‘Fine,’ she said, deliberately breezy, ‘a brand new one for free… This is most awfully good of you, Daphne,’ she added, as her hostess emerged from the kitchen.
Daphne Medlicott was small, brown and warm-hearted. She kissed Marcia affectionately.
‘Lovely that you’re back,’ she said. ‘Everything’s in the oven, so we can sit over drinks and hear what you’ve been doing.’
It was a pleasantly relaxed evening, and it was not until the coffee cups were empty that Andrew was allowed to produce a series of lists for Marcia.
‘Horner’s have kept the numbers down to eighty,’ he told her. ‘That’s two coachloads for expeditions if everyone goes. The five lecturers are bringing cars.’
They discussed the possibility of keeping one of the bedroom wings closed, to cut down on cleaning.
‘Two of the lecturers — a Mr and Mrs King — are coming in some species of dormobile, and like to sleep in it to get away from it all,’ Andrew said, consulting a letter.
‘I don’t blame them. I often wish I were non-resident myself,’ Marcia remarked. ‘Wait a bit. This may just do the trick, if we can fit the other three into the sick bay. Who are they?’
‘Michael Jay — you met him, of course, when he came down in the spring term to discuss details. Miss Susan Crump, and Mr Geoffrey Boothby.’
‘Well, let’s hope Miss Susan Crump won’t feel her virtue’s at risk if we put her in the sick bay with a couple of males,’ Marcia said, making notes. ‘Parking’s going to be a problem. How many of the eighty are bringing their own cars?’
They went into this and other matters at some length.
‘I only hope there won’t be an outsize hitch of some sort,’ Andrew Medlicott said, as she finally rose to go.
‘Why on earth should there be?’ Marcia replied bracingly. ‘After all, if one of the Fortnight people turns out to be a murderer or something, it’s not our responsibility, is it?’
On Friday morning St Julitta’s presented a scene of intensive domestic activity. Workmanlike in a white overall, Marcia Makepeace supervised the combined operation in progress while attending to a number of miscellaneous matters. As she was arranging flowers she was called to the telephone. ‘The domestic bursar speaking,’ she said.
‘Well, well, well,’ came a hearty masculine voice. ‘So our Mrs Makepeace is back on the job. That’s great. Don Glover here. How’s it going, my dear?’
‘Perfectly well, thank you,’ she replied coolly.
‘All lined up for Operation Horner, eh? Fine, fine. This show’s got to go like a bomb, hasn’t it? It could be quite a thing for St J’s, y’know. Eddy Horner’s a pal of mine. Get him even more interested in the school, and you don’t know what mightn’t come out of it. Matter of fact I put him on to the idea of renting the place.’
‘I really can’t see any reason why everything shouldn’t run smoothly, Mr Glover.’
‘Sure, sure, with you doing the running, my dear — ha! ha! I told Eddy we’d got a winner in you. Just give me a tinkle if you want a bit of help. Goodbye for now, then.’
He rang off.
My God, that man, Marcia thought briefly as she went back to her flowers.
Later in the morning she was wanted on the telephone again. To her surprise the caller was Mr Horner. He was pleasant and to the point. Would she kindly tell the Fortnight staff when they turned up that he’d be pleased to see them for drinks after dinner that evening. Say nine o’clock, at Uncharted Seas. And he hoped she would join the party. Mr and Mrs Medlicott were coming along.
She had always felt curious about the bungalow and its inmates, and accepted at once.
‘I’ll look forward to seeing you up here then,’ he said. ‘And thank you once again, Mrs Makepeace, for taking on this job for me in your holidays.’
Before she could reciprocate with thanks for his generous terms, he rang off.
Marcia had the self-assurance of the professionally competent. As she waited for the Horner staff to arrive in the early evening, she was surprised to find herself feeling quite apprehensive. What was her status going to be during the Fortnight? Responsibility without authority was always difficult. She began to wish that someone would arrive and start things moving.
