The Strangling on the Stage

by Simon Brett

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes. Your name came up yesterday when I was talking to one of the patients here.’

  ‘Oh? Who was it?’

  ‘Her name’s Hester Winstone.’

  TWENTY-ONE

  ‘Staying with a friend.’ Yes, thought Jude, that’s exactly how a man like Mike Winstone would explain away his wife’s absence. In his shallow world of cricketing heartiness there was no room for uncomfortable realities like mental illness. Belle told her that Hester had been in Casements almost from the moment she had been released by the police after questioning about Ritchie Good’s death. She was under the care of a psychiatrist, but she had also accepted Belle’s offer of some kinesiology treatment. It was during one of their sessions that Jude’s name had come up. ‘She was very kind to me,’ Hester Winstone had said.

  According to Belle, Hester wasn’t isolated at Casements. Though she had breakfast in her room, she ate other meals communally with the other patients. She was on a heavy dose of antidepressants, and she was given sleeping pills at night. Belle said she was not a difficult patient. She seemed very withdrawn and, yes, in a state of shock.

  Jude had then given a brief outline of the events in Smalting that had led to Ritchie Good’s death, and Belle said, hearing that, she wasn’t surprised at the state Hester was in. ‘So do you think she actually witnessed him dying?’

  ‘I think so. But I can’t be sure. I’d really love to talk to Hester about that.’

  ‘Well, why don’t you?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Come and visit her at Casements.’

  ‘Could I do that?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I thought perhaps she wasn’t allowed visitors.’

  ‘Not so far as I know. Her husband comes to visit her twice a week. Regular as clockwork. Two o’clock on Wednesdays and Saturdays.’

  ‘Have you met him, Belle?’

  ‘No, I haven’t.’

  ‘So you don’t think there’d be any problem if I were to visit her?’

  ‘I wouldn’t think so. I’ll check with Rob if you like. I think he’d welcome your coming. I think he’d also welcome it if you tried a bit of healing on her.’

  ‘That’s a thought. Would you mind asking him, though?’

  ‘No problem. I’ll be going in after lunch. My shift starts at two. I’ll ask Rob and phone you back.’

  ‘Well, if it’s OK, maybe I could come and see Hester this afternoon?’

  ‘I can see no reason why not,’ said Belle.

  As it turned out she must have phoned her boss straight after their call ended, because she rang back within five minutes, offering to pick Jude up in Fethering at one-thirty and drive her to Casements.

  It was good to see Belle again. Jude always found that, whatever time had elapsed since their last meeting, they could pick up together as if they’d only met the day before. But they didn’t talk a lot on the journey to Clincham. Jude was preoccupied with her forthcoming encounter with Hester Winstone and, as she did before a healing session, was focusing her energies. Belle knew her well enough to respect the silence between them.

  Casements was a large house set back from the road some miles outside Clincham in the Midhurst direction. Its name clearly derived from its large number of windows, all criss-crossed with lead latticework. It looked more like a country house than a hospital.

  As she brought her Toyota Yaris to a halt in the staff car park, Belle said, ‘I’d like you to meet Rob. I told him you were a healer.’

  ‘Fine.’

  The door off the main hall to the Director’s Office was open, which seemed to typify the air of relaxed warmth around Casements. Rob himself reinforced that impression. A tall man in his forties, he dressed more casually than the average GP, but there was a shrewdness in his blue eyes which suggested he was aware of everything that was going on around him.

  ‘My friend Jude,’ said Belle as they stood in the doorway.

  ‘Great to meet you.’ Rob’s handshake was firm and welcoming. ‘I hear you’re a healer.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I can’t claim to understand how it works, but I have a great respect for your profession.’ Jude wondered how Carole would have reacted to hearing what she did described as a ‘profession’, as Rob went on, ‘And I’ve seen some remarkable results from the work of healers.’

  Jude grinned. ‘I can’t claim that I know how it works either. But I know when it works.’

