The Stabbing in the Stables by Simon Brett Page A

Mrs. Dalrymple.”
    â€œImogen, I don’t want to have to say this again. You are not to ride Conker unless I am here. Apart from anything else, you couldn’t get her saddle and tack if the house was closed.”
    â€œBut I could borrow some—”
    â€œNo. I am telling you you are not to ride her unless I am here! And if I find out you have been disobeying me on that, I will stop you riding her altogether. Is that clear?”
    â€œYes, Mrs. Dalrymple,” the girl mumbled.
    For a moment there was a silence. But Jude was unsurprised when Imogen came back again. “So, what, can I ring you tomorrow lunchtime, see if it’s all right?”
    Sonia looked flustered. “Well, er…I’m not sure exactly where I’ll be at lunchtime tomorrow. Maybe it’d be better if you left it a couple of days.”
    â€œI’ll ring you lunchtime tomorrow,” said Imogen firmly, and with satisfaction. She reckoned she’d won the round. Then, remembering her manners, she added, “And thank you very much for letting me ride Conker today.”
    â€œMy pleasure. Now, as you see, Jude and I are having some tea and cake. Shall I get you a cup?”
    â€œNo, thank you. I’d better get home.”
    â€œBut you can’t go home on your own.”
    â€œIt’s fine. I walked here. I’m only in Fethering. It’s not far.”
    â€œWhen you walked here, it wasn’t pitch dark.”
    â€œBut, Mrs. Dalrymple—”
    â€œNo.” Sonia sighed. “I’ll give you a lift. Just let me finish my cup of tea.”
    â€œI don’t want to be any trouble.”
    â€œTell you what,” Jude interposed. “I’m walking back to Fethering. I’ll see you home, Imogen.”
    The girl didn’t look enthusiastic, but Sonia leapt on the idea with relief. “Yes, that’s a very good solution.”
    â€œWhere do you actually live, Imogen?” asked Jude.
    â€œRiver Road,” came the sulky reply.
    â€œPerfect. It’s on my way. I live in the High Street.”
    â€œWell, Imogen, now that’s settled, will you have a cup of tea?”
    â€œNo, thank you, Mrs. Dalrymple. I really should be getting back. Mum worries.”
    â€œShe’d worry more if she thought you were walking round on your own in the dark.”
    â€œShe wouldn’t care.”
    â€œOh, I’m sure she would.”
    Jude decided it was time to halt the development of another disagreement. Draining her tea and picking up her coat, she announced that she was ready to leave. “Have a look at Chieftain in the morning. Try walking him around a bit. Though I’m afraid you’re unlikely to find much improvement.”
    â€œI’ll live in hope. Now what do I owe you?”
    Jude raised a hand to banish the idea. “You can pay me if he gets better. If not, don’t worry.”
    â€œPaying by results? Is that how most healers work?”
    â€œIt’s how I work.”
    â€œAll right. If you insist.”
    â€œI do. Anyway, many thanks for the tea, and good to see you.”
    â€œYes. And I’ll give you a call about…” In the presence of Imogen, Sonia Dalrymple was embarrassed about her client status with Jude and didn’t want to discuss the details of her next appointment.
    â€œYes, fine,” said Jude, understanding immediately. “Well, Imogen, shall we be on our way?”
    Â 
    The television chat show that Carole wouldn’t admit to anyone she watched was beginning to exercise quite a strong hold over her. Though the idea appalled her, she was conscious of beginning to schedule her day around the programme. Oh dear, she was becoming old and set in her ways. Part of the afternoon elderly, target market for all those stairlifts, annuities and walk-in baths they kept advertising in the commercial breaks.
    Carole felt little guilt about her secret vice. She enjoyed the programme and