Imaginative Experience by Mary Wesley Read Free Book Online Page B

forgotten. Um—er—how?’
    ‘With a frying-pan. The plastic surgeon had the devil of a job; the cartilage was pulped.’ Madge stopped speaking and closed her eyes.
    ‘The little boy is like his father, isn’t he?’ Maurice gave a gentle lead, watching his hostess drink her tea, refill her cup, add whisky. ‘Little Christy was very like his father.’ Maurice raised his voice slightly. ‘Took after him, wouldn’t you say?’ He stood up to re-examine the photographs. What was it they’d said in the pub? Bit of a lad, very matey with his mother-in-law, dodgy with money, liked the girls. Temper? Oh yes, bit dodgy there too, but flash, and charm the birds off the trees. ‘Very pretty little boy. Not like his mother. Funny,’ he ventured.
    Madge said, ‘He was Giles’s son and Clodagh’s grandson. Why should he be like Julia? She was only a vehicle.’
    ‘A what?’ Maurice was startled.
    ‘You heard.’ Madge swallowed her tea, sniffed and added inconsequentially, ‘She was barely in time for the funeral.’
    ‘Oh?’
    ‘She wasn’t here, never was here once she grew up, left home at sixteen. Giles was here with Christy, staying with Clodagh. It was ridiculous that Julia had custody; Clodagh thinks the judge was bribed. Oh, not money, words, sweet talk, lies. Then Giles had this dreadful crash with the child in his car—’
    ‘And they were both killed.’ (The pub had provided details: car a write-off, father and child killed instantly, child’s head practically severed at the neck, lorry driver in hospital with shock.) ‘How very sad.’
    ‘And that’s the understatement of the year. That accident was wholly preventable.’
    ‘Oh.’ Maurice sipped his tea, wishing he had not refused whisky. Too late now. ‘How—?’ What was it that fellow had said in the pub? Kamikaze? ‘How,’ he repeated, speaking clearly, ‘did it happen?’
    ‘How indeed.’ Madge raised her voice. ‘Julia always did the driving when they were married. Giles was a bit adventurous, you might call it, yes, adventurous will do. Julia put him down, said he was a hopeless driver. He may have been; some people are. Anyway, she drove. You must have noticed she always drove.’
    ‘Well, I, well, I’d for—’
    ‘Well, she did. Then there was—Oh, I think the police were mistaken, but for some time I believe he had no licence.’
    ‘Banned from driving?’
    ‘That’s what they call it, yes.’ Madge looked ruffled. ‘Too silly.’
    ‘Ah.’
    ‘Clodagh says they were over-zealous. Anyway, the point I am trying to make is that if Julia had been driving, there would not have been an accident. That is the point I am making and Clodagh is making. If Julia had been at the wheel Giles and Christy would be alive today.’
    Maurice said, ‘But forgive me, I understood Julia was not here when—’
    Madge snapped, ‘Of course she wasn’t. Clodagh liked to have Giles and Christy on their own. Julia never fitted.’
    Pondering this inconsistency, Maurice watched his hostess swallow her euphemistic tea and put up a hand to hide a smile as he tried to fit the girl who had raced across the field into the picture presently being painted by her mother’s friend. ‘So she did not fit in,’ he said.
    Madge said, ‘Come to think of it, she never did.’ Then. she said, ‘Fit or no fit, she’s responsible, it’s obvious.’
    ‘You are making her out a murderess,’ said Maurice. I usually watch birds, he thought. I am only here because the girl intrigued me slightly. And she would not have done that if that stuck-up bloke in the First Class carriage had not tried to prevent me talking to her. He practically forced me to take an interest. ‘I wouldn’t hold her responsible,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t blame her.’
    ‘Oh,’ said Madge, ‘maybe you wouldn’t, but her mother does, and so do I. Are you sure,’ she asked, suddenly belligerent, ‘that you are not Press? You haven’t really said what you are here for. Are you