  ‘Sounds good enough to me. As Belle’s probably said, we use a lot of alternative therapies here – though actually I prefer to call them complementary therapies. Medical knowledge is improving all the time, but there are still too many things we are clueless about when it comes to curing them. So I’m in favour of trying anything – short of downright charlatanism – that might work.’

  ‘Sounds a good approach to me,’ said Jude.

  ‘Were you thinking of trying any healing with Hester this afternoon?’

  ‘Only with your permission. She’s your patient, not mine. I don’t want to do anything that might clash with the treatment she’s already receiving.’

  ‘I don’t see how healing could do that,’ said Rob. ‘Mixing therapies is not like mixing medications. No, if you think you can help her – and Hester herself doesn’t object – you have my permission to use your healing powers on her.’

  ‘I’ll see how she feels about it … if the moment comes up. But thank you.’

  ‘And I wish you good luck.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘The psychiatrist who’s working with Hester is finding it hard work. Not that she doesn’t cooperate. She’s very polite, very accommodating, but there’s a whole lot of stuff she’s holding in, things she won’t talk about.’

  ‘But she’s not pretending there’s nothing wrong with her?’

  ‘No, she recognizes there’s something wrong. She seems almost relieved to be here. But in terms of getting her better … Well, until she opens up a bit about what’s really traumatized her, it’s uphill work.’

  ‘I’ll see if I can get her talking, though I’m really just here as a friend, not in any professional capacity.’

  ‘I understand that. Anyway, let me know how you get on with her. Drop in here when you’re leaving.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘There have been quite a few cases in the past where I’ve thought healing might have some effect.’ Rob focused his blue eyes on her. ‘I wonder, Jude, would you mind my contacting you if something similar were to come up in the future?’

  ‘I’d certainly be up for having a go. Can’t guarantee results, I’m afraid. You never can with healing.’

  ‘You never can with a lot of traditional medicine,’ said Rob, smiling.

  Hester Winstone’s room was at the back of Casements, with latticework windows looking up towards the gentle undulations of the South Downs. It was comfortably furnished, more like an upmarket hotel room than anything to do with a hospital.

  And the manner of Hester’s greeting to Jude was more suited to a hotel guest than a patient. She was smartly dressed in a tartan skirt and pink cashmere jumper. Her red hair was neatly gathered at the back in a black slide and she was wearing more make-up than she had when attending SADOS rehearsals.

  Belle had gone ahead to check that Hester felt up to the visit, and the patient was prepared for Jude’s appearance. Which meant that she must have agreed to their meeting. Her behaviour was that of a well-brought-up hostess, offering her visitor tea or coffee. ‘The staff are very good at catering for our every need.’

  Jude opted for tea, thinking that having a drink might extend the length of her stay. There were a great many things she wanted to ask, but she recognized that she had to be gentle and circumspect in her approach. Beneath Hester’s brittle politeness, Jude knew there was a lot of pain, and she did not want to be responsible for aggravating that pain. Given Mike Winstone’s unwillingness to have anything potentially unpleasant in his life,
having his wife hospitalized (even if it was covered up by the bland lie about ‘staying with a friend’) must have meant there was something seriously wrong with her.

  But in their first few exchanges the woman’s mask of middle-class gentility did not crack at all. The only discordant sign was a slight detachment in her manner. Her eyes were not glazed, but they looked distant. She behaved like some skilfully constructed and very correct automaton. Jude presumed this was the effect of her medication.

  Their polite surface conversation had almost run out before the welcome interruption of a neatly uniformed woman with tea and biscuits. Hester’s expert hostess manner seemed to welcome the rituals of pouring and passing the cup.

  Having taken a sip of tea and a bite of biscuit, Jude felt she could risk moving the conversation away from pleasantries. ‘All’s going well with The Devil’s Disciple,’ she said. ‘If they knew I was seeing you today, I’m sure lots of the company would have sent good wishes.’

  ‘That’s very nice of them.’ Since no actual good wishes had been sent, this comment sounded slightly incongruous.

  ‘And Carole has taken over the job of prompter.’

