He held it up so they could all see it richly glittering under the harsh hospital lighting. Its very glitter seemed to speak of betrayal and sin.
‘Do you recognise this?’ he asked Felicity as he continued to hold the necklet up high.
For an infinitesimal moment, Felicity's gaze narrowed, then, as though calculating what, from her point of view, would be the best answer, she admitted it.
‘Yes. Of course. It was Raymond's wedding gift to me. I lost it some weeks ago, before Raymond's– ‘
For the first time, it hit Rafferty how Felicity's sentences, when she mentioned her late husband's name, would always drop off in that delicate manner, as if to imply the word ‘murder’ could no more sully her lips than the act of murder could sully her hands.
It was just another of her little tricks, of
