‘Well, here’s your chance.’ He smiled at her, and extracted a copy of the Fortnight programme from his pocket. ‘You needn’t tell me that anybody as competent as you are needs to be on the job the whole time. Drop in on any of the lectures you like the sound of, and come on one or two expeditions. What about Thursday’s, for instance, to the Saxon village that’s being excavated over at Ingatshoe? It’s fascinating. Perhaps you’ve seen it already?’
‘No, I haven’t,’ she said, realizing that he would be taking it himself, and becoming suddenly hesitant.
If Michael Jay noticed a change in her manner, he gave no sign of it.
‘Jolly good,’ he said, ‘That’s settled. I’m conducting the trip, but there’s positively no obligation to trail along and listen, if you’d rather wander round on your own. And now I suppose it’s my duty to go and mingle below. Thanks so much for the coffee.’
When he had gone Marcia sat motionless for some time.
Stephen … she thought, staring at the photograph on her desk. Only a few days ago she’d felt that awful pang about his letters, here in this room. Yet, in the short space of time since, she’d developed this extraordinary awareness of another man whom she hardly knew… Too honest with herself not to face the fact, she experienced an almost intolerable tension. Then her pride and a spark of self-mockery resolved the situation. Really, it was quite preposterous to read a reciprocal awareness on Michael Jay’s part into an invitation to visit an archaeological dig…
She got up abruptly, and bore off the coffee tray to the pantry, deciding at the same time to take the sensible step of joining in some of the Fortnight’s activities. It would give her mind something to bite on, anyway.
This decision proved rewarding. New interests were suggested to her, and she came to know the Horner staff better. Paul King, as she had been led to expect, was much in evidence. The lectures she went to were all illustrated by his superb colour slides, and his birdwatching expeditions were always heavily oversubscribed. She found him amusing and generally very good company, although intolerant of the slightest disruption of his plans by those of his colleagues. Janice was a hard worker and most efficient, never ruffled by minor crises, and an excellent organizer of the Fortnight’s social activities. An occasional waspish remark about her clientele made Marcia suspect a lack of human sympathy under her camaraderie. Susan Crump, however, improved on further acquaintance. Her brusque manner concealed great kindness, and she had a delightful dry humour. The dark horse of the team was undoubtedly Geoff Boothby. Usually tongue-tied in company, and decidedly sulky-looking, he developed the fluency of the enthusiast in the realms of his own interests, and showed a childlike excitement over Sir Toby Belch which Marcia found quite engaging. She was intrigued at seeing Wendy Shaw with him in his car one evening. Had Wendy unsuspected scintillating quality, too, she wondered?
Despite her efforts to do so she was unable to ignore the fact that she was drawn to Michael Jay, and humiliatingly aware of his presence or absence. As before, self-mockery seemed the most feasible line to take with herself, and it afforded her some relief from the tension which kept recurring at a deeper emotional level. She set off on the expedition to the Saxon village determined to behave towards him with easy detached friendliness. Seated beside him in the coach, however, it was impossible to keep the conversation on strictly impersonal lines throughout a forty mile drive. Her enquiries about the set-up at Horner’s inevitably led on to his about St Julitta’s and her work there. After a time she began to feel tiresomely conscious of her wedding ring, and suddenly angry that he might think that her marriage had broken up, she referred as casually as she could to Stephen’s death. He was silent for a moment before making a conventionally sympathetic remark, but volunteered no information about any matrimonial relationship, past or present, of his own. As they neared home he suggested a drink at the King William, the Kittitoe pub, after dinner. She refused, on grounds of having things to see to for the following day; and then regretted it. A solitary and unhappy evening resulted, during which a deepening sense of disloyalty to Stephen alternated in her mind with the ache of the thought of Michael Jay’s vanishing from her life at the end of the following week. Finally she went to bed feeling mentally and physically exhausted, slept heavily, and woke the next morning convinced that the best way to deal with a situation which had become intolerable was to avoid Michael as far as possible.
In this she met with little success. After breakfast she ran into him in a corridor.