In the event three cars drew up within minutes of each other. Watching from the front door she saw Michael Jay emerge from the first. He came up the steps, a tall, dark and rather solidly built man of about forty, with the air of good-humoured capability which she remembered from their earlier meeting, and which she now found reassuring. He greeted her warmly, and turned to introduce the couple who had got out of the dormobile. Paul King was a younger, sandy-haired man with a lively face and hornrims, and his wife Janice a small platinum blonde. The occupant of the battered estate car which had brought up the procession was a stocky woman of about fifty, already garbed and shod for energetic outdoor activities.
‘Meet Susan Crump, our biologist,’ Michael Jay said. ‘There’s one more of us to come, Geoff Boothby. He’ll be along any time now — he only lives over at Winnage.’
‘I’ve laid on dinner for seven o’clock, Mr Jay,’ Marcia told him. ‘I hope that suits everybody? And there’s an invitation from Mr Horner, to go up to his bungalow for drinks at nine.’
‘That all sounds jolly good. Well, if you’ll just show us the lie of the land, Mrs Makepeace, we’d better make a start on humping our gear in. There’s quite a bit of it, I’m afraid.’
A mountain of boxes, bags, rolls of maps and suitcases rapidly built up on the immaculate floor of the entrance hall. Seeing Marcia looking at it ruefully, Paul King grinned as he staggered in with a cine projector.
‘Not to worry,’ he assured her. ‘We’ll soon clear this little lot. That must be Geoff arriving.’
A roar and a screech of brakes came from the drive, and a few moments later a long-haired young man in jeans and a faded shirt appeared, a scowl on his face. Intelligent, but hopelessly shy, Marcia diagnosed, as he mumbled something in reply to her greeting. She was feeling cheerful and interested. It all looked like being much easier and more friendly than she had expected, and there was loud approval of St Julitta’s amenities.
‘This is just fabulous,’ Janice King said, as her husband parked the dormobile on a site behind the school buildings indicated by Marcia. ‘Paul, Mrs Makepeace says there’s a bathroom and loo just up the stairs inside this door.’
‘Super,’ he agreed. ‘You know it’s sheer heaven to clear off and have a spot of peace at the end of the day.’
‘The rest of us are doing nicely, too,’ Michael Jay remarked, strolling up and joining them. ‘We’re segregated in the sick bay. Really imaginative of you, that, Mrs Makepeace. Of course, you’ll be having dinner with us tonight, won’t you?’
Marcia was pleased. ‘I’d like to very much,’ she said. ‘In the ordinary way, of course, I’ll have to be behind the scenes.’
She had taken special pains over this first meal, and it was highly successful. In the course of it she learnt who did what during the Fortnight. In addition to having overall responsibility, Michael Jay lectured on local settlement and buildings of historic and architectural interest.
‘From the Iron Age camp on Biddle Down onwards,’ he told her. ‘Geoff does the natural landscape and local geology, and takes enthusiasts fossil hunting. Susan’s line is plant life, and the things you find in rock pools and along the beach. Paul’s our bird man — a very popular line, that, and our photographic expert into the bargain. He films the expeditions and whatever as we go along, and shows the finished product on the last evening, when it’s always a smash hit. Janice has the diciest job as hostess. She has to be a walking information bureau, first aid post, smoother-out of grievances, organizer of evening do’s — the lot.’
Janice King, looking with-it in scarlet trousers and white silk top, agreed that hostessing could be bloody at times.
‘The crowd you get varies a lot,’ she said. ‘Usually they’re very decen
t types, but it’s extraordinary how one or two grumblers can get the whole lot disgruntled. Let’s hope we’ll be lucky this time, that’s all, and get good weather. Are we allowed to smoke in here, Mrs Makepeace?’ she asked Marcia, pausing in the act of reaching for her handbag.
‘Of course. What do you do about smoking in the dining room when everyone’s here, Mr Jay?’
‘Michael, please. We ask them to refrain until the coffee stage. This really is coffee, if I may say so.’
‘Remember the muck that passed for coffee at Biddle?’ Geoff Boothby asked unexpectedly, then going pink with embarrassment.
‘Served at the end of what they called the evening meal,’ Michael Jay replied. ‘A loathsome expression. You can’t think what a difference it makes to have it called dinner, Mrs Makepeace, quite apart from the sort of food you’ve given us tonight.’
‘Marcia, please. I hope we can keep it up, that’s all. However hard you try, food cooked in bulk never turns out quite the same.’
