Death in Cyprus: A Mystery

by M. M. Kaye

  ‘They must be mad!’ said Amanda. ‘She hadn’t been dead for any time at all. She was warm!’

  ‘Yeah, I know. But they probably thought he just pretended to turn off to Nicosia and really turned back and followed the Normans to Kyrenia, whipped into Miss Moon’s, strangled his secretary, sprang for his steed—I mean his Studebaker—and hey, for that mad ride for the border! Could be.’

  Amanda said scornfully: ‘How was he supposed to know that she would still be there? It sounds a lot of poppycock to me.’

  ‘Well it blew a fuse early on. Seems the guy gave a lift to a couple of enlisted men just back of that turn, and they’ve turned ’em up and checked the times, and he couldn’t have made it. Not unless he’s mastered the art of being in two places at once. And then there was all that jade and junk lying around the garden path, and they figured that though he might indulge in a little murder, he’d probably draw the line at theft.’

  ‘How did you hear all this?’ demanded Amanda. ‘Did Miss Moon tell you?’

  ‘Good grief no! She was too busy telling the police what she thought of them. Glenn told me. I brought him back here with me and we had a few drinks and discussed this and that. I like that guy. It’s a pity he’s still carrying a torch for that wife of his. She sounds a bit screwy to me. Anyone who could leave a nice guy like Glenn, to elope with a set of ginger whiskers and a smell of turpentine, must be rocking on the rails with their signals mixed.’

  Persis sipped her drink in silence for a moment or two and presently said thoughtfully: ‘Steve was there too.’

  ‘Where?’ asked Amanda sharply.

  ‘At your Miss Moon’s this morning. That guy’s a smooth operator. He’s wasted on art. He ought to be giving Dulles and Eden a few lessons in diplomacy.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘When I gate-crashed your villa this morning,’ said Persis with a reminiscent grin, ‘the situation was a little complicated. Glenn was not taking too kindly to the suggestion that this Monica had been his mistress, and your Miss Moon was addressing the senior cop in a manner which many a high-school teacher would have envied. Then that housemaid of hers—or cook or what-have-you—was having hysterics in the kitchen, and the bootboy was offering to fight a cop who seems to have suggested that he might have tipped off a pal that the villa would be empty yesterday afternoon, so why not slide in and swipe a few trinkets? It was quite a situation and I doubt if UNO could have done much better. Then in strolls Steve like a flock of doves bearing olive branches, and in no time at all everyone is sitting around drinking vino and relaxing, and Miss Moon is calling the Head Cop her dear boy. Yes, it was certainly quite a performance.’

  Persis lit a cigarette from a small diamond and platinum lighter and looked thoughtfully at Amanda through the smoke:

  ‘You’re in love with him, aren’t you?’

  ‘Who? Steve Howard? Don’t be absurd! I hardly know him.’

  ‘You sound almost convincing, honey—but not quite. And it isn’t necessary to know someone to fall in love with them. In fact the less you know about ’em the easier it is.’ There was a trace of bitterness in Persis’ voice. ‘Has he kissed you?’

  She saw the vivid colour flood up into Amanda’s face and said dryly: ‘I see he has. Ah well, some girls have all the luck.’

  ‘Persis,’ said Amanda severely, ‘don’t you ever think of anything but love?’

  ‘Not if I can help it,’ said Persis candidly. ‘I’m nuts about love! Romance is my business—and a very paying proposition I have found it.’

  ‘Are you going to use everything that has happened here for one of your books?’

  A shadow seemed to pass over Persis Halliday’s face, and then she laughed. It was a short and rather bitter laugh.

  ‘No. Not quite everything.’

  Amanda looked at her curiously and said suddenly: ‘Persis—are we real to you? Or are we—are we all just people acting out parts that give you ideas for stories?’

  Persis leant back in her chair and blew a smoke ring at the ceiling. She said in a soft, abstracted voice: ‘You know, it’s queer that you should ask that. Sometimes I do feel that way. As if I was on the other side of a sheet of plate glass, watching a puppet show and thinking “that’s interesting”. Sometimes the people I write about seem more real to me than a lot of people I meet, because I know them and I own them. It’s—I suppose it’s a little like being God. I can make my characters do just what I want. Fall in love, get married, hate each other, jump through hoops. I can kill ’em off or make ’em achieve fame and fortune in a coupla’ lines of print. But–but real people won’t always do what one wants…’

  Her voice sank to a half-whisper on the last words and she relapsed into silence, leaning back in her chair with her abstracted gaze on the darkening sky and the first stars that lay beyond the open windows, while the cigarette burned out between her fingers.

