Murder on the Clifftops

by Betty Rowlands

  ‘Sure, if I can. I might bring one or two others from my art club. When I tell them what a great teacher you are, they’ll be dead keen to join.’

  Iris beamed. ‘That’d be splendid. Philippe’d be delighted.’ Her train of thought was now firmly targeted on Bonard. She turned to Melissa. ‘Has he said anything to you about giving a creative writing course?’ she asked. ‘I did suggest . . .’

  ‘No, and I doubt if he will.’ Melissa set down her empty cup and began fiddling with her necklace. She felt suddenly irritable. ‘When it comes to purveying language and literature, he’s only interested in the home-grown variety,’ she declared. ‘He’s very charming and all that, but he really is an out-and-out chauvinist. Besides,’ she added, cutting short a protest from Iris, ‘I doubt if he’d be willing to pay the sort of fee Joe Martin would insist on.’

  ‘That agent of yours is a money-grubber,’ Iris complained. ‘Can’t you stretch a point for a friend?’

  Melissa was about to retort that as she had only known Bonard for three days he could hardly be described as a friend of hers, when a surprised, ‘Well, what do you know?’ from Jack made them both glance round. Dieter Erdle had just arrived with Rose Kettle clinging to his arm. They waved across before making for an empty table in the far corner. They did not immediately sit down, but leaned on the low parapet and gazed out over the river and the mountains, she with her head inclined towards his, he with a hand resting on her shoulder.

  ‘Rosie and the toy-boy!’ commented Iris. ‘Bet Dora’s fuming!’

  Jack gave a disapproving shake of the head. ‘A young chap like that shouldn’t play on an older woman’s susceptibilities.’

  ‘Maybe he really likes her,’ suggested Melissa. She thought such a possibility unlikely, but she was feeling perverse. She had a shrewd notion what Iris’s views on the subject would be – a notion that lady promptly confirmed.

  ‘Rubbish!’ she said stoutly, with a glance of approval for Jack. ‘Agree absolutely. No business to lead her on like that.’

  Melissa, detecting a spark of comradeship between them, decided to fan it a little. ‘He may not be leading her on. Young men do sometimes fall for older women,’ she said.

  ‘Sometimes,’ Jack agreed, ‘but not in this case, I think.’

  ‘You can’t be sure.’

  ‘Course he can. You’re quite right, Jack. Tell me,’ Iris leaned forward in her seat, ‘this “Patterns of Light and Shade” thing . . . do you think . . . ?’

  Melissa sat back and let her mind wander elsewhere while they talked shop.

  When Iris announced that it was time for them to return, Jack insisted on walking them back. After a few minutes Dieter’s car overtook them; when they arrived at the auberge, it was parked in the shadows a short distance away with two dim shapes close together in the front seats. Nobody commented; after brief thanks and farewells, Jack departed and the two friends went indoors.

  Madame Gauthier was perched on a stool at the reception desk, making up her accounts. They were exchanging goodnights when Rose came in looking flushed and happy, but a trifle agitated.

  ‘Had a good evening?’ Iris’s voice was heavily laced with irony, but Rose either did not notice or was too excited to be offended.

  ‘Oh, lovely, thank you!’ She looked enquiringly from one to the other. ‘I don’t suppose . . . I mean . . . could I possibly have a word with you?’

  Iris’s response was immediate and uncompromising. ‘If it’s advice about your love life you want, pack him up before he ditches you!’

  Melissa saw Rose wince. ‘Iris,’ she admonished, ‘let Rose tell us what she wants to talk about.’

  ‘I . . . I . . .’ Rose was floundering.

  Iris stifled a yawn. ‘If you don’t mind, I’ll leave you to it. No need for two agony aunts.’ She marched down the passage towards the staircase.

  ‘Don’t mind her – she doesn’t mean to be hurtful,’ said Melissa. ‘How about seeing if there’s anyone in the salon? We could talk there.’

  They sat on a couch in the empty room and Rose stared at her feet. ‘Your friend doesn’t approve of me, does she?’ she said. ‘She thinks the same as Dora, that Dieter’s only interested in me because I’ve got money. But it isn’t like that, he really cares!’

