The barrage that came from the other end of the line when Jude asked whether there could be any truth in Imogen’s assertion made Hilary Potton’s previous fury seems as mild as a summer breeze. For a start, it was logistically impossible that her daughter could have committed the crime, since she was with her mother at the relevant time. And the idea that anyone should think Imogen capable of such an appalling atrocity was…It took some time for Jude to get herself off the phone.
She rarely phoned Carole. Normally she just went round to High Tor and banged on the door. But it was late, so she rang the number.
Carole sounded slightly disappointed when she heard who it was. Jude sensed her neighbour had been hoping for some contact from Stephen. But Carole livened up when she heard about the latest development in the case.
“Imogen’s devoted to her father, isn’t she? And she’s at the age for dramatic gestures. Taking his guilt on herself-it’s like something out of A Tale of Two Cities.”
“Yes, Carole, but there’s still something odd about the whole business. I mean, Hilary was in such a state of fury. You don’t know her that well, but have you ever heard her like that?”
“Not the way you describe it, no. She’s certainly sounded off whenever she got onto the subject of Alec, but that was more vicious contempt than fury.”
“The kind of thing you hear from every divorcee about her ex.”
“Not every one,” said Carole frostily, making Jude feel guilty for her carelessness.
“No, of course not. It’s odd, isn’t it? Everyone else involved in this case seems to be keeping secrets, holding their cards very close to their chests, except for Hilary Potton, and she seems prepared to sound off to anyone about anything.”
“Not to anyone,” said Carole, offended. She was proud of the way she had nurtured her source of information, and didn’t want to have her achievements belittled.
“No, sorry. You know what I meant.”
“Yes, I do,” said Carole, unmollified. “Anyway, talking of sources of information…”
“Mm?”
“Don’t forget you’ve got one of our most promising ones coming to see you tomorrow morning.”
“I hadn’t forgotten.”
“And don’t forget either that ethics is a comparative study. There are times when one ethical consideration-say the need to find out the truth-has to overrule another.”
“Like, say, the confidentiality between therapist and client?”
“Exactly, Jude.”
Anyone who had seen Sonia Dalrymple getting out of her Range Rover outside Woodside Cottage the next morning would have laughed at the idea that she had a care in the world. She looked supermodel stunning in sleek black trousers, black silk top and perfectly cut black leather jacket. And if there still was any bruising around her eyes, it had been magicked away by expert makeup.
But as soon as Jude got her facedown on the treatment bed and touched her back, the tensions within were immediately apparent. Jude parted the curtain of blond hair to feel the knots of muscle where the neck met the skull, and ran her fingers down the taut length of Sonia’s spine.
“You’re holding a lot in, aren’t you?”
The client grunted agreement.
“You always hold a lot in, but this is exceptional.”
“I know. If you can just get rid of the tension. It’s really hurting. I can’t get comfortable in bed, so I’m not sleeping.”
“I’m not surprised. You must be very careful, otherwise you’ll do yourself permanent damage. Your balance is all over the place.”
Jude lit some candles, opened her pots of oil and started a smooth gentle massage of Sonia Dalrymple’s beautiful back. She didn’t work into the flesh and joints like a physiotherapist; she hardly touched, just let the warmth-both real and spiritual-irradiate the woman’s body. After about ten minutes she moved her hands away.
“Is that better?”
“Mm.” Sonia’s voice was deep, throaty and grateful.
“You know there’s a limited amount I can do, don’t you? Whatever it is that’s troubling you-effectively poisoning you-you have to get rid of it yourself.”
“You mean by telling someone?”
“If it’s something that can be told.”
“That’s the whole point, Jude; it isn’t. I can’t tell anyone, which is why the pressure just builds and builds.”
“Are you sure there’s no one you can talk to? I’m not offering myself as a listener.” Jude hastened to assure her.
“No, there isn’t. I’ve got a wide range of acquaintances, Jude, but very few actual friends. And if had any, I couldn’t tell them anyway, because they know my domestic set-up and…” She trailed away.