‘Well met,’ he said, giving her a quick look. ‘I was going to ask you if you could spare a few minutes to discuss arrangements for the last evening. I know it’s a week away, but we usually have a mild sort of jamboree and I thought you might like to plan ahead. Perhaps I might drop in again this evening, and scrounge another cup of coffee?’
‘By all means,’ she said, in what she hoped was a normal voice. ‘I’ll expect you any time you’re free after — say — half past eight.’
As the day wore on she was exasperated with herself for feeling increasingly edgy, and when he arrived was at pains to greet him in a brisk and business-like manner. He told her that there was a tradition of making the last evening of a Fortnight a bit festive. Perhaps there could be something just a bit special for dinner? Afterwards Paul King’s film of all the activities was put on. People saw themselves in it, and it always went like a bomb. Then there was a small souvenir for everybody.
‘Advertising, of course,’ he said, ‘but it goes down every time.’
‘I can certainly put on a special dinner,’ Marcia said. ‘How about a few decorations in the dining room to brighten things up?’
‘That would be super, if it doesn’t mean an awful lot of extra work for you. By the way, we’ll all be out to lunch that day. We’ve got a pretty good final expedition lined up — Starbury Bay. There’s something for everybody over there.’
‘Good,’ Marcia replied. ‘That’ll give me a clear run to get things ready for the evening.’
A pause followed.
‘When are you getting away yourself?’ Michael Jay asked.
This was a switch to personal ground. She steadied her voice.
‘I’m planning to stay on until the following Wednesday, to get everything in train for the beginning of term on the 9th. Then I needn’t come back until the last minute.’
‘Will you be in London during the week before that, by any chance?’
‘I shall, as it happens,’ she replied, contemplating her hands.
‘Will you have dinner with me one evening, Marcia?’
Her world was dissolving and re-forming around her. After what seemed an eternity, she heard her voice, sounding a long way off, accepting the invitation. Then he was standing beside her, and very gently turning her face towards him. To her utter dismay she realized that her eyes were full of tears. Making a small gesture in the direction of Stephen’s photograph, he stooped to kiss her.
‘Not to worry, darling,’ he said. ‘Life has a way of working out, you know. We’re not going to try to force the pace.’
He felt her relax in the curve of his arm, and they stayed still and silent. Suddenly distant strains of pop music were audible.
‘Hell!’ Michael exclaimed. ‘I suppose I must go and join in idiotic antics, and play bridge with Senior Citizens. But I’m wangling time off during the weekend, come what may.’
He kissed her again, and was gone…
Retrospectively it always seemed to Marcia that from this point onward the Kittitoe Fortnight became a kind of non-time, unmeasurable by normal standards. In one sense it was all over at the drop of a hat, while in another aeons passed as she adapted herself to the incredible fact of a serenely developing relationship with Michael Jay. Then suddenly it was the last Friday morning, and she was handing out the last batch of picnic lunches.
Paul King took a packet for himself and another for Janice, and confided in her that he was hoping to engineer a slightly earlier return from
the Starbury Bay expedition.
‘I got some rather decent shots over at Winnage yesterday,’ he said. ‘I ought to have processed the film last night, but some of the crowd persuaded us to go along to the pub after dinner, and I didn’t get it done until before breakfast this morning. That leaves all the editing for when we get back today.’
Marcia assured him that the sooner the party returned the better, as far as she was concerned. She wanted to get the buffet tea cleared away in good time, so that final preparations for the evening could go ahead.
After waving off the coaches she went back into the building, and settled down to the job of decorating the dining room.
At lunchtime she noticed that the sky had clouded over, and hoped that the weather would hold up until everyone got back, but by three o’clock a light drizzling rain had set in. Ten minutes later the telephone rang.
‘Nothing dire, darling,’ Michael Jay told her, ‘but there’s been some tiresome mix-up about the time for starting back. We’re all getting wet — a lot of idiots haven’t brought macs — and Paul’s raising Cain because of editing the film he took yesterday.’
‘Are you just starting back now?’ she asked, looking at her watch.
