The Scold's Bridle Read Free Page B

conscience about the less well off. She was an
atheist
, you know, and very rude to Mr. Matthews every time he came. She called him a Welsh leech. To his face, too."
    "Did he mind?"
    Duncan gave a rumble of laughter. "It was a game," he said. "She was quite generous sometimes when he caught her in a good mood. She gave him a hundred pounds once towards a centre for alcoholics, saying there but for the grace of her metabolism went she. She drank to deaden the pain of her arthritis, or so she said."
    "Not to excess, though," said Violet. "She was never
drunk
. She was too much of a lady ever to get drunk." She blew her nose loudly.
    "Is there anyone else you can think of who imposed on her?" asked Cooper after a moment.
    Duncan shrugged. "There was the doctor's husband, Jack Blakeney. He was always round there, but it wasn't an imposition. She liked him. I used to hear her laughing with him sometimes in the garden." He paused to reflect. "She had very few friends, Sergeant. As Violet said, she wasn't an easy woman. People either liked Mathilda or loathed her. You'll find that out soon enough if you're planning to ask questions of anyone else."
    "And you liked her?"
    His eyes grew suddenly wet. "I did," he said gruffly. "She was beautiful once, you know, quite beautiful." He patted his wife's hand. "We all were, a long, long time ago. Age has very few compensations, Sergeant, except perhaps the wisdom to recognize contentment." He pondered for a moment. "They do say slitting the wrists is a very peaceful way to die, although how anyone knows I can't imagine. Did she suffer, do you think?"
    "I'm afraid I can't answer that, Mr. Orloff," said Cooper honestly.
    The damp eyes held his for a moment and he saw a deep and haggard sadness in them. They spoke of a love that Cooper somehow suspected Duncan had never shown or felt for his wife. He wanted to say something by way of consolation, but what could he say that wouldn't make matters worse? He doubted that Violet knew, and he wondered, not for the first time, why love was more often cruel than it was kind.
     
     

     
    I watched Duncan clipping his hedge this afternoon and could barely remember the handsome man he was. If I had been a charitable woman, I would have married him forty years ago and saved him from himself and Violet. She has turned my Romeo into a sad-eyed Billy Bunter who blinks his passion quietly when no one's looking. Oh, that his too, too solid flesh should melt. At twenty, he had the body of Michelangelo's David, now he resembles an entire family group by Henry Moore.
    Jack continues to delight me. What a tragedy I didn't meet him or someone like him when I was "green in judgement." I learnt only how to survive, when Jack would, I think, have taught me how to love. I asked him why he and Sarah have no children, and he answered: "Because I've never had the urge to play God." I told him there was nothing godlike about procreation-doglike perhaps-and it's a monumental conceit that allows him to dictate Sarah's suitability as a mother. "The vicar would say you're playing the devil, Jack. The species won't survive unless people like you reproduce themselves."
    But he is not an amenable man. If he were, I would enjoy him less. "You've played God for years, Mathilda. Has it given you any pleasure or made you more content?" No, and I can say that honestly. I shall die as naked as I was born.

     
     
     
    *2*
    A week later the receptionist buzzed through to Dr. Blakeney's office. "There's a Detective Sergeant Cooper on the line. I've told him you have a patient with you but he's very insistent. Can you speak to him?" It was a Monday and Sarah was covering afternoon surgery in Fontwell.
    She smiled apologetically at the pregnant mother, laid out like a sacrificial offering on her couch. She put her hand over the receiver. "Do you mind if I take this call, Mrs. Graham? It's rather important. I'll be as quick as I can."
    "Get on with you. I'm enjoying the rest. You don't