“Listen, Sonia, I don’t want to be nosey. It’s not my place, that’s not what I’m here for, but if there is anything you feel you can unload onto me…well, I’m not part of your family, you don’t see me that often…It’s up to you.”
“I’d like to talk about it, Jude, but it’s so complicated. Everything’s interlinked. Telling about one thing is automatically going to lead on to the next thing and…”
“Very well. Don’t worry about it. Can you turn over? I’d like to work on your shoulders and neck at the front.”
After a few minutes of this, Jude propped her client’s head onto a special pillow and started the lightest of cranial massages. Again, she used her fingers not to manipulate or apply pressure, but as a conduit for energy.
“Sonia, let me talk. Not ask questions exactly, but make suggestions. If there are things you want to agree with, or to disagree with, fine. If you don’t want to say anything, equally fine. And if you want me to shut up, just say so.”
Having received a guarded assent, Jude continued. “All right, you talked about your domestic set-up. Well, I know that your marriage is not entirely happy. You’ve told me that on previous sessions, and now I’ve met Nicky, I can see where some of the problems may lie. He is a very controlling personality, who doesn’t like people disagreeing with him.”
There was no sound from the woman whose skull she was continuing to massage, so Jude asked, “You don’t mind my saying this. Tell me when to stop.”
“No, it’s fine,” Sonia murmured. “As you say, I’ve already told you all this stuff.”
“So it might just be the continuing unhappiness in your marriage that’s generating this tension in you. Except that it’s so much worse than when I last saw you, that I think there must be some new factor, something that’s happened recently to upset you, some new secret you have to hide…”
Almost without words, Sonia agreed that there was.
“Now I’m not asking you to tell me what that secret is. I don’t think you can tell me, anyway-that’s why the tension’s building up so much. As you said, you can’t tell anyone. But part of the trouble with your relationship with Nicky is that there are things you can’t tell him, or things you’ve tried to tell him, but you know he won’t listen to…”
There was the lightest of nods from the head beneath Jude’s hands.
“And it’s possible that only telling him these things can bring any kind of equality into your marriage, can give you perhaps an opportunity of saving it…?”
Another quiver of assent.
“So maybe when Nicky’s next home, you should try confronting him with some of these things you haven’t said to him.” Jude had a momentary doubt about the wisdom of her advice. “I don’t want to make things worse between you.”
“You’d be hard put to do that.”
“I mean, I don’t want to”-she phrased it as delicately as she could-“put you at risk.”
“Nothing’ll put me more at risk than I am at the moment, Jude. Go on.”
“When’s Nicky next home?”
“The weekend.”
“Can’t you try talking to him?”
“Oh, Jude,” said Sonia tearfully, “you make it sound so easy. Just tell Nicky all the feelings I’ve been bottling up for all these years, not to mention what’s happened recently. You don’t know him. I’ve had years to say those things to him, and I’ve never managed in the past. Why should this weekend be any different from any of his other fleeting visits to our so-called home?”
“I can’t answer that. But you know that’s the only chance you have of making the marriage workable.”
“I do know. I’ve known for years. And for years I’ve put it off.”
“Why? For fear such a confrontation might destroy the marriage?”
“Yes.”
“Well, is that such a terrible risk? Might that not be a solution? Is the marriage, as you currently have it, worth saving?”
There was a long silence. Jude continued the cranial massage, in no particular expectation of a response. She felt no guilt. She had put no ideas into Sonia Dalrymple’s mind, merely organised the information that Sonia had already given her. The thought processes that had been set in motion were not new ones; Sonia had spent much of her married life weighing up the pros and cons of these issues.
“But,” said Jude eventually, “I get the feeling that it’s not just Nicky who’s troubling you at the moment. You’re under pressure from some other source.”
“Yes,” Sonia agreed, almost eagerly, as if the confession took a weight off her mind.
“Donal Geraghty,” said Jude, and felt the body beneath her hands tremble at the name. “Donal Geraghty has implied to me that he’s either blackmailing or planning to blackmail someone in this area.”
“Yes.”
“Is it you? Is Donal trying to blackmail you?”
“Yes,” said Sonia Dalrymple, and then burst into tears from sheer relief.