‘No, that’s it. The drivers have vanished into thin air, leaving the coaches locked. The pubs are shut now, so it’s pretty hopeless trying to track them down in a place like this.’
Marcia commiserated, and promised to have gallons of hot tea waiting.
‘I’ll go and break it to the kitchen staff,’ she said. ‘Thanks so much for ringing. Be seeing you soon, anyway.’
In fact it was nearly half-past five when the coaches drew up, and began to disgorge their wet and disgruntled passengers. Paul King, looking like thunder, pushed past and vanished in the direction of the laboratory. In reply to Marcia’s question about sending him in some tea, Janice replied that he was in a filthy temper, and best left alone. Marcia accordingly concentrated on the general public, offering drying facilities and limitless cups of tea. The atmosphere gradually became more cheerful. She was amused to see that Michael Jay was clearly put out by the contretemps. Wounded pride of a first-class organizer, she thought, recognizing a weakness of her own.
By dinner time public morale was restored, and when, punctually at seven o’clock, she flung wide the doors into the dining room, there were loud cries of approval. Christmas decorations borrowed from the school and clusters of balloons transformed the normally functional scene. There were vases of dahlias on the tables, piles of crackers, and the Horner souvenirs parcelled up in gay wrapping paper beside every plate. From behind the serving hatch she had the satisfaction of seeing her special four-course dinner go through without a hitch, and was just leaving the kitchen to have her own meal when she was startled by a concerted shout of ‘we want Mrs Makepeace.’
Protest was useless and she was forcibly led into the dining room by a veteran Fortnighter, and presented with a colossal box of chocolates and a card bearing eighty-five signatures. Taken aback, and genuinely touched, she managed a brief speech of thanks which adroitly brought in her staff, and escaped to a final burst of clapping.
Later she slipped into the back of the assembly hall’s gallery. By previous arrangement Michael was sitting just inside.
‘All’s well,’ he told her. ‘Paul’s going to get the editing done, Janice says. We’ve kept them happy with one of his bird films.’
Not long afterwards this came to an end amid tumultuous applause, and the lights went up. A few minutes later Janice King appeared in front of the screen.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ she announced, ‘Horner’s Holidays presents the film of the year, the Discovery Fortnight at Kittitoe, 1971.’
There was more applause as the leader flashed on to the screen, turning to roars of laughter as the veteran Fortnighter of Marcia’s presentation was seen emerging from his car on arrival, stem first.
The evening was undoubtedly being a roaring success, and a gregarious atmosphere persisted after the film show. A few stalwarts braved wind and rain for a farewell drink at the King William, but everyone else packed into the common rooms for refreshments and chat before going off to bed. It had been a busy day, and Marcia was glad to reach her own room at last. Tired but happy, she was being lulled to sleep by the noise of the wind and sea when her bedside telephone rang.
Switching on the light she fumbled for the receiver, her mind running ahead. Some family emergency of one of the Fortnighters? A good thing she had that bedroom list down in her office.
To her astonishment, the caller was Eddy Horner.
‘Sorry to ring you at this hour, Mrs Makepeace,’ he said, sounding worried. ‘The fact is we’re a bit bothered up here. Was young Wendy Shaw down at your place this evening?’
‘I don’t think so,’ Marcia replied, trying to collect her wits. ‘She wasn’t at dinner, I’m quite sure of that. She could have been in the film show that followed — the hall was dark, of course, but I didn’t see her coming out afterwards. Has —’
‘We left her here in charge of the baby, at about seven. I drove my daughter up to Stoneham for a bit of dinner before we met her husband’s train. The train was late, so we phoned Wendy, but there was no answer. We thought she must’ve gone to bed early, but when we got back twenty minutes ago, she wasn’t here, and her coat and handbag have gone from her room.’
Marcia exclaimed, glancing at the clock which registered five minutes to twelve, ‘I should never have thought she was the sort of girl to go off and leave a young baby alone like that.’
‘She isn’t,’ Eddy Horner replied tersely. ‘That’s what’s biting us. Sorry to have bothered you.’