  ‘How can you be sure of that?’

  ‘I just know!’ Rose lifted her head and looked Melissa full in the face. Despite the lines round her mouth and the flecks of grey in her hair, there was a bloom in her cheeks and her eyes shone like those of a girl who has fallen in love for the first time. Melissa’s heart went out to her. If only it were true.

  ‘How long have you known him?’ she asked gently.

  ‘Ten days. This is our second week at the centre. That’s the problem . . . you see, Dieter’s enrolled for a third week and . . . I’d like to stay on as well.’

  ‘But aren’t you and Dora supposed to be visiting friends in Antibes next week?’

  ‘I don’t really want to go. They’re her friends, not mine, and they talk about nothing but golf. They bore me stiff.’

  ‘I thought you were keen on golf too.’

  ‘I’m not half so keen as she is – she’s absolutely dedicated. You’ve probably noticed how she spends every spare minute practising her putting. Anyway, I’m not all that good – I just play to keep her company. She’s . . . not an easy person in some ways. Apart from her golf, she hasn’t got many interests. I persuaded her to come on this course because I thought it would be a change for us both.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘I just don’t know what to do. I’d much rather stay here another week, but I don’t suppose she’d hear of it.’

  ‘Well, if that’s what you really want, you’ll have to tell her. You could always join her later.’

  ‘That would be the sensible thing, wouldn’t it? The trouble is, I know she wouldn’t go without me.’

  ‘She does rather manage your life, doesn’t she? Or perhaps I shouldn’t have said that . . .’ Melissa half expected a vigorous defence of Dora’s protective friendship, but the reaction was precisely the opposite.

  ‘How right you are! I let her share my house because she could only afford a tiny flat of her own, and she bosses me around as if she’s the one with the money.’

  Melissa was beginning to wish the conversation had never started; the last thing she wanted was to become embroiled in a dispute between two women she hardly knew, but Rose was looking her squarely in the eye as if demanding a response to her outburst.

  ‘Well, it seems to me you’ll have to talk it over with her,’ she said, determined to be non-partisan. ‘After all, if Dora wanted to change her plans, you’d expect her to discuss them with you, wouldn’t you?’

  It was doubtful if Rose heard the last part of her remark. She was on her feet, wearing a look of steely determination that sat oddly on her girlish features.

  ‘You’re right. I’m going to tell her this minute what I’ve decided. Thank you for your advice, Melissa. Goodnight.’ She almost ran from the room, as if afraid that her newly found resolve would melt away if she did not immediately put it into practice.

  Melissa made her way slowly upstairs, wondering whether or not she had inadvertently made matters worse. She found Iris in her pyjamas, sitting cross-legged on her bed and scribbling in a notebook. She was looking distinctly pleased with herself.

  ‘Some ideas for “Patterns of Light and Shade”,’ she explained without looking up.

  ‘I noticed you and Jack brain-storming. Did he come up with anything useful?’

  ‘Quite a bit. Can’t wait to talk to Philippe.’ She put notebook and pencil aside. ‘Was I right?’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘You know what. Rosie and her German gigolo. Wanted you to tell her to follow her heart, or some such rubbish.’

  ‘You’re a fine one to talk.’

  Iris’s smug expression vanished. ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Meaning you’re just as soft about your P
hilippe as Rose is over Dieter.’

  I wish I hadn’t said that, thought Melissa, seeing Iris flinch. The two cases are quite different. Iris has known Philippe for quite a long time. Some people would say they had a lot in common and no doubt in some ways they have . . . except I’m sure that Philippe . . .

  Iris was staring in front of her with a set expression, making no response. After a minute she uncrossed her legs, stood up and made her way past Melissa to the bathroom without meeting her eye. There followed several minutes of unusually energetic teeth-scrubbing, loo-flushing and hand-washing before she returned, lay down and switched off her bedside lamp, still without uttering a word.

  In an effort to mend her fences, Melissa asked, ‘So what are you doing tomorrow?’

  ‘Taking the class to the bamboo forest,’ muttered Iris with seeming reluctance.

  ‘Well, that should bamboozle them.’