  ‘Carole?’ Hester repeated vaguely.

  ‘My friend Carole. Do you remember? She was with me when we met in the car park. You know, after you’d …’

  ‘Yes.’ Hester Winstone’s face clouded. Perhaps she didn’t want to be reminded of her ‘cry for help’. ‘I’m glad to hear all’s going well,’ she said with an attempt at insouciance.

  ‘Though Olly Pinto’s still having a bit of a problem with the lines …’ Jude went on. No reaction. ‘… Having had to take over at such short notice …’ Still nothing. ‘… From Ritchie Good.’

  The name did produce a flicker in Hester Winstone’s eyes. Quickly followed by a welling up of tears. Sobs were soon shuddering through her body.

  Instantly Jude was up and cuddling the woman to her capacious bosom. ‘Just lie down on the bed,’ she said. Mutely, Hester obeyed. Jude ran her hands up and down the contours of the body, not quite touching, as she concentrated her energy. The sobs subsided.

  ‘What are you doing?’ asked Hester drowsily.

  ‘It’s a kind of healing technique,’ said Jude.

  She continued in silence for about twenty minutes, focusing where she felt the greatest tension, on the shoulders and the lower back. During that time Hester dropped into a half-doze, from which she emerged as Jude drew her hands away and collapsed, drained, into her chair.

  ‘God, that feels better,’ said Hester. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘My pleasure.’

  ‘How do you do it?’

  ‘I honestly don’t know. It’s just something I found I could do.’ Jude looked into her client’s hazel eyes. ‘How’re you feeling now?’

  ‘As I said, better.’

  ‘Is there anything you want to talk about?’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘What’s been bugging you. What’s got you into this state.’

  ‘Hm.’ There was a long silence. Then, slowly, Hester Winstone began, ‘It was Ritchie … seeing Ritchie, that’s what pushed me over the edge.’

  ‘But what brought you up to the edge – that had been building for some time, hadn’t it?’

  Hester nodded. ‘Most of my life, I sometimes think.’ Jude offered no prompt, just let the woman take her own time. ‘I think I’ve always had this sense of inadequacy. This feeling that when it came to the test – any kind of test – I’d be found wanting. And whereas I thought I’d grow out of it, in fact, as I’ve got older, it’s got worse.’

  ‘Was there anything particular that made it get worse – I mean, apart from what’s happened the last few weeks?’

  ‘I suppose when my father died, that hit me quite hard.’

  ‘You were very close to him?’

  Hester nodded. ‘Yes. He probably spoiled me, actually. But he always, kind of, appreciated things I did. I was never particularly brilliant at anything – exams, sport, I was just kind of average. But Daddy seemed quite happy with that. He didn’t want me to achieve more – or if he did I was never aware of him putting any pressure on me. So I, kind of, felt secure when Daddy was around.’

  ‘How old were you when he died?’

  ‘Nineteen. In my second year at catering college. My mother was disappointed – she said I ought to have gone to a proper university, but Daddy told me catering college was fine. I’ve always liked cooking and …’ For a moment some memory clouded her focus.

  ‘And then your father died …’ Jude prompted gently.

  ‘Yes, it was very sudden. I had a very bad time then. I couldn’t finish my course, I dropped out.’

  ‘Was it some kind of breakdown?’

  ‘I suppose, in retrospect, that’s what it was.’

  ‘Did you have any treatment then?’

  ‘No. Perhaps I should have done. I went back home and lived with my mother. And that wasn’t good. Because she was in a pretty bad place too, and … It was almost as if she was jealous of me.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I suppose because my father had found me easier to love than he had her.’

  Hester looked shocked by her words, as though it was a thought that she’d had for a long time, but never before articulated.

  ‘Anyway, then my mother remarried.’

  ‘Did you get on with her new husband?’

