The Scold's Bridle by Minette Walters Page B

the Cavendishes to her doctor." Her mouth twisted. "What a frigging awful joke! She warned me about it, too. Talk to Dr. Blakeney. She'll know what to do for the best. It's so unfair." She stamped her foot. "It's so bloody unfair."
    Joanna's face was thoughtful. "Is that right, Mr. Duggan?"
    "Not strictly, no. I will admit that Mrs. Gillespie's reading of Dr. Blakeney's character was that she would honour some of the undertakings Mrs. Gillespie made to you and your daughter, but I must stress that Dr. Blakeney is not obliged to do so. There is nothing in the will to that effect. She is free to interpret your mother's wishes any way she chooses, and if she believes that she can promote something worthwhile in Mrs. Gillespie's memory by ignoring you and building a clinic in this village instead, then she is entitled to do so."
    There was another silence. Sarah looked up from a prolonged study of the carpet to discover all their eyes upon her. She found herself echoing Ruth's words.
What a frigging awful joke.
"Thursday," she said with a sigh. "I'll come to your office on Thursday and I shall probably bring my own solicitor with me. I'm not happy about this, Mr. Duggan."
    "Poor Dr. Blakeney," said Joanna with a tight smile. "I do believe you're finally beginning to realize what a ruthless bitch my mother was. From the moment she seduced Gerald, she had her hands on the Cavendish purse strings and she kept them there, through threats and blackmail, upwards of fifty years." A look of compassion crossed her curiously impassive face. "And now she's appointed you to carry on her tyranny. The dictator is dead." She gave a small, ironic bow. "Long live the dictator."
    Sarah stood by Paul Duggan's car as he packed the video recorder into the boot. "Have the police seen that film?" she asked him as he straightened up.
    "Not yet. I've an appointment with a Sergeant Cooper in half an hour or so. I'll give him a copy then."
    "Shouldn't you have shown it to them straight away? Mathilda didn't sound to me like a woman who was about to commit suicide.
I must have died without changing my mind
... She wouldn't have said that if she was planning to kill herself two days later."
    "I agree."
    His moon face beamed at her and she frowned her irritation. "You're very relaxed about it," she said tartly. "I hope, for your sake, DS Cooper understands why you've delayed producing it. I certainly don't. Mathilda's been dead two weeks and the police have been tying themselves in knots trying to find evidence of murder."
    "Not my fault, Dr. Blakeney," he said amiably. "It's been with the film company who made it for the last two weeks, waiting to have titles and music added. Mrs. Gillespie wanted Verdi playing in the background." He chuckled. "She chose
Dies Irae
-The Day of Wrath. Rather appropriate, don't you think?" He paused briefly, waiting for a reaction, but she was in no mood to oblige. "Anyway, she wanted to view it afterwards and they told her to come back in a month for a viewing. These things can't be hurried, I gather. They were very out to hear from me that she was already dead. All of which lends weight to your argument, that she wasn't planning to kill herself." He shrugged. "I wasn't there when she made it, so I didn't know what was in it. As far as I was concerned it was a message to her family. I saw it for the first time last night, at which point I rang for an appointment with the boys in blue." He glanced at his watch. "And I'm going to be late. I'll see you on Thursday, then."
    Sarah watched him drive away with a horrible feeling of insecurity chewing at the pit of her stomach. She should have guessed, prepared herself a little.
Talk to Dr. Blakeney. She will know what to do for the best.
And what about Jack? Had
he
known?
    She felt suddenly very lonely.
     
    Sarah was raking up leaves when DS Cooper arrived that afternoon. He picked his way across the grass and stood watching her. "Hard work," he murmured sympathetically.
    "Yes." She