The Devil's Feather - Minette Walters [127]
She looked shell-shocked. “I’ll sue you for slander if you repeat that.”
“The bit about the rape? Is that not true? I thought he handed over fifteen hundred acres in compensation after his son was born? It was cheap at the price…the land cost him nothing and his reputation would have been in ruins if Jess’s grandmother had gone to the police.”
“It’s all lies,” she hissed. “There was no saying who the father was. Mrs. Derbyshire was a tramp…she slept with anyone and everyone.”
I shrugged. “It’s easily proved by a DNA test. The closest match will be Jess and your mother.”
“I won’t allow it.”
“It’s not your permission to give. Lily handed that right to her solicitor.” I smiled at her. “It’ll make a grand story. Skeletons rattle in Wright closet as DNA proves link. Abuse jumps a generation as failed artist’s wife seeks to silence mother. Career scrounger cites class as justification for sadism…”
Jess had predicted she’d take a swipe at me if I provoked her enough—“Lily was afraid of Madeleine, and her kid’s completely terrified”—so I should have been expecting it. But she still managed to take me by surprise. I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m really quite naïve about the levels of violence that some people are prepared to use. I shouldn’t be—I’ve seen too much of it in Africa and the Middle East—but my experience of war is different. I’ve always been a bystander, and never a participant.
MacKenzie should have taught me the dangers of complacency. And he did, as far as he was concerned. But it never occurred to me that a twisted psychopath, who raped and mutilated women, had anything in common with a Dresden china blonde in high heels and an elegant shirtwaist. I should have paid more attention to Jess. From day one, she had described Madeleine as a manipulative, narcissistic personality of shallow emotions, who demanded instant gratification, resorted to bullying when she didn’t get it and showed no remorse for the impact her behaviour had on others.
And that’s as good a definition of a psychopath as you’ll find.
22
I’D EXPECTED a slap across the face, not an all-out assault on my eyes with crimson fingernails. I was on the floor, shielding my head from her kicking shoes, almost before I knew she’d attacked me. It was very fast and very noisy. I remember her screaming “Bitch” as she grabbed me by the hair and spun me round so that she could aim at my face, but I curled into a tight ball and took most of the punishment on my arms and back.
She wasn’t fit enough to keep it up for long. The kicks became less frequent as her mouth took over. How dare I question her? Didn’t I know who she was? Who did I think I was? It was an interesting insight into her character. At no point did she consider the consequences of what she was doing or whether my provocation had been deliberate. Quite simply, a red mist descended and she went ape.
I won’t pretend it wasn’t painful—her shoes were leather with pointed toes—but it was a walk in the park compared with Baghdad. Her balance was precarious, her aim was bad, and her foot had very little weight behind it. I put up with it because anger, like alcohol, loosens tongues, and she thought my refusal to fight back meant she had nothing to fear.
“It was the best day of my life when the Derbyshires died…the only one left was the runt…and she was so feeble she tried to kill herself. I told my mother she should have let her bleed to death…and do you know what she said? Be nice… you owe it to her…you have Nathaniel. God, I hated her! She couldn’t keep her mouth shut…had to talk to her brother…had to apologize…wanted me to call him uncle. I said I’d rather die than admit I was related to a slut’s bastard…and he laughed and said the feeling was mutual. Then he