Free A Donation of Murder by Felicity Young Page A

look superb on you,’ Dody said, meaning it.
    â€˜You should consider getting your ears pierced, Dody. There are so many more beautiful earrings to be had for pierced ears.’
    Dody’s mother considered pierced ears to be ‘common’, and Dody and Florence had never contemplated it. Both were content with their screw-ons, even if they did pinch on occasion.
    Not wishing to hurt her new friend’s feelings, Dody replied, ‘I don’t think I could bear to have someone sticking a pin through my ears.’ She smiled to herself. So spoke the woman who had once stitched up a gash in her own forehead.
    â€˜You might change your mind when your loved one presents you with the perfect pair.’
    Pike could never afford such extravagances and Dody could not have cared less. Margaret’s weakness seemed to be for jewellery and hers was for Pike; each to their own, she supposed.
    â€˜My John’s a jeweller and I’ve learned a lot from him,’ Margaret went on. ‘For example, I judge the locket hanging about your neck to be Faberge. May I have a closer look, see if I am correct?’
    Dody had no idea that the locket had escaped from beneath her blouse. It tended to get in the way of her work and she tried to keep it concealed. She unhooked the clasp and handed it to her houseguest.
    Margaret weighed the locket in her hand. ‘It’s a good sized piece, and the filigree engraving shows masterful craftsmanship.’ She turned it in her hand, drawing Dody’s attention to the maker’s mark on the back. ‘See, Faberge. I am correct. My, but you are a lucky woman.’
    â€˜Some of my family were in business in Russia with Mr Faberge. Indeed, my parents and my sister and I lived in Moscow for some years. The locket was given to me by an uncle,’ Dody said, impressed by Margaret’s ability to identify the piece. ‘I would never have been able to buy it myself. I know I am a lucky woman, many times over — though it is not the material things that I really treasure.’
    â€˜Whether we like it or not, Dody, material things do matter. Without the financial help of your family, you would doubtless not be practising medicine. You would not be helping those poor souls in the clinic nor solving the puzzle of mysterious deaths at the mortuary in order to bring some kind of peace to the victims’ relatives. Or raising others up from the de—’
    â€˜Enough, please!’ Dody felt herself redden. ‘Let’s not start this again.’
    Margaret laughed. ‘I’m sorry, I did not mean to embarrass you.’ She placed the locket on the bedside table and clasped Dody’s hand, giving it a squeeze. ‘I’m very grateful for everything you’ve done for me, Doctor, I mean, Dody. But I think it best that I return to my own home tomorrow. I am feeling better already and by tomorrow I will be as good as new.’
    â€˜But what of John?’
    â€˜I can handle him.’
    â€˜Your stitches?’
    Margaret gave Dody a tender look that made her realise just how desperate she must have sounded. The bottom line was that she was lonely and craving female companionship.
    And she had drunk too much whisky.
    She took a deep breath. ‘Any doctor or nurse could take them out, I suppose,’ she said, trying to hold on to her dignity.
    Margaret hesitated, glanced down at the top sheet of her bed, its lace edge folded over the counterpane. ‘I do hope we can stay in touch, though. I’d like us to become friends.’
    Dody smiled. ‘As would I.’
    *
    Dody knew that she was overtired because the knot of worry that had begun in her stomach was tightening her limbs and getting worse, despite the liberal amount of whisky with which she’d lubricated it. She turned the tap and added more hot water to the bath, breathing deeply of the lemon-scented steam. It had been a mistake to agree to remain in contact