Free This Honourable House by Edwina Currie Page A

it at once. Then you can arrest Frank.’
    ‘We can what?’ The sergeant’s eyes rounded.
    ‘Arrest my husband. It’s from him. It must be.’
    ‘And how do you figure that out?’ The inspector kept his voice mild.
    ‘Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it? I’ve thought and thought about it. He doesn’t like me talking about him. He wants me to stop. Mr Clifford Maxwell says I should reveal the truth and not be intimidated, but my Frank is aware that I’m bad news for his precious career. And for that marriage. Though it’s so rocky, it won’t take months before falling apart. She’ll find out. He’s all piss and wind, isn’t he?’ Gail paused, panting slightly, startled at her own fierceness.
    She had not meant to sound such a harridan. In the back of her mind doubt niggled. It was not possible that Frank, or anybody she had rubbed shoulders with, could perpetrate such an atrocity, was it? But someone had done it, someone who meant her harm. Who else could it be, if not him? Who else had anything to gain by her enforced reticence?
    ‘Is this the politician Frank Bridges we are referring to, madam?’ the sergeant asked officiously. His eyes were hostile.
    ‘Certainly. There is only one. Mr High and Mighty. Yes.’
    ‘The former police officer?’
    ‘The same. I only wish he’d stayed in the force. At least then he was doing something worthwhile. Now he rides around in a limousine with a posh new wife and I’m not good enough for him.’ There was a pricking at the back of her eyes. Oh, God, don’t let me cry , she thought desperately.
    ‘Can I fetch you a cup of tea?’ The sergeant had switched tack. ‘I’ll see if there’s a fingerprint bod about. I think the detectives are out. We could get this, ah, evidence checked now.’
    ‘Yes, thank you.’ Gail’s tears subsided as the sergeant went out, the carrier-bag in his gloved hands. She glanced down at her own, noticed dully that her nails were dirty and cracked, the cuticles ragged.
    ‘Mrs Bridges.’ The inspector’s voice was measured and calm. Gail looked up hopefully. ‘I’m sorry you’ve had such an upset. It’s a horrible experience to receive hate mail like this, especially when you’re not used to it.’
    ‘We did have it once or twice in the past, when Frank was first involved in politics – funnily enough when he was sorting out that dreadful strike. Then we had nasty stuff pushed through the letter-box. And threats.’
    ‘Like that?’ The inspector jerked his head towards the door.
    ‘Yes,’ Gail agreed, encouraged by the tone of the questioning. ‘Very similar. The product of a warped mind, I suppose. Or somebody under enormous pressure. Frank used to say we shouldn’t judge. I’m trying not to.’
    ‘They’re usually very stupid people who indulge themselves with such rubbish.’
    ‘Oh, yes, that’s right.’
    ‘Not quite what you’d expect from a man of your husband’s eminence, though?’
    Gail felt cold. If not Frank then a stranger, and that was far more frightening. But surely it was no coincidence that this material should arrive hot on the heels of the adverse publicity she had given him. And at her correct new address. It stood to reason, unpalatable though it might be. ‘I can see your point, Inspector. But of course he wouldn’t write it himself, would he? I’d spot his handwriting at once. That’s why he’s used newspaper letter cut-outs.’ She paused. ‘If it isn’t him, then it’s somebody he’s persuaded to do it. Or paid.’
    ‘Quite the detective, aren’t we?’ The inspector’s eyes strayed to a photograph of himself on the wall, receiving the Queen’s Police Medal from the Duke of Gloucester. His glory days were behind him. Outside came more raised voices; he heard the phrase ‘missing engine’ and closed his ears. ‘You should leave those sort of deductions to us. In fairness to your husband, Mrs Bridges, it could have been anyone.’
    ‘It’s Frank. I’m sure of it. He wants