‘If it only turns out half as good as this, we shall be doing nicely, thank you,’ Paul King assured her. ‘Do we walk up to the Old Man’s place, or take the cars?’
‘Not Geoff’s car, for heaven’s sake,’ said Susan Crump emphatically. ‘It’d wake the dead, let alone the precious Horner grandchild.’
‘Here!’ protested its owner indignantly.
In the end they all packed into Michael Jay’s Hillman, and Susan Crump’s estate car, and drove up to Uncharted Seas in a light-hearted mood.
All the Horner staff appeared to know Eddy, who radiated bonhomie as he received congratulations on his new status as grandfather. His daughter, Penny Townsend, was an attractive young woman, clearly exhilarated at having produced a son and heir. The women of the party were swept off to admire Edward Robert Horner Townsend, asleep in a cot in his mother’s bedroom.
‘Plain hideous, isn’t he?’ remarked Penny dotingly. ‘So not to worry about saying who he’s like. Anyone care to see round the bungalow before I clock in for the ten pm feed?’
The architect had certainly done a first class job on a difficult site, Marcia reflected. No doubt he’d been given carte blanche. The self-contained guest wing with its kitchenette might have been designed for visiting grandchildren. She surveyed the kitchen proper with a critical eye, and could not fault its planning or equipment. Returning to the sitting room, they were led out on to the terrace. An enormous full moon was riding in a cloudless sky, its path scintillating on the water. Lingering behind the others, Marcia found Eddy Horner standing beside her.
‘Takes a bit of beating, doesn’t it?’ he asked, with engaging pride.
‘I don’t think you could have possibly found a more wonderful site,’ she told him. ‘I expect you’ve travelled all over the world, and seen some marvellous places, though, haven’t you?’
‘I’ve been around a bit,’ he admitted. ‘Before we got so big I made it a rule to OK any place we sent a Horner holiday to. But there’s the heck of a lot of the world I’ve never seen, and I’m getting an old chap now. That brat in there’ll be vetting the moon for the firm before he’s done. Here, you haven’t had a drink yet.’
Inside there was a large assortment of drinks and snacks, and the atmosphere was becoming convivial. Even Andrew Medlicott, Marcia noticed, was almost animated as he discussed birdwatching with the Kings, and accepted an invitation to join an expedition to a remote raven colony down the coast. Canon Fuller and his wife had arrived, and appeared to have discovered some link with Susan Crump, which the three of them were discussing vigorously. Geoff Boothby had made contact with a rather stolid young girl who had been introduced as a relative of the Horners’, come to lend a hand with the baby. The pair sat together on a small sofa, saying little, but seemingly enjoying each other’s company.
‘All we want to round off this party’s Bob,’ Eddy Horner remarked from the hearth during a sudden lull in the conversation. ‘Pity it’s the one weekend he couldn’t get down.’
‘When does he get down as a rule?’ Michael Jay asked.
‘Friday nights. Penny and I run up to Stoneham, to meet him off the London train at just after ten. Hey, who’s that at the door? Excuse me…’
He vanished into the hall. A couple of minutes later he returned with Don Glover.
‘See who’s here, folks,’ he said as heads turned. ‘Another of the school governors come to give Horner’s the onceover. Mr Donald Glover.’
‘That’s not fair,’ Don Glover protested, not displeased. ‘How was I to know there was a party on? I just dropped in for a friendly chat with Mr Horner. What’s mine? Well, I won’t say no to a whisky and splash, thanks.’
Eddy Horner began on a round of introductions. Marcia noticed that Geoff Boothby had gone to the bar, and unobtrusively slipped into his place on the sofa. Marginally situated, she hoped to escape Don Glover’s tiresome facetiousness.
Wendy Shaw improved on closer acquaintance. She was not in the least pretty by conventional standards, but her face showed character, and there was a pleasant unspoilt freshness about her. Marcia learnt that she was in training as a nursery nurse, and had one more year to go. Perhaps money was tight at home, for she seemed glad to have a holiday job. Asked if she liked Kittitoe, she became quite enthusiastic. It was a fabulous place and so was the bungalow. Uncle Eddy and Cousin Penny were so kind. They often took her for super car drives, and she was learning to surf. They wanted her to join the Youth Club as a holiday member, but she wasn’t keen. You’d feel a bit out of it, not knowing anyone. The baby was sweet, and good as gold.
