Sir Winston looked surprised. “Really? You didn’t have fights, arguments?”
“Rarely. Oh, I suppose anyone who’s married has an argument now and then, but we got along well.”
“No children?”
“No. Paul didn’t want children.”
“But you did?”
“Well, yes, but I suppose Paul was more important to me. I didn’t want to ruin our marriage by having a child unless Paul wanted one, too.”
“So you were deeply in love with your husband?”
She hesitated. “I loved him, yes,” she said finally.
“Did you treat him well?”
“Yes, I did.”
“You were a good wife at all times?”
“I tried to be,” she replied. “Excuse me, sir, but what are you getting at?”
Sir Winston opened the leather-bound book and showed her a page. “Is this your husband’s handwriting?”
“Yes, it is.” Allison Manning was looking concerned for the first time.
“Let me read you some of what your husband wrote in this book,” Sir Winston said, opening the book at a marked page. “I quote: ‘They had been on the boat together for months now, and she had been the perfect bitch.’” Sir Winston paused, looked at the jury, then continued. “‘She had always had a temper, but now she frightened him with the intensity of her anger.’” He looked at Allison Manning as if to elicit a response, but she said nothing; she looked stunned.
Sir Winston turned to another marked passage. “‘They argued one day as she was making lunch. She had a chef’s knife in her hand, and for a moment, he thought she might use it on him. He slept badly that night, waking often, expecting to feel the blade in his back.’”
Allison Manning was suddenly on her feet; her face was red and contorted with anger. “That’s not about us, dammit! It’s written in the third person, don’t you see? What are you trying to do, you bastard?”
Sir Winston feigned shock at her outburst, but before he could speak, the coroner broke in. “Please compose yourself, Mrs. Manning; Sir Winston is only doing his duty.” He looked at his watch. “I think we will stop now for lunch. We will resume in one hour. Gentlemen of the jury, please do not discuss these proceedings among yourselves during lunch.” He stood, and the jurors stood with him.
Sir Winston collected the books and his briefcase and strode quickly from the room, leaving Allison Manning standing, staring after him. Finally she collected her purse and walked slowly toward the door.
Stone, nearly as shocked as she at the turn in Sir Winston’s questioning, followed her from the building. “Mrs. Manning?” he called.
She stopped and turned. “Yes?”
“My name is Stone Barrington; I’m an American, too. My chartered boat is moored near yours.”
“Oh, yes,” she said absently. She turned to go.
“I wonder if I could speak with you for a moment?”
“What about?” she asked, looking puzzled.
“I was present at the inquest this morning, and I heard what took place. I think you may be in over your head.”
“How do you mean?”
“Do you know who this Sir Winston is?”
“No.”
“Nobody mentioned that, huh?”