Simon Brett - The Stabbing in the Stables

“What?” Hilary Potton had to be dragged out of her dreams of vengeance. “Oh, yes.”

“No, I was just thinking…because there was that dreadful business up at Long Bamber Stables. I hope she had nothing to do with that set-up, because it would just be another trauma for the poor girl.”

“That certainly hasn’t helped. She’s still in a pretty bad state. She seemed to be in total shock when she first heard about it. You see, Long Bamber’s the stables where Imogen’s had all her riding lessons. She spends quite a lot of time up there, mucking out and what have you. So, yes, she’s heard all the gory details about Walter Fleet’s death.”

“But-poor child-she wasn’t round there at the time of the murder, was she?”

“No, thank goodness.” Hilary Potton looked affronted at the suggestion. “Safely at home with me, I’m glad to say.”

“Good. And I’m sorry, this sounds very prurient, but since everyone in Fethering is discussing the murder, does Imogen have a theory about what happened? Has she said anything to you about-”

“Shall we go then?”

They’d been too absorbed to hear her approach, but suddenly a girl who Carole assumed must be Imogen was standing beside them. She was wearing a school uniform. Perversely, in spite of the cold, she had her fur-trimmed anorak hooked on a finger over her shoulder. A dyed ginger lock flopped over her spotty forehead. Her expression and body language matched perfectly; both bespoke sulky teenage resentment. Whether or not she’d heard the end of their conversation was impossible to know.

“Yes, Imogen. This is Carole Seddon.”

The girl nodded curtly and gestured towards the door. She was damned if she was going to show any interest in her mother’s friends. She was damned if she was going to show interest in anything to do with her mother. She hadn’t wanted to come to meet her in the Seaview Cafe, and was not about to start disguising her feelings on the subject.

Experience had taught Hilary Potton that trying to get politeness out of her daughter in this mood was a losing battle, so, with a hurried farewell and vague intentions to phone Carole and meet up again, she followed Imogen out of the Seaview Cafe.

Leaving Carole frustrated about her last, unanswered question, and pondering guiltily the effects of marriage breakdown on the children involved.

On that evening’s Radio 4 Six O’Clock News it was announced that the police had released the man they had been questioning about the death of Walter Fleet. Without charge.

“So you didn’t get the impression that Hilary Potton was a murderer?”

“No, why should she be?” asked Carole.

“Just that anyone who had any involvement in Long Bamber Stables should be on our list.”

“Well, no, I don’t think she is a murderer. Though I think she’s a potential murderer.”

“Aren’t we all, in the right circumstances?”

“Speak for yourself,” said Carole tartly. “Mind you, the ‘right circumstances’ for Hilary Potton would have to be very specific ones. There is only one situation in which she would murder someone…”

“Ah?”

“…and that’s if the victim were her husband. Then I think she’d be capable of any atrocity.”

“But Walter Fleet was not her husband.”

“No. I don’t even know whether she’d ever met him, though I assume she would have done-you know, dropping Imogen at the stables or picking her up.”

“Hm.” Jude sipped at her sauvignon blanc in the High Tor kitchen on the Wednesday evening. Maybe she was beginning to widen the cracks in Carole’s gentility, she thought mischievously. Even a year ago Carole would have insisted on their taking their drinks through to the sitting room. Hanging round kitchens drinking used to be total anathema to her, but she was changing.

“I was really surprised to hear that this Donal character has been released,” Carole mused. “I’d been very definitely coming round to the view that he’d done it.”

“Well, it’s good news, isn’t it?”

“In what way?”

Jude grinned triumphantly. “If he didn’t kill Walter Fleet, then somebody else did. And we’re still in with a chance of finding out who.”

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to cancel my appointment.”

“No problem. Lots of other things I can do tomorrow afternoon. Do you want to fix another date, Sonia?”

“Erm…no. Not at the moment. I’m sorry, everything’s a bit all over the place. I’m rather stressed.”

“I thought that was why you were coming to see me,” said Jude.

“Yes.” There was a silence from the other end of the phone. “The fact is…erm, if we could leave it for a little while…?”

“As I say, no problem.”

“Good.”

“And how about Chieftain?”

“Oh, he and Conker have gone back to Long Bamber.”

“No, I meant you are temporarily suspending your treatment with me. I wondered if the same went for Chieftain. Or has his lameness got better?”

“No, it hasn’t. Yes, actually I would be grateful if you could have another go at him, Jude.”

“Of course. I still feel a bit frustrated by my failure last time. So, when could you make it?”

“Erm, well…” Sonia Dalrymple sounded uncharacteristically flustered. “As I say, things are a bit…”

“Are you all right, Sonia?”

“Yes, absolutely fine.” The response was too quick to be genuine. “Look, tell you what, Jude, because my movements are a bit unpredictable over the next week, would you mind going to try your powers on Chieftain on your own?”

“I don’t mind, but what about him? He’s not going to take very kindly to a stranger coming into his stall and fondling his knee, is he?”

“No, but Lucinda or Walter-that is, Lucinda or one of her grooms will hold him and keep him quiet while you do your stuff. He’ll be fine with them.”

“Okay, I’ll have a go.”

“I’ll give you Lucinda’s number. And I’ll give her a call first to say you’ll be in touch. Then you can fix a time that’s mutually convenient.”

“I’ll do that. By the way, I assume you’ve heard that the police have released Donal without charge?”

“I did hear that, yes.” There was quite definitely a note of relief in her voice.

“By the way, it was a pleasure to meet Nicky the other day,” Jude said, though she wasn’t quite sure “pleasure” was the right word.

“He was pleased to meet you too.”

“And do please thank him on my behalf.”

“What for?”

“His donation to the N.S.P.C.C. It was a very generous cheque.”

“Oh, that’s typical of Nicky-ever the master of the grand gesture.” For the first time, Jude almost heard a hint of criticism.

“Is he still with you?”

“No, he flew off to Singapore yesterday morning.”

And once again, there was unmistakable relief in the way the words were said.

Jude hadn’t been back to Long Bamber Stables since the night of Walter Fleet’s murder, and that Thursday morning the premises did look a lot less foreboding than on her previous visit. The weather had brightened and, though the February cold still scoured her face, Jude felt the thin sun promising that, one day, there would be a spring.

She had come on her own, walking along the towpath, past Unwins, the mile or so to the stables. She hadn’t told Carole about her visit. This was not with a view to excluding her friend from any part of their investigation-though she knew that, if Carole ever found out, that was the way she would see it. But Jude needed the minimum number of people around her when she was on a mission of healing. Her previous lack of success with Chieftain rankled-not because she allowed herself any vainglory about her healing skills, but because the failure felt like unfinished business. And, besides, the horse was still suffering.