Simon Brett - The Stabbing in the Stables
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- Название:The Stabbing in the Stables
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Jude looked appalled. “Not that poor girl?”
“Poor girl? I don’t know what you’re talking about. It’s a man who’s confessed.”
“Who?” asked Carole.
“Alec Potton. Now do you want this tip for the next race or don’t you?”
He gave them a horse’s name. Chateau Dego. Jude put twenty pounds on it at sixteen to one. Carole desisted, not wishing to risk the precious three pounds fifty she had won on Becktrout. As a result, she missed out on the three hundred and twenty pounds that Jude won when Chateau Dego romped home by a mile.
But neither the winning punter nor the nonpunter showed much emotion. They reacted numbly, as in a daze. Carole and Jude were both preoccupied by the news they had heard about Alec Potton.
29
Carole Seddon was normally a very organised shopper. She planned ahead, making elaborate lists before her weekly forays to Sainsbury’s. (There was also a Tesco’s near Fethering, but, in spite of the huge rebranding and massive success of the company, Carole couldn’t stop thinking of Tesco’s as slightly common.) Surprise and shame were therefore her dominant emotions when, after her day’s racing at Fontwell, she got back to High Tor to find she had run out of dog food. She had been somewhat preoccupied with Walter Fleet’s murder and worries about Stephen and Gaby; she just hadn’t noticed the dwindling stocks of Gulliver’s favourite Pedigree Chum.
There was nothing else in the larder she could fob him off with. And there was no way she could endure an entire evening of reproachful looks from a hungry dog. So there was nothing for it but to put her coat on again and take a brisk walk down to Allinstore.
Even though she avoided using the local supermarket whenever possible, Carole still knew exactly where the pet food section was, and quickly filled her basket with enough tins-and no more-to see Gulliver through till her next scheduled Sainsbury’s run. She wasn’t planning to pay more Allinstore prices than she had to.
At that time of the evening, between the postschool-run rush and the returning commuters’ flurry, the store was fairly empty, and Carole couldn’t have been more surprised to see, sitting behind one of the tills, Hilary Potton. If her ex-husband’s arrest and the possible effect of that on Imogen had been enough to make her take time off work, why on earth wasn’t she staying at home after the news of his confession? Maybe Carole was about to find out.
She took her purchases up to the counter and received a beam of recognition. For a moment this surprised her, but then she remembered that she had only had Hilary’s shouting at Jude reported to her. Carole herself was in the clear; so far as Hilary Potton was concerned, she had nothing to do with the treacherous Jude.
“Glad to see you back,” she said uncontroversially. “Are things a bit more settled at home?”
“Well, I suppose they are in the sense that I now know where I am.”
“Oh?” As usual in her encounters with Hilary, Carole reckoned only the smallest of prompts would be required.
Her surmise proved correct. “Look, I may as well tell you this, Carole, because soon enough it’ll be all over Fethering-not to mention the known world. The fact is that Alec, my ex-husband, has now been shown up as the monster he always was.”
“Well, I heard he’d been taken in for questioning by the police.”
“Things have moved on from there. It seems the police had very good reasons for questioning him. Alec has confessed.”
“What?”
“He’s admitted that he stabbed Walter Fleet.”
“Good heavens. That must be terrible for you.”
“Well, yes, at one level, it is. I mean, I always knew Alec had a lot of personality defects, but it never occurred to me that he’d do anything on this scale. It’s terrible and”-Hilary Potton shuddered-“I also feel awful about the potential danger I’ve been in from him all these years-not to mention the threat he posed to Imogen.”
“But how has poor Imogen taken the news? She was upset enough, I seem to recall, about her father being taken in for questioning. This latest business must be appalling for her-you know, when her friends at school find out…”
“Yes, I thought of that. I’ve talked to the school, and they agree that it would be good for her to have a break till things settle down. I drove her up to stay with my mother in Northampton this morning.”
“That sounds very sensible.”
“Well, I thought it was for the best.”
“I don’t know what to say, Hilary. I’m just so sorry you’re being put through this dreadful trauma.”
“Yes, it’s no fun, I can tell you. But at least, now I know the kind of man Alec really is-presumably always was-I no longer feel even the tiniest twinge of guilt about the fact that I’m divorcing him.”
The words were spoken with unmistakable satisfaction. Carole wondered whether something comparable would have helped her. If she had known David to be the perpetrator of some atrocious crime, would she have felt less of a failure for getting divorced? Would the public opprobrium have made her feel she was justified in getting rid of such a monster? She rather feared it wouldn’t have made the slightest bit of difference. In her case, the guilt would still have been there.
One of the first commuter trains must have just arrived at the station, because Allinstore suddenly had an influx of customers, the first of whom was now approaching the checkout.
“Oh, I’d better take for these.” Hilary Potton ran the tins of Pedigree Chum past the barcode reader. “For that lovely dog of yours I saw in the cafe-now what was his name?”
“Gulliver.”
“That’s right.”
Carole handed across the exact change. “But listen, Hilary, if there’s anything I can do to help out, do just give me a call, won’t you?”
“That’s so sweet of you, Carole. But I’ll be strong-I’ll have to be. I’ll manage.”
This was said with considerable pluck-even nobility. And Carole realised that Hilary Potton was enjoying every minute of her new status. Not only was she getting rid of a hated husband, she was also being given the chance to play the central role in her favourite drama-the one about her own life.
“Jude, my back’s just seized up completely.”
“How completely, Sonia? Can you move?”
“Not really. I’m stranded on the sofa in the sitting room. It’s agony just trying to lie down, but even worse when I try to stand up.”
“I’ll come round straightaway. Will I be able to get in?”
“Yes, the front door’s unlocked.”
Not even someone as naturally elegant as Sonia Dalrymple could look good immobilised with back pain. Under the skilful makeup her face was grey and the darkened circles round her eyes showed through. Her blond hair was lank, and her eyes were red with weeping-though whether with tears caused by pain, frustration or something else Jude did not know.
She had brought an emergency kit of oils and microwaveable heat pads with her, but started first with just her hands. “Where? Small of the back, is it? Just at the bottom of the spine?”
Nodding was too painful, but Sonia managed to confirm that that was indeed where the epicentre of her pain lay.
Jude concentrated and brought her hands down gently onto the affected area. Through Sonia’s clothes, she could feel the rigid knots of tension that had tied up her movement. Jude focused and let the hot energy flow through her hands, melting the seized-up joints, easing the rigid muscles. Within about five minutes, her client had managed to sit up.
“Just relax. I’ll give you a full massage in a moment. First, let that relaxation go all the way through your body. All right, how is that?”
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