'Oh, well. That's all right then, isn't it? All right for men.' She drained her coffee and looked, first wildly, then sadly around her.

'G and T?' suggested Morse.

'Why not?'

As Morse poured her drink (and his), he heard her speaking in a dreamy, muted sort of voice, as though dumbfounded by the news she'd heard.

'You know, I was married once, Morse. That's how I got most of this' (gesturing around the room).

'It's nice — the room,' said Morse, conscious that the shabby exterior of the property belied its rather graceful interior, and for a second or two he wondered whether a similar kind of comment might not perhaps be passed on Mrs. Williams herself.

'Oh, yes. He had impeccable taste. That's why he left me for some other woman — one who didn't booze and do embarrassing things, or get moody, or stupid, or passionate.'