The Stabbing in the Stables by Simon Brett Read Free Book Online Page B

warmth from Chieftain’s knee, which felt almost as though it were burning between her hands. But she was imparting no answering warmth to the horse.
    Healing doesn’t always work, Jude knew, but on this occasion she felt it was her fault. Her concentration was straying. While she should have been channelling all her energy into the injured knee, she was distracted by other thoughts. She was aware of the unidentified pain within the woman standing at her side. She was aware of the confusion within the apparently carefree child cantering round the paddock on Conker. Usually she managed to shut her mind to such extraneous concerns, but that afternoon she couldn’t.
    Maybe if she was alone with Chieftain, in his stall perhaps, with no distractions? But would he tolerate that? Would he feel sufficiently at ease without the familiar presence of his owner?
    Jude released her hold on Chieftain and straightened up.
    â€œDone the job?” asked Sonia eagerly.
    A rueful shake of the head. “Doesn’t feel like it, I’m afraid.”
    â€œBut there is something wrong with the knee? That’s where the trouble is?”
    â€œOh yes, I can feel that.”
    â€œWell, what are you going to do about him?” In Sonia’s voice there was both disappointment at the failure and the peremptory expectation of someone who had always expected good service.
    â€œAll I can do is try again another day. I’m sorry. I’m wrong today. I can’t clear my head sufficiently to get a proper focus. Maybe I’m the wrong person, anyway. You should have gone to someone who specialises in horses in the first place.”
    â€œAh.” Sonia didn’t pick up the suggestion, or explain why she hadn’t consulted an expert. “Oh, well…” She shrugged. “I’ll put him back in his stall. You won’t like that, will you, boy? Whenever I bring him out, he thinks we’re going for a ride. Gets very disappointed when nothing happens.”
    Chieftain expressed his disappointment with a bit of half-hearted rearing and some disgruntled whinnying, but, bowing to the strength of his mistress’s personality, allowed himself to be shut back into his loose box.
    â€œCome on, Imogen,” Sonia called out as she locked the bottom half of Chieftain’s door. “That’s enough.”
    â€œOh, can’t I stay out a bit longer?”
    â€œNo. It’s getting dark. Now, I can trust you to put Conker back safely, can’t I?”
    â€œYes, of course, Mrs. Dalrymple.” Imogen walked back towards them. Girl and pony looked equally dispirited by the curtailment of their fun. The dark clouds of the real world seemed to gather over Imogen’s head.
    And the dark clouds of the encroaching night also lowered over the three women.
    â€œYou remember where the saddle and tack go, don’t you?”
    â€œOf course, Mrs. Dalrymple.”
    â€œMake sure it’s all neat. And, before you leave her, check Conker’s got plenty of water…and that her hay net’s full.”
    â€œYes, Mrs. Dalrymple.”
    â€œThen come through to the kitchen. I’ll have some tea ready.”
    â€œThank you, Mrs. Dalrymple.”
    In the kitchen Sonia produced a very tasty-looking fruitcake, and Jude had no inhibitions about taking a slice.
    â€œShop-bought, I’m afraid. My cake-making skills are not up to much.”
    â€œI don’t think anybody’s are these days. Nobody’s got the time.”
    â€œOh, I’ve got the time,” said Sonia rather bleakly. Then quickly she recovered herself. “I keep buying cakes—it’s mad. Keep thinking the twins are going to come thundering in from school, as hungry as horses and…well…”
    â€œA time of adjustment,” Jude suggested.
    â€œYes. Just that.”
    But this wasn’t the moment to probe deeper into Sonia’s unhappiness. In a strange way, it would