  A soft, fluting voice made itself heard from the direction of the door and Persis dropped the stub of her cigarette into her glass and looked over Amanda’s shoulder.

  ‘Here comes Teeny-weeny-me,’ she observed. ‘Why, hullo Claire. Brought the baseball team with you I see.’

  Claire Norman, accompanied by her husband, Alastair Blaine, Toby Gates and Lumley Potter, crossed the room and sinking into a chair, announced that she was exhausted. She appeared surprised at seeing Amanda and murmured a few soft words of sympathy on the subject of the terrible ordeal that Amanda must have been subjected to.

  ‘We’ve just been to see Miss Moon,’ she said. ‘We thought you’d be there too of course, but Mooney said you’d gone out. She was rather secretive about it. She wouldn’t say who with. I thought it must be Steve. I didn’t think of Persis. Lumley, you’re not going, are you?’

  ‘Afraid I must,’ said Mr Potter reluctantly. ‘I said I’d be back around six, and it’s well after seven, and____’

  ‘Poor Lumley!’ interrupted Claire in her soft, clear voice. She reached up a small hand and laid it on his arm in a brief gesture indicative of sympathy and understanding, and Mr Potter flushed pinkly.

  Persis, who had watched this bit of byplay with considerable interest, caught Amanda’s eye and winked, and Amanda bit back a laugh and turned hurriedly to Toby Gates who had seated himself on the arm of her chair was inquiring solicitously as to her health.

  Mr Potter removed himself, Alastair Blaine ordered a round of drinks, and George Norman asked Amanda to supper at their house:

  ‘Would have asked you before,’ he said, ‘but didn’t think you’d feel up to it. Be delighted if you’d come. Only pot luck of course. Claire, I’ve just asked Miss Derington to join the party for supper tonight.’

  Claire Norman raised her delicate brows and smiled charmingly at Amanda, but Amanda received the sudden and distinct impression that she was not pleased, and said quickly: ‘I’m so sorry, I’m afraid I can’t come. I couldn’t walk out on Miss Moon at such short notice. She had a horrid time yesterday, and today hasn’t been exactly peaceful for her.’

  ‘Of course,’ sympathized Claire. ‘We quite understand. Some other time perhaps.’

  Toby said in a low voice: ‘Why didn’t you give me a ring last night and tell me what had happened? It must have been hellish for you. You know I’d have come up.’

  ‘Thank you Toby,’ said Amanda with real gratitude. ‘But there wasn’t anything you could do.’

  ‘I gather Howard was there,’ said Toby with a trace of resentment in his voice.

  ‘He brought me back from Hilarion, that was why. Toby, did you really all call in on Miss Moon again this evening?’ She indicated Claire and her entourage with a brief gesture of the hand.

  ‘We just thought we’d look in and see how you were. We all happened to meet rather by accident up at the top of the town, and as it was only about two minutes’ walk we went along. It’s an astonishing house, isn’t it? The old girl took us all over it. Simply crammed with stuff that would make an antique dealer drip at t
he mouth. Do you know that there’s a Constable sketch in one of those bedrooms? Must be worth a packet. No wonder some enterprising burglar had a crack at it. The only thing I can’t understand is why the whole shooting match wasn’t pinched years ago. I don’t believe the old girl would have noticed it if it had been!’

  Claire was saying, ‘____Toby will tell us. Toby dear, is it true that your Regiment is coming here in the autumn? Alastair is being very cagey and Security-Minded about it. As if it mattered!’

  Major Blaine laughed. ‘I’m not being in the least cagey. I don’t know. And I bet Toby doesn’t know either. It is commonly supposed that the policy of the Broadmoor graduate responsible for the placing of units is to decide all changes at the last possible moment with the aid of a pin, in the hope—only too frequently realized—of causing the maximum confusion not so much to the enemy but to the units involved. Amanda, now that you’ve dealt with that tomato mush, how about trying the effects of a gin and lime?’

