Political Death Read Online Free Page A

especially to Jemima Shore who had once had an unhappy affair with a married MP and had received letters on that paper. Her heart gave an irrational thump.
    At that moment the telephone rang. Lady Imogen did not answer it, although it stood on the table at her side, the only modern artifact in the room. Jemima wanted to pick up the Diaries or perhaps the letter... it was tantalising. She could read the words "My beloved' and that was all. Instead she politely made a sign indicating that she would be prepared to answer the telephone (if only to shut it up, it had rung for over a minute). Lady Imogen nodded vaguely. The moment Jemima picked up the instrument a female voice began at her. "Madre, will you please answer the telephone? That's what it's for, you know, because someone wants to talk to you. Now listen, we're both coming round tonight to discuss things. And Madre, it's no good not answering the bell, I've got a key. No, I won't let out the bloody cats. That's all." The caller rang off.
    Before Jemima had time to say more than, "A visitor tonight, your daughter I think," the telephone rang again. This time she let her hostess answer it. The other daughter? Regan following Goneril? But Jemima could not hear what was being said, not even whether the caller was male or female. What she did note was that Lady Imogen's eyes had filled with tears. As she replaced the telephone, Lady Imogen dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief already visibly marked by her mascara. What on earth... "I'm sorry, you'd better go, Jemima. There's something I must do. No, no, you can't help me. Just take the Diaries, take them, take them all, take them and keep them safe. I give them to you. They're yours. And the key could you leave it in the bowl downstairs."
    Jemima hesitated. Finally: "I'll just take one of them." Even as she spoke the words, she had a feeling that she had made the wrong decision. But it was too late.
    "It's yours. I give it to you. It's yours," Lady Imogen repeated like a puppet. Then she called after her in a slightly stronger voice, "Please be careful not to let the cats out. Jasmine is a really naughty girl and she likes to wander. There's no cat-flap in the front. Poor Jasmine might get locked out."
    Jemima went down the staircase still clutching the Diary which had fallen at her feet, feeling her way on the banisters with her other hand since there was either no light or no bulb. She felt one of the cats presumably Jasmine slithering softly around her ankles. She took care to keep her inside the house and leave the key in the bowl. Once in the square, Jemima looked back at the tall, rather grim house above her head. She felt it must be rocking in the wind: from an open window on an upper floor curtains were flying. Nevertheless, the balcony windows of the drawing-room were open and she saw Lady Imogen standing there. She appeared to be indifferent to the storm. Jemima's last sight was of the small forlorn figure gazing out into the night.
    All of a sudden, Hippodrome Square seemed an eerie, haunted place and Number Nine the most haunted house in the square. Even a solitary man in a raincoat standing in the shadows by the gardens had a sinister look about him. A burglar? You would not have to be an accomplished burglar to rob the house she had just left. No alarms, nothing. No guard dog; only two languid cats.
    On the other hand, Lady Imogen manifestly would not be alone tonight since she was expecting two visitors 'we are coming round' if not more.

CHAPTER THREE
    Woman's Whole Existence
    When Jemima Shore got back to her flat, she found no messages on her machine. Instead, enormous bunches of white lilies her favourites filled the sitting-room. Every conceivable vase, and a plastic bucket as well, had been filled by Mrs. Bancroft, her cleaning lady. There were two notes.
    "Jemima," the first one read. "Hope you like my floral arrangements. Change of job??? Don't worry, that's a joke. Cheers. Mrs. B."
    The second came