Read Online All Shall Be Well by Deborah Crombie - Free Book Online

Thursday tea-time. He stormed out of here in a terrible temper. Near ripped the door off its hinges. But then,” she shifted her weight as she thought and the table creaked in protest, “Thursday night is Ladies’ Night down the pub and I was out till closing. If he came back later they were quiet enough making it up.”
    Kincaid decided he’d exhausted Mrs. Wilson’s information for the time being, as well as his patience. He stood up and retrieved the sandwiches. “I don’t want these to go stale, and I’d better be seeing about Margaret. I’m sure she’ll appreciate your help, Mrs. Wilson. You’ve been very kind.”
    “Ta,” she said, and wiggled her fingers at him coquettishly.
    *   *   *
    “Success,” Kincaid said when Margaret let him in again. In his absence she had tidied the bed and the scattered clothing, brushed her hair, and put on some pale pink lipstick. Her smile was less tentative, and he thought the time spent alone had brought her some composure.
    Margaret’s eyes widened as she saw the plate of sandwiches. “I can’t believe it! She’s never so much as loaned me a tea bag.”
    “I appealed to her better instincts.”
    “Didn’t know she had any,” Margaret snorted, taking the plate from Kincaid. Then she froze, her face crumpling with distress. “You didn’t tell her—”
    “No.” Kincaid rescued the tilting plate and set it on the table. “I told a pack of lies. You’ve just lost your favorite uncle, your mother’s youngest brother, in case Mrs. W. asks.”
    “But she doesn’t have—” Margaret’s face cleared. “Oh. Sorry.” She smiled at Kincaid. “I guess I’m a little dense today. Thanks.”
    “Partly hunger, I imagine. Let’s get you fed.” The electric kettle whistled. Two mugs with tea bags sat ready beside it. Kincaid poured the tea and settled Margaret in the armchair, then pulled up the sash of the single window and leaned against the sill. As Margaret started on a sandwich, he said, “You’d better tell me about your family, after all the terrible things I made up.”
    “Woking,” said Margaret, through a mouthful of ham and tomato. She swallowed and tried again. “Dorking. Sorry. I didn’t realize I was so hungry.” She took a smaller bite and chewed a moment before continuing. “I’m from Dorking. My dad owns a garage. I kept his books for him, looked after things.”
    Kincaid could easily imagine her managing a smaller, more familiar world, where here in London she seemed so vulnerable. “What happened?”
    Margaret shrugged and wiped the corner of her mouth with a finger. “Nothing ever changed. I could see myself doing the same thing in twenty years, living bits and pieces of other people’s lives. My dad’s business, my sister’s kids—”
    “How did they take it?”
    Margaret smiled, mocking herself. “I’m the plain one, so they never expected me to want anything different. I should have been content to have Dad’s customers pat me and pay me stupid compliments, to be Aunt Meg and look after Kath’s kids whenever she had something better to do.”
    “They were furious.” Kincaid grinned and Margaret smiled back a little unwillingly.
    “Yes.”
    “How long has it been?”
    Margaret finished the last sandwich and licked the tips of her fingers, then rubbed them dry on her sweatpants. “Eighteen months now.”
    “And no one’s been to see you in all that time?”
    She flushed and said hotly, “That malicious old biddy. I’d swear she keeps a list of anyone who—” Margaret dropped her head into her hands and leaned forward. “Oh Christ, what difference does it make? I feel sick.”
    Too much food, thought Kincaid, eaten too quickly on an empty stomach. “Keep your head down. It’ll pass.” He spied a worn face flannel and towel, folded on a shelf above the bed. “Where’s the loo?” he asked Margaret.
    “Next landing,” she said indistinctly, her face now pressed against her knees.
    Kincaid took the