  ‘Yes, no worries there. He was fine. And I was quite grateful to him, actually. Because he kind of took my mother’s focus away from me. And I got better and … well, to say I blossomed might be overstating things, but I was OK. And then I did a course in sports marketing – not a university course, just a one-year diploma, but it was good. It was out of that I got a job with a company that was trying to raise the profile of cricket as a participant sport. They don’t exist now, but it was quite fun back then. I mean, I’d only got a secretarial job, but the people I was working with were quite jolly.’

  ‘And was it through your work there that you met Mike?’

  ‘Yes. We went out a few times and I thought it was just for laughs, but suddenly he’s asking me to marry him.’

  Classic syndrome, thought Jude. A girl who adored her father tries to replace him with another older man. But of course she didn’t say anything.

  ‘So we get married and suddenly we’ve got the two boys and … so it goes.’

  ‘And how have you been since that time?’

  ‘What, you mean mentally?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Fine. Quite honestly, bringing up two boys, you don’t exactly have time to think about your own state of mind … or anything else much.’

  ‘So your feelings of inadequacy … you didn’t have any time for those?’

  Hester grinned wryly. ‘Oh no, they were still there. I think they were born with me, part of my DNA … like red hair.’ By instinct her hand found the hair at her temple before she said tellingly, ‘And Mike does have very high standards.’

  TWENTY-TWO

  ‘You mean,’ asked Jude, ‘you feel under pressure to keep up with those standards?’

  ‘I suppose so, yes. Mike likes things done a certain way. Not unreasonably,’ she hastened to add, lest her words might sound like criticism. ‘But he and the boys, well … they’re a lot more efficient and organized about things than I am.’

  Her words confirmed the impression of the Winstones’ marriage that had been forming for some time in Jude’s mind: Hester cast in the role of the slightly daffy woman in a chauvinist household of practical men, her fragile confidence being worn away by the constant drip-drip of implied criticism. But again Jude didn’t say anything about that.

  ‘You once told me that you joined the SADOS because you had time on your hands.’

  ‘Yes, well, with the boys both boarding at Charterhouse, there was so much less ferrying around to be done. I seem to have spent most of the last twelve years driving them somewhere or other, so yes, it did feel as if I had time
on my hands.’

  ‘And also it was doing something for you, rather than for somebody else,’ Jude observed shrewdly.

  ‘I suppose that was part of the attraction.’

  ‘And was Mike positively against the idea?’

  ‘No, he wouldn’t come out strongly against something like that. Not his style. But he’d sort of dismiss it as something silly that women do.’

  And so the process of undermining would continue.

  Jude wondered whether she should ask whether Hester minded the kind of gentle interrogation she was undergoing, but thought that might be unwise. The healing had created an intimacy between the two women that was too precious to break.

  ‘And helping out with front of house on the pantomime was the first thing you’d done for SADOS?’

  ‘Yes. I got in touch when Mike went off to New Zealand. In a rather pathetic fit of pique, I suppose.’

  ‘Sounds to me like a fairly justifiable fit of pique.’

  ‘I don’t know about that. Anyway, I said I’d help out with the panto.’

  ‘Did you actually become a member of SADOS?’

  ‘You bet. I had Mimi Lassiter on to me straight away, demanding a subscription. She’s like a terrier about ensuring everyone in SADOS is fully paid up. I think she regards it as her mission in life.’

  Jude smiled. ‘And it was then that you met Ritchie Good …?’ She spoke the name gently, worried that it might once again set off the hysterics.

  But Hester was calmer this time. The healing had done its work. ‘Yes,’ she replied.

  ‘And you got the full chat-up routine from him?’ She nodded. ‘And were flattered by the attention?’ Another slightly shamefaced nod. ‘How far did he go?’

  ‘What, in terms of what he wanted us to do?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, he …’ This was embarrassing too. ‘He sort of implied he wanted us to go to bed together.’

  ‘And were you shocked by that, or what?’

  ‘Well, I was … I don’t know. I suppose I was attracted by the idea … a bit. I mean, I was in a strange state, sort of vulnerable and … And then Mike had just gone off to New Zealand – virtually without saying goodbye to me and … I don’t know,’ she said again.