At this point Geoff Boothby returned with a glass in each hand. He was at a loss to find his seat occupied, and Marcia took pity on him, and extricated herself after a few friendly remarks. She joined Daphne Medlicott, and under cover of the rising volume of conversation in the room they compared their reactions to the bungalow and the rest of the company.
Suddenly, as they were talking, it occurred to Marcia that it was odd that Don Glover had not been invited to the party, if, as he had told her, he had put Eddy Horner on to the idea of renting St Julitta’s for the Fortnight. They could hardly be such tremendous buddies. And if they weren’t, it was odd of Don Glover to gate-crash. He must have realized a party was on from the cars parked outside.
At this point her reflections were interrupted by the arrival of Paul King propelling a trolley laden with snacks.
3.
But answer came there none —
Alice Through the Looking-Glass.
The Walrus and the Carpenter.
During the opening stages of the Discovery Fortnight Marcia felt like a ghost visiting once familiar surroundings and finding them strangely altered and itself unrecognized. Instead of the rhythmic ebb and flow of St Julitta’s uniform through the building, eccentrically dressed adults wandered about at all hours, exchanging incomprehensible jargon such as Hercynian folds, sociable plovers and the hairy-headed hawk bit. To these she was an unidentified figure, either ignored or given brief smiles of non-recognition. The Horner staff were immersed in their own spheres. From time to time Janice King contacted her on some domestic matter, and was always friendly and appreciative, but apart from this she found herself in an unaccustomed and depressing isolation.
Fortunately there was plenty to occupy her. The complimentary remarks about her catering had put her on her mettle. The daily women were appalled by the mud and messy specimens brought in, and needed jollying along and frequent reminders of inflated pay packets to come. At intervals she studied the various programmes of lectures, discussions and expeditions on the noticeboard in the entrance hall, but no suggestion was made that she might care to take part in any of them.
On the first Tuesday evening she supervised the serving of dinner, had her own on a tray in her office, and then retired upstairs to the solitude of her sitting room. She was tidying her desk preparatory to relaxing when there was a knock at the door.
‘Come in,’ she called, expecting to s
ee one of the kitchen staff with some query about the following day.
The door opened tentatively, and Michael Jay’s head came round it.
‘Is this absolutely not on,’ he asked, ‘invading your private territory?’
‘Of course it’s on,’ she replied genuinely pleased at the prospect of a human contact. ‘Do come in, Mr Jay. Nothing’s badly unstuck, I hope?’
He stared at her in blank amazement as he sat down.
‘Good God, no! I just felt I must track you down to say how simply fine it all is. The old hands are saying that we’ve never been so comfortable on a Fortnight, or had such super meals.’
‘How nice of you to come and tell me,’ she replied, feeling a small glow of pleasure. ‘I’ll pass it on to my staff. Would you care for another cup of coffee? I was just going to make myself some.’
‘Lovely,’ he said. ‘My coffee potential’s unlimited.’
Returning presently with a tray she sensed that her sitting room had been scrutinized with interest.
‘Do smoke,’ she invited.
‘Really? I’m a pipe-smoker, as you may have noticed.’
‘It smells much nicer than cigarette smoke. Black or white?’
As she poured the coffee, she was aware that she had noticed. In fact, now that he was sitting opposite her, she realized how much she had registered about Michael Jay. That he smiled with his eyes as well as his lips, for instance, and that his way of speaking was considered, but not a bit pompous.
Conversation was easy, if general. She gathered that the Fortnight was off to a good start. It seemed to be a keen crowd, and there were no signs of any friction as yet, in spite of one or two compulsive talkers. Kittitoe was a much better base than Biddle Bay. As Michael Jay enlarged on this, Marcia began to feel that she knew very little of the neighbourhood.
‘You know, I’ve been here for eighteen months,’ she told him, ‘but you’re making me feel that I’ve been pretty unenterprising about going places.’
No Vacation From Murder Page 2