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

flannel downstairs and soaked it in cold water, and when he returned Margaret raised her head just long enough to press the cloth against her face. He moved restlessly to the window, wishing he had Gemma’s skill at offering practical comfort.
    The view—a small, weedy garden with an enormous pair of overalls swinging on the line—didn’t hold his attention for long. Turning back to the room, Kincaid took note of Margaret’s few possessions. The table held a handful of cheap jewelry in a dish, and a few cosmetic and lotion bottles. Next to the gas ring were a chipped plate and bowl, a saucepan and some cutlery. All the utensils were jumble sale quality, the cheapest necessities for a first move from home. The shelf above the bed held a radio, some dog-eared paperbacks and a framed photograph.
    Kincaid stepped closer to study it. An older man, balding and hearty-looking in a tweed jacket, arm around his wife’s slender shoulders, the three grown children grouped before them. A brother and sister, blond, good-looking, both radiating assurance, and between them Margaret, hair askew, smile lopsided.
    “Mum and Dad, Kathleen, and my brother, Tommy.”
    Kincaid made an effort to wipe any sympathy from his face before he turned. Margaret watched him, waiting, he sensed, for some expected comment. Instead, he sat down on the bed and said, “It must have been tough, those first few months on your own.”
    “It was.” Margaret looked down at the damp flannel in her hands and began folding it into smaller and smaller squares. “There wasn’t anyone until I met Jasmine. I got a job in the typing pool in the Planning Office. When I did work for her she was always kind to me, but not”—a pause while she thought—“familiar, if you know what I mean.” She looked up at Kincaid for assent, and he nodded. “A little distant. But then she got ill. She took leave for treatment, and when she came back you could tell she’d gone down, but no one spoke to her about it. They all acted like her illness didn’t exist.” Margaret looked up at him through her pale lashes and smiled a little ather own nerve. “So I asked her. Every day I’d say ‘How are you?’ or ‘What are they giving you now?’, and after a while she began to tell me.”
    “And when she left work?” Kincaid prompted.
    “I went to see her. Every day if I could. No one else did.” Margaret sounded indignant even now. “Oh, they’d club together on cards or a basket, but no one ever put themselves out to visit her.”
    “Did Jasmine mind?”
    Margaret’s wide brow creased as she thought about it. “I don’t think so. She didn’t seem to have any really close friends at work. No one disliked her, but they weren’t chummy either.” Margaret smiled at Kincaid a bit ironically. “She talked about you most often.”
    Kincaid stood up and took the few steps to the window. He had put off telling her the p.m. results long enough, and he tried to frame a gentle way to tell her that Jasmine had not died quietly in her sleep.
    “Look,” Margaret’s voice came from behind him, “I know you didn’t come here just to look after me. Jasmine didn’t keep her promise, did she?”
    Kincaid thought Margaret might have read his mind. He sat down opposite her again and searched her face. “I don’t know. Her system contained a massive amount of morphine.”
    Margaret slumped back in the chair and closed her eyes. Tears welled from beneath her eyelids and ran down the sides of her nose. After a moment she leaned forward and rubbed her face with the crumpled flannel. “I should never have believed her.” She barely whispered the words as she rocked her body backwards and forwards.
    “Look, Meg. If Jasmine were determined to kill herself, there’s no way you could have prevented her. Oh, for one night, maybe, but not indefinitely.” When Margaret continuedrocking, eyes closed, he leaned closer. “Listen, Meg. There are some things I need to know, and