  It wasn’t much of a joke and it didn’t get a laugh. It didn’t get any response at all. Feeling weary and depressed, Melissa got ready for bed. The evening had started so well and ended so badly.

  She wondered if things were any better between Rose and Dora; if anything, she thought, they were probably worse. As she switched off her own lamp she called, ‘Goodnight,’ but Iris did not reply. ‘Oh blast!’ she mumbled into her pillow. ‘Tomorrow’s going to be one hell of a day.’

  Nine

  Melissa slept fitfully and awoke with a headache. Iris was already up and splashing in the bath. When she emerged, she responded with a grunt to Melissa’s, ‘Good morning,’ and began wrestling with the bar that controlled the window shutters. Mechanical things were not her strong point; after watching her for a couple of minutes, Melissa could stand it no longer. She got out of bed and marched across the room.

  ‘Here, let me do that before you bust a gut!’

  Iris relinquished the handle without argument. Melissa began turning it and the heavy metal blind inched upwards, admitting a broadening band of sparkling light. Outside, the early sun slanted across the mountains and filtered through the delicate green tracery of the forest.

  ‘Isn’t that bliss!’ Forgetting for a moment the strained atmosphere of the previous evening, Melissa slid back the glass door and stepped out on to the balcony. It was only seven o’clock, yet the air was mild enough to stand there in her nightdress. ‘Just come and look at these clouds – they’ve got to be one of Nature’s perfect designs!’

  ‘Hmm?’ Iris, seated at the dressing-table, paused in the act of brushing her short, mouse-brown hair, glanced briefly through the window and turned back to the mirror without comment.

  Melissa sighed and went into the bathroom. When she came out, Iris was on the balcony doing her morning routine of breathing exercises, straight-backed, the sleeves of her cotton robe falling away from her thin arms as they rose and fell in time with the rhythmic and somewhat noisy intake and expulsion of air. By the time she had finished, Melissa was fully dressed and busy with her make-up.

  ‘I’m going for a walk before breakfast,’ she said as Iris stepped past her to reach the wardrobe. ‘I’ll see you on the terrace.’

  Iris, rummaging for clothes, muttered, ‘Right,’ without showing her face.

  This was ridiculous. They’d snapped at one another before – more often than not, Melissa recalled, over the involvement of one with a man considered unsuitable by the other – but any irritation had always been short-lived and apologies barely necessary. This time, it seemed, was different.

  ‘Look, Iris, I’m sorry . . .’ she began.

  ‘Forget it.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.’

  ‘Don’t want to talk about it.’

  ‘All right then. See you later.’

  There was no reply.

  Perhaps it hadn’t been a good idea after all to come on this trip together. They weren’t used to the cheek-by-jowl contact it entailed; the notion of living in the state of interdependence that bound Dora Lavender and Rose Kettle would have horrified them both. As next-door neighbours in their snug Cotswold cottages, they enjoyed a comfortable, undemanding relationship: discussing their work, exchanging local gossip or swapping recipes and gardening tips over coffee-breaks and the occasional meal, but always respecting each other’s privacy, never invading each other’s space.

  It was the realisation that Roziac lay in the heart of Camisard country that had revived Melissa’s idea for a novel set in the region. She had casually mentioned it while glancing through Philippe Bonard’s brochure. Iris, who had spoken in glowing terms of the man and his ambitious undertaking, revealed that she had agreed to tutor a week’s art course for him and immediately suggested that Melissa should accompany her.

  Melissa had been intrigued to know what kind of man could persuade Iris to leave her beloved garden for the best part of a fortnight at the height of the growing season. This curiosity, as much as the prospect of a week’s field research in one of the wildest and loveliest parts of France, had helped to make up her mind.

  Mulling it over as she strolled along in the morning sunshine, passed occasionally by a battered Renault or a woman on a pushbike with a basket of baguettes swinging from the handlebars, Melissa felt more and more uneasy at her friend’s obvious emotional commitment to Bonard. It wasn’t that she had anything against him personally; he was a charming and clever man, dedicated to his school, an entrepreneur who was using the fruits of his success to fulfil a lifetime’s dream – and good luck to him, she thought. But Iris, so shrewd in some ways, was hopelessly unworldly in others. The notion that Bonard’s sexual inclinations were more likely to be directed towards Alain Gebrec than herself, might not enter her head.

