Die Like a Dog by Gwen Moffat Page B

amoral.’
    â€˜Really?’ He regarded her with interest. She told him about the slide show, about Seale’s gypsy life-style. ‘In that valley she appears exotic,’ she murmured, ‘and yet she gives you the impression that she feels herself quite at home. As I said: confident. Of course she’s too young to have any qualms about alienation.’
    â€˜Innocent.’
    â€˜Innocent? Well, yes, but it’s an animal innocence, not human. I think Maggie Seale is able to take care of herself. I’ve seen men of Judson’s stamp make a dead set at young women and I’ve known that ghastly dilemma: whether to issue a warning or hold my peace. With Seale I don’t feel that. I’ve been in her company only for short periods but when men show up I’ve found myself standing back and watching as if I were a spectator – uninvolved.’
    â€˜This sounds like trouble for Anna Waring.’
    â€˜It is. Significant that you don’t say trouble for Gladys Judson. Poor woman.’ Miss Pink sipped her sherry, thinking of all those down-trodden, second-class citizens of whom she and Maggie Seale had no part. She eyed the decanter with approval. How pleasant to find a civilised hotel again. A few places will still leave the bottle on the table but how many take the trouble to decant?’ She sighed for a vanished era. ‘And public quarrels ... although they didn’t realise I was there. Violent scenes are fascinating. So difficult to retreat. One experiences no emotion at the time, apart from trepidation, but every movement, every nuance of expression can be recalled. Not that there were nuances; it was raw, naked aggression.’
    â€˜Melinda, you have had three sherries; your mind is playing leap-frog.’
    The machinery checked, rolled back to an intersection and set off again on the right track. Without umbrage she continued: ‘I was in my room after breakfast trying to decide what to do. The fact that I couldn’t walk – safely – made me ridiculously angry. I wondered if the police had been told that the dog was loose and I went downstairs to ask Waring. The big river room was dim but the lights were on behind the bar and they didn’t see or hear me. I came in the door and Anna had just turned to Waring and she said, so coldly that at first I didn’t realise it was a quarrel: “It was decided weeks ago.” Waring said: “Yeah?” and it was the contempt in that one word that warned me. I hesitated, and then Anna lost control. She was going away with “him” that day; it was all arranged, Waring could divorce her, she’d had enough. ... By this time, of course, I was retreating –’
    â€˜Not very fast, I’ll be bound.’
    She ignored him. ‘It was hackneyed. One’s heard it over and over again in old films ... I’ve written the kind of thing myself, but not for a long time – but it sounds the height of melodrama when you hear it in reality for the first time, and said with obvious sincerity. She may not have been speaking the truth but she was certainly sincere. As I went up the stairs I heard the sound of a slap and the tirade stopped. Cut off. I’m afraid my sympathy is largely with Waring. He’s a good inn-keeper.’
    â€˜Did she leave the pub?’
    â€˜I don’t know. The scene made up my mind for me. I drove away and rang you from the public telephone box. Now what are we going to do about this wretched dog? Obviously, the situation can’t be left as it is.’
    â€˜What proof is there that it’s vicious?’
    â€˜The story is that it’s been trained to kill. Judson’s man insists on that. Gladys Judson is extremely concerned when the animal breaks out –’ she became agitated, ‘– and it will be ravenous by now, Ted; it must be killing sheep. Something has to be done.’
    â€˜That’s how they could