Murder in the Museum. Simon Brett

really give her no help at all?’

      ‘That’s it, Carole. Excellent. The Trustees have appointed you to liaise with her.’

      ‘No, they haven’t. You have.’

      ‘Professor Teischbaum doesn’t know that. All requests for information about Esmond Chadleigh and Bracketts must be channelled through you. And we solve our immediate problem very neatly.’

      Carole was getting a bit sick of being steamrollered by dominant women. Her own character was strong too, and it was about time she asserted it.

      ‘I think that’s a bad idea, Gina. I’m sorry, I’m not going to do it.’

      ‘Oh, please.’ There was genuine entreaty in the young woman’s voice. ‘Please, you must.’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘Because if you don’t . . .’ Gina Locke sounded young and distinctly vulnerable.

      ‘What’ll happen?’

      ‘Sheila Cartwright will do it. She said, if the Trustees didn’t appoint a spokesman today, she’d talk to Professor Marla Teischbaum herself.’

      And Carole Seddon realized she wasn’t the only one being steamrollered by dominant women.

      ‘So what about the dead body?’ she asked, effectively conceding that she would take the role appointed for her. ‘What’s the Trustees’ official line on that?’

      ‘I don’t think you’ll need an official line on that. It’s all still under wraps. Nobody except the people who witnessed the discovery and the police know anything about it.’

      ‘But it can’t stay that way for long. The press are going to get hold of the story soon.’

      ‘Hasn’t happened yet. Sheila’s influence with the Chief Constable really seems to be working.’ Even a sworn enemy like Gina couldn’t completely exclude admiration from her tone.

      ‘You haven’t even told the other Trustees about the body?’

      ‘I told Lord Beniston. Couldn’t avoid that. But he, with his military background, said the information should be spread on a strictly “need-to-know” basis. At the moment, in his view, none of the other Trustees do “need to know”. Which, I must say, is a great relief for me.’

      ‘Oh?’ Carole picked up the potential lapse of professionalism in Gina’s words. Was the Director about to say something else diminishing about her esteemed Trustees?

      She was, but she couched it in relatively diplomatic terms. ‘It’s Graham Chadleigh-Bewes. He’d be on the phone instantly if he knew about it.’

      ‘For a long conversation?’

      ‘There is no such thing as a short conversation with Graham. In fact there’s hardly such a thing as a conversation. His favoured method of communication is the long monologue.’

      ‘So at least you’ve escaped that.’

      ‘On the subject of the skeleton, yes. Don’t worry, though, he’ll be on about something else before the day is out. Phone calls from Graham Chadleigh-Bewes are one of the drawbacks of my position here. Unfortunately,’ Gina said ruefully, ‘they weren’t mentioned in the job description.’

      ‘Or you might not have applied?’

      ‘Oh no, I’d still have applied.’ There was a new grit in the Director’s voice. ‘I’m going to make Bracketts work . . . in spite of any obstacles that may currently be in my way.’

      ‘Right, so, going back to my position on the skeleton, you’re pretty sure Professor Teischbaum won’t know anything about it?’

      ‘Positive. And, for heaven’s sake don’t tell her.’

      ‘I’m not entirely stupid,’ said Carole with some asperity.

      ‘Sorry. I’m just so concerned that it’s kept quiet.’

      ‘There won’t be any lapse of security through me.’

      ‘No, of course not,’ said Gina, humbled by the continuing sharpness in the voice. Carole felt a twinge of guilt for the lapse of security she’d already committed by telling Jude.

      ‘So,’ she asked more gently, ‘you haven’t had any information from the police? About the identity of the body, for instance?’

      ‘Nothing at all. As they always say – unhelpfully – “Investigations are proceeding.” I think the skeleton’s undergoing forensic examination and tests, but we haven’t been told anything definite.’

      ‘So there have been no developments at all on the case?’

      ‘None,’ said the Director.

Chapter Eight

      The inaccuracy of Gina Locke’s words was made clear as soon as Carole saw Jude that Monday evening. But whether the Director had been deliberately lying or merely ignorant was impossible to know.

      ‘The police have actually had a confession to murder?’ They were in the sitting room of High Tor and Carole was pouring white wine.

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘I’d call that a development on the case. Wouldn’t you?’

      ‘Oh yes.’ But Jude sounded distracted. She toyed with a tendril of blonde hair that had escaped the pile on top of her head, and looked around the room. Carole had had the place redecorated the previous autumn by an interior designer called Debbie Carlton, but already the owner’s intrinsic neatness had taken the softness out of the décor. The relaxed pale apricot and dreamy blue of the paintwork was at odds with the disciplined ranking on the books of the shelves, even the exact alignment of The Times on the coffee table. No make-over could ever fully blunt the spikiness of Carole Seddon’s personality.

      ‘You don’t sound certain, Jude . . .’

      ‘Oh no, I know it’s happened, but . . . The confession was from Mervyn Hunter.’

      ‘The one who I saw break down when the body was discovered?’

      Jude nodded.

      ‘But you said you didn’t know anyone locally called Mervyn.’

      ‘I lied.’

      It was said with disarming honesty, but Carole wasn’t disarmed. ‘For heaven’s sake. What is this, Jude? I thought the whole point of our discussions about cases like this was that we shared information. I don’t hold stuff back from you, and I’m pretty angry to hear that you’ve been holding stuff back from me!’

      Carole Seddon’s skin was very thin. Only the smallest friction was required to lay bare her subcutaneous insecurity. She was quick to imagine slights, but in this case did not need recourse to her imagination. Her supposed friend had deliberately withheld material information from her.

      Jude tried to ease the situation. ‘Look, I’m sorry. I felt there was an issue of confidentiality between me and Mervyn . . . because I’ve met him through the prison.’

      ‘Through the prison? What are you talking about?’

      ‘I’ve met Mervyn Hunter at Austen Prison. He’s a lifer finishing off his sentence there.’

      ‘Jude, how on earth do you come to make the acquaintance of lifers at Austen Prison?’

      Jude sighed. Her reticence on the subject had a perfect logic for her, but she knew Carole wouldn’t see it so simply. The last thing Jude wanted to do was antagonize her friend, and yet, given the personality involved, it was all too easily done.

      She started out on the laborious process of fence-mending. ‘The last few months