  Amanda smiled and shook her head. ‘No thank you, Alastair. I’m afraid it’s time I was going. I don’t like to keep Miss Moon waiting.’

  ‘Nonsense. You’ve masses of time for another drink.’

  ‘This is my round,’ said Toby quickly. He rose and went to the bell and Alastair Blaine crossed over, and having removed Amanda’s empty glass took Toby’s place on the arm of her chair and began to make desultory conversation to which Amanda paid little attention.

  She was watching the clock and wondering if Steven Howard had returned, and if he too was dining with the Normans? If so it would be too late to tell him about Anita Barton tonight, and she would have to let it keep until tomorrow.

  She became aware that Alastair Blaine had lowered his voice to an undertone and had asked her some question. Amanda jerked her gaze from the clock and looked at him.

  ‘I–I’m sorry, Alastair. What did you say?’

  Alastair glanced quickly at the four other members of the party, but George was explaining the intricacies of cricket to Persis, and Claire and Toby were discussing a mutual friend in Alexandria. His gaze came back to Amanda and he asked a low-voiced question that was an echo of one that Amanda had already heard once that evening:

  ‘Is it true,’ asked Alastair Blaine, ‘that something off Anita Barton’s dress was found by the police last night?’

  ‘Who told you that?’ asked Amanda, startled. ‘Did Miss Moon?’

  Alastair shook his head. ‘No. Claire told me.’

  ‘Claire? How did she know?’

  ‘Seems that Barton told her. He rang up in a bit of a stew last night and wanted her to go down and see his wife or Lumley and warn ’em to burn the dress or bury it or get rid of it somehow. Didn’t dare go himself for fear the police were tailing him. But I think he must have been a bit worked up to suggest it, as Claire isn’t exactly sympathetic to Mrs Barton. However, she and George have always been pretty good friends of his so I suppose he felt that in the special circumstances she might rally round for his sake, if not for Anita’s.’

  ‘And did she?’

  ‘No,’ said Alastair Blaine slowly, and frowned.

  ‘She seems to have made it her business to tell a good many other people,’ said Amanda tartly. ‘Is that why you were down at Lumley Potter’s?’

  Alastair Blaine looked startled.

  ‘I thought I saw you on the balcony,’ explained Amanda.

  ‘I did drop in for a minute,’ admitted Major Blaine uncomfortably. ‘I thought someone should tip her off. But she wasn’t in, and Lumley said he’d already told her. Don’t know how he got hold of it. Then we met the Normans and Toby in the town and went up to see you. I think Claire wanted to find out from Miss Moon if it were true. But your peculiar old hostess wasn’t giving anything away. Is it true?’

  Amanda hesitated, but before she could reply Claire looked up and called out in her sweet, fluting voice:

  ‘Steve! What have you been doing with yourself? You’re looking very well dressed. Is this in honour of dining with us?’

  Amanda turned quickly, aware of an odd breathlessness.

  Mr Howard had not, apparently, been occupying himself with art. His hair was unusually smooth, and in place of his normally somewhat casual attire he wore a thin checked suit. He had, it is true, removed the coat, which he carried slung over one shoulder, but his silk shirt was impeccable and he wore the tie of a famous public school.

  ‘No,’ said Steve smiling lazily down at Claire. ‘Nothing short of a white tie and tails could do justice to that, but as I omitted to pack ’em, this is the best I can do. And damned hot it is too.’

  Persis said: ‘Where have you been, Steve?’

  ‘Troodos,’ said Steve, and offered no further comment.

  ‘Troodos?’ exclaimed Claire surprised. ‘Do you mean you’ve been the whole way there and back this afternoon? Whatever for?’

  ‘Oh, just to see a man about a dog,’ said Steve amicably.

  He pulled up a chair and sat down, stretching his long legs before him and driving his hands deep into his pockets.

  Claire smiled archly at him and said: ‘I don’t believe a word of it! Who is she, Steve? I am quite sure that you would never have dressed up in a suit for any mere male—unless you’ve been to see the Governor, of course!’