  Returning to the auberge, Melissa went straight to the terrace for breakfast. She had hoped for the opportunity of a quiet word with Iris, of trying to smooth her ruffled feelings before the day’s work, but to her surprise and annoyance she found Rose Kettle at their table and Brigitte laying a third place, while Dora, stony-faced, was sitting alone in the farthest corner.

  ‘I do hope you don’t mind,’ pleaded Rose, while Brigitte bustled off to fetch more croissants. ‘She’s still cross with me and the atmosphere is quite unpleasant, so I asked Iris if I could join you. And I wonder,’ she went on as Melissa murmured a polite and hypocritical response, ‘if you’d be so kind as to give me a lift to the school this morning? Dora’s appointment isn’t till eleven so she says she isn’t in a hurry. She’s doing it on purpose, of course – I know she’s planning to do some more of her wretched putting practice. There are times’ – Rose’s face took on the fierce expression of a schoolgirl talking about her most hated teacher – ‘when I’d like to brain her with one of her own golf-clubs!’

  ‘Shouldn’t talk like that. She’s only thinking of your good,’ said Iris, helping herself to apricot jam.

  ‘Oh, I know – I don’t mean it, of course. Only, I do wish she wouldn’t be so horrid about Dieter. I expect she’s jealous really, because it’s me he’s interested in and not her.’

  ‘Of course we’ll give you a lift,’ said Melissa hastily, noting the contemptuous curl of Iris’s lip and anxious to forestall any blunt comment that might sour the atmosphere still further. ‘But I do hope you and Dora soon settle your difference.’ She did not ask the outcome of last night’s argument and was relieved when Rose did not offer to tell her. Just at the moment she had her own anxieties without being expected to worry about other people’s.

  When the three of them got up to leave, Melissa glanced across at Dora and met a look of concentrated malevolence that took her by surprise. She probably thinks I encouraged Rose to defy her, she thought uneasily as she followed the others to the car park.

  When they reached Les Châtaigniers, most of Iris’s class were already assembled. Their enthusiastic welcome brought a smile to her face for the first time that morning. She immediately fell into conversation with Jack as they waited to board the mini-bus that stood in the centre of the courty
ard, ready to transport them to the Parc de Prafance with its famous forest of bamboo.

  Alain Gebrec was standing at the entrance to one of the outhouses, hectoring someone inside. After a moment Fernand emerged, an expression of sullen resentment on his face and a heavy crowbar in his hand. For a few minutes there were heated exchanges between the two; Melissa could not catch the words, but it appeared that Gebrec was giving instructions which Fernand appeared reluctant to carry out. Both men were making angry gestures and at one point Fernand brandished the crowbar under Gebrec’s nose before flinging it to the ground in a melodramatic gesture of apparent capitulation.

  Meanwhile, Philippe Bonard had emerged from the house and was greeting Iris and her group, now installed in the mini-bus and waiting for Gebrec to drive them. He saluted Melissa with a smile that faded as he became aware of the argument going on across the yard. When Gebrec approached, he took him by the arm and murmured something which Melissa took to be a mild reproof. Gebrec began expostulating and pointing in Fernand’s direction; Bonard patted his arm and wagged a finger, glancing towards the bus as if saying something like ‘Not in front of the children’. Gebrec shrugged, climbed aboard, started the engine and drove out of the yard.

  Most of the other students had foregathered by this time and were awaiting their final briefing from their tutor. It seemed that the appointments were at varying times, some quite early, others later in the day. It had already been arranged that Eric and Daphne Lovell would drive Rose to her destination before going on to their own and would pick her up later for the return trip. Several other people had arranged to share cars and after a good deal of last-minute discussion and instructions, they were at last on their way. Dora Lavender had still not appeared, nor had Dieter Erdle.

  Melissa was about to get back into her car when Bonard called her name and came over to speak to her.

  ‘What plans have you today, Melissa?’ There was a warmth in his manner that invested the polite enquiry with a genuine interest.

  ‘I’m going to Alès to work in the municipal library,’ she replied. ‘Madame Gebrec has recommended some books.’