Page 9 of Marble Hall Murders

‘Technically, I’m now Margaret Waysmith, but I’ve kept my old name. I like being Lady Chalfont. Why should I lose my title along with everything else?’

She had both her gloves and her daughter was waiting for her to leave. But something held her back. ‘It’s extraordinary I should have bumped into you today,’ she went on. ‘Something has happened that I would very much like to discuss with you.’

‘Mother …’ Judith said impatiently.

‘There’s no need to hurry me, dear. We’ve got plenty of time to catch the plane.’ She examined Pünd with eyes that were bright and intense. He could see her mind working as she came to her decision. ‘I wish to consult with you on a matter of the greatest urgency,’ she said. ‘Are you still at the same address?’

‘I regret that I am not taking on any new cases, Lady Chalfont.’

‘I shall write to you anyway. I believe that everything has a purpose, Mr Pünd, and you were sent here today for a reason. We were meant to meet. The truth is that there is nobody else in the world who could help me in my hour of need. Would you be so good as to give me your card?’

Pünd hesitated, then produced a business card, which he handed to her. She glanced at it before slipping it into her handbag.

‘Thank you, Mr Pünd. I cannot tell you what a relief it is to know that there’s someone I can trust and believe in. Even if you can offer me nothing more, I will appreciate your advice.’

Judith Lyttleton looked more uncomfortable than ever. She glanced at her mother, and for a moment their eyes were locked and something – perhaps an unspoken warning – was exchanged between them. Then the two of them swept out of the room. Pünd heard the front door open and close.

The nurse reappeared. ‘The doctor will see you now, Mr Pünd.’

She led Pünd down a corridor that had already become familiar and through a door at the far end. Dr Benson was waiting for him, sitting behind his desk in his stuffy office with the radiators turned up too high. It had been six weekssince the examination that had told both men the worst news possible and now their meeting was brisk and businesslike. Dr Benson took Pünd’s pulse and blood pressure, listened to his heart and examined his eyes. Then came the questions.

‘How are the headaches?’

‘They come, but not too often. And the pills that you prescribed are very effective.’

‘Are you sleeping well?’

‘Yes, thank you.’

‘Appetite?’

‘I am eating less, I think, but I would have said it is by choice. My assistant has complimented me on my loss of weight.’

‘Have you told him yet?’

Pünd shook his head. ‘He knows I am not well. He has seen the various medicines. But I have not told him the full seriousness of the situation.’

‘You’re worried he’ll leave you?’

‘No, Doctor. Not at all. But James is a sensitive young man. It is better, I think, to keep the worst from him. He is also helping me continue with the book I am writing. It is my hope thatThe Landscape of Criminal Investigationwill one day take its place in the British Library, the Criminal Records Office and anywhere else it may help future investigations.’

Dr Benson nodded and reached for his pipe. He did not light it. ‘Well, Mr Pünd, you’re doing very well. Much better than I had expected. You can call me any time, of course, but I don’t think we need to meet again until next month.’

Pünd smiled to himself. He had recognised the moment when Dr Benson reached for his pipe. It was his way of announcing that the meeting was over, and he liked to endwith a note of optimism. Next week. Next month. Next time. He always looked to the future, reassuring his patients that they still had one.

But Pünd did not move. ‘I wonder if I may ask you something,’ he said. ‘Just now, before I came into your office, I met an old friend, Lady Margaret Chalfont.’

‘You know her?’

‘Indeed so. We met on an earlier case of mine. I was sorry to see her here and wondered if you could tell me something of her condition.’

‘I’m not sure I should share information about my patients, Mr Pünd. Why do you ask?’

‘Because Lady Chalfont has requested my assistance in a matter she described as urgent, and because although we only spoke for a few moments, it seemed to me that she was afraid.’

‘Afraid of dying?’

‘Perhaps. But not as a result of her illness.’

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