Before Marcia could offer any help, he had rung off. She sank back on her pillows, feeling very disturbed. After a moment or two she realized why. Geoff Boothby had been one of those who had gone out after the film show.
4.
Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea…
Wordsworth. Sonnet.
From an early hour on the following morning St Julitta’s resounded to the noise and confusion of eighty-five people preparing for departure. It was an unpropitious day of wind and rain, and Marcia could see signs of tempers wearing thin. In the intervals of keeping an eye on a running breakfast she emerged to lend a hand where she could.
It was a relief to catch sight of Geoff Boothby. He was more than usually dishevelled, and certainly looked tired. Could he and Wendy Shaw really have been fools enough to go off for a farewell run in the car, leaving the baby asleep, and had a breakdown or an accident? If so, they’d had it where Eddy Horner was concerned. Perhaps she was being unfair to Geoff, at any rate. At this point Marcia hurried to help an elderly lady who wanted to put through a telephone call to London, and for the moment stopped speculating on the matter.
By nine o’clock a considerable number of Fortnighters had already left by car, and the entrance hall was filling up with the luggage of those who were being taken by coach to catch trains at Stoneham. Marcia found herself overwhelmed by appreciative thanks for the comforts she had provided, and invitations to visit people when in their part of the country. Someone grabbed her arm, and she turned to encounter Susan Crump, enveloped in oilskins and a sou’wester.
‘Fly, all is known,’ Susan said with a grin. ‘A bobby’s asking for you. I’ve bunged him into your office.’
‘Thanks awfully. I’d better go along.’ Seized with unpleasant forebodings, Marcia hastily extricated herself.
Constable Pike, a familiar figure in Kittitoe with whom she had occasionally had minor dealings, rose to greet her as she came in. He had removed his helmet, and looked young and harassed.
‘It’s about the young lady who’s missing from Mr Horner’s place, Mrs Makepeace,’ he told her. ‘She still hasn’t turned up. Mr Horner says he rang you last night, and asked if you’d seen her down here?’
Rightly interpreting this as a question, Marcia repeated the conversation as accurately as s
he could remember.
‘Was the young lady in the habit of coming down here?’ Constable Pike asked.
‘I’ve never seen her here myself,’ Marcia replied with perfect truth. ‘We had a party last night to wind up the Discovery Fortnight which has been going on here, so perhaps Mr Horner thought someone had invited her to come along. But if she did, I didn’t see her myself, and I was around nearly all the time.’
No, she thought, I’m under no obligation to say anything about her knowing Geoff Boothby. Not at this stage … not unless Michael thinks we ought to…
Constable Pike looked gloomy. ‘It’s a proper caper,’ he said. ‘Half the visitors on the move today, seeing it’s Saturday, and most of ’em gone by now. Talk about making enquiries! And it’s a hundred to one she’s gone off with some chap, the way they are now. All very well Mr Horner saying she isn’t that sort: they’re all the same these days, girls are. Why, I wouldn’t put it past your young ladies here, Mrs Makepeace, that I wouldn’t.’
In spite of her anxious preoccupation Marcia laughed. ‘Neither would I,’ she agreed.
‘Well, I’d better be going along and wasting somebody else’s time,’ he said, reaching for his helmet. ‘I’m sorry to have troubled you, Mrs Makepeace, on a busy morning like this. Thank you for confirming that phone call.’
She showed him out by a side door, and returned to the scene just in time to see off the coach. Only a few people now remained, and the Horner staff had begun to load up the equipment they had brought for the Fortnight. She found herself being propelled towards her office by Michael Jay.
‘What goes on?’ he demanded. ‘Susan said you’d been closeted with a bobby.’
‘He came about Wendy Shaw. That girl who was helping Penny Townsend with the baby. She’s disappeared. Eddy Horner rang me after I’d gone to bed last night, to ask if she’d been down here.’
‘Good God! How awful for them. When did it happen?’
For the second time Marcia went into details of the telephone call. Michael eyed her shrewdly.
No Vacation From Murder Page 3