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Back The Widow Save as PDF
Chapters (92)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. PART I
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. PART II
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. 49
  54. 50
  55. 51
  56. 52
  57. 53
  58. 54
  59. 55
  60. 56
  61. 57
  62. 58
  63. 59
  64. 60
  65. 61
  66. 62
  67. 63
  68. 64
  69. 65
  70. 66
  71. 67
  72. 68
  73. 69
  74. 70
  75. 71
  76. 72
  77. 73
  78. 74
  79. 75
  80. 76
  81. 77
  82. 78
  83. 79
  84. 80
  85. 81
  86. 82
  87. 83
  88. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  89. MORE FROM VALERIE KEOGH
  90. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  91. The Murder List
  92. About Boldwood Books

‘The coroner may issue an interim death certificate before the police investigation is completed,’ Bennet said. ‘I promise I’ll keep on top of that and let you know as soon as that seems likely.’

‘Thank you, that is kind of you.’ Allison wasn’t planning on depending on the liaison officer. Her solicitor, a man whose rather comical appearance belied his viciously sharp reputation, could be depended upon to expedite the certificate.

She was tired of dealing with liaison officer, and it was a relief to see Portia approaching. ‘Here’s my friend now. Thank you for your support this morning.’

Bennet turned automatically to see who approached, her eyes widening at the sight.

Allison wasn’t surprised at her reaction. Portia was rarely seen without full make-up. Very pale foundation, high, arched, dark eyebrows, bright lipstick. Her black hair – Allison guessed it was a very expensive wig – was styled in stiff waves curling away from her face. That day, obviously relishing her role as chief mourner’s supporter, she was dressed in a long, sleeveless, black velvet and lace dress, a shawl draped over her upper arms trailing almost to the floor. Allison had wondered what had been in the holdall she’d brought with her the night before; now she knew.

A classic film buff, Allison half expected Portia to channel her inner Gloria Swanson, stretch a slim arm towards her, and utter Norma Desmond’s immortal lines. All right, Mr DeMille, I’m ready for my close-up now.

‘Darling!’ Portia swooped in and enfolded Allison in her arms. Draping her with her shawl as she did so, she kissed the air each side of her head. ‘Was it awful?’

‘Hideous.’ Allison pushed her gently away. ‘My liaison officer, Sally Bennet.’ She introduced the woman, who was still staring at Portia in something akin to disbelief. ‘She’s been very kind and supportive. Sally, this is my good friend, Portia Strong.’

‘Ms Strong.’ Bennet nodded, then looked to the door behind. ‘I’d better be off. I’ll be in touch, Mrs Fellowes.’

Allison linked her arm in Portia’s. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

29

Allison didn’t question the destination when she was urged into the taxi idling outside. She rested her head back and shut her eyes. Murmurs of conversation between Portia and the taxi driver drifted towards her without settling in her head. She didn’t care where they were going, happy to let Portia take charge. As long as at the end of the journey a cold glass of wine was waiting. Several glasses. Temporary oblivion was bound to be lurking in the bottom of the first bottle.

‘Here we are.’

Allison opened her eyes with little interest, half-expecting to see the façade of a restaurant. Probably one she knew, undoubtedly good, and since the choice had been Portia’s, unquestionably expensive. What Allison hadn’t anticipated was seeing her friend’s elegant Kensington home.