  She laughed, as though such an idea was preposterous, and Steve grinned at her and turned to George Norman with some query as to whether there was any fishing obtainable in the Island? George rose to the bait with the alacrity of a trout in May and Claire’s question remained unanswered.

  Persis stood up and said: ‘Well I’m for a bath. Toby, collect me in about half an hour and we’ll walk up to Claire’s.’

  Amanda looked at the clock again and rose hurriedly to her feet. ‘I’m afraid I must be going too,’ she said, addressing the company in general. ‘I hadn’t realized it was so late.’

  George said: ‘Change your mind and come on to supper.’

  Amanda smiled and shook her head, and Steve, who had risen, said: ‘I’ll see you home,’ thus checkmating Toby Gates who had been about to make a similar suggestion.

  Amanda, catching Persis Halliday’s amused and mocking eye, said a little stiffly: ‘Please don’t bother. It’s no distance, I can easily go by myself.’

  ‘I’m quite sure you can,’ said Steve equably, ‘but as I have sundry messages to deliver to Miss Moon, I might as well go up now as later.’

  ‘What messages?’ asked Amanda. ‘Can’t I take them?’

  ‘One or two things about the inquest. It’s for eleven tomorrow in Nicosia, and we shall all have to put in an appearance.’ He grinned at Amanda with a good deal of comprehension in his gaze and said: ‘Of course if you are averse to my company, I can always give you three minutes’ start.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Amanda with dignity, and walked towards the door.

  ‘Dinner at 8.15, Steve,’ Claire called after him. ‘Don’t be late.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  Persis said: ‘Goodnight honey. Enjoy yourself!’ And then they were crossing the hall and a moment later were out in the warm moonlight under a sky that was thick with stars.

  Amanda started off at a brisk pace, but as Steve refused to be hurried she was compelled to slow down as the only alternative to having him wandering up the road a yard or so behind her—a proceeding that must appear more than a little ridiculous.

  ‘That’s better,’ approved Steve, linking his arm casually through hers. ‘I have had a tiring day, and just at the moment a marathon race is not in my line. What did you want to see me about?’

  Amanda checked and stumbled. ‘How did you know I____?’

  ‘No, I am not omniscient, worse luck,’ said Steve regretfully. ‘The girl at the desk told me that a young lady had been inquiring for me. She added a description that was flattering but reasonably accurate, and a natural modesty forbade me to suppose that all you required was the pleasure of my company. What is it?’

 
Amanda hesitated, frowning and uncertain.

  ‘Changed your mind?’ inquired Steve.

  ‘No,’ said Amanda doubtfully. ‘Perhaps there isn’t anything in it, but Mrs Barton came to see me this evening____’

  Steve Howard’s leisurely pace did not alter but Amanda had a fleeting impression that the muscles of the arm that was linked through hers had tightened for an infinitesimal moment.

  ‘Did she indeed? What about?’

  Amanda told him, repeating that short conversation word for word as accurately as she could remember it. Steve made no comment, except to ask her if she had mentioned the finding of the small linen flower to anyone.

  ‘No,’ said Amanda. ‘It was Glenn.’

  This time there was no mistaking the sudden rigidity of that arm, and perhaps Steve was aware of it, for he released Amanda’s arm and thrust his hands into his pockets.

  ‘Ah, the hero boy,’ he remarked satirically. ‘So he blew the gaff, did he? Now I wonder why?’

  Amanda explained the circumstances, her voice quick and indignant, and Steve said caustically: ‘Dear Glenn would appear to make quite a habit of getting his girl-friends to pull his chestnuts out of the fire for him.’

  ‘Why must you always sneer at him?’ demanded Amanda with some heat. ‘I know you all think he’s a fool not to say “good-riddance” to Anita, but he can’t help it if he’s still fond of her. You can’t stop loving people just because you want to. It’s nothing to do with sense or logic or____’

  She stopped suddenly and Steve gave her an odd sideways look and said: ‘You do rush to his defence, don’t you? No; love has nothing to do with sense and even less with logic. In fact, taking it all round, it is an infernal nuisance and a booby trap laid by Mother Nature with a view to spreading alarm and confusion, defeating the ends of justice and leading inevitably to overpopulation and the atom-bomb.’