She must thank Paul at once for this beautiful dress. She could not wait to see the admiration in his eyes when he saw her in it.
The drawing room was full of people but a quick glance showed her Paul was not among them, and she backed into the hall and stood irresolute. On the opposite side a corridor led off into various rooms, one of which was a small sitting room where she and Paul had taken tea with Amy Duval on their first visit here. Directly in front of her she saw Paul. He wore a Harlequin costume that fitted his body like a second skin, its gay colors at total variance with the anguish that lay upon his face as he looked down at the girl in his arms and stroked the red gold hair. Dina's hair.
"Don't cry, my dear," he was murmuring. "He isn't worth it. You know he isn't."
The scene blurred before Alix's eyes and she felt a spasm of pain. Silently she drew back and closed the door, but not before she heard Paul speak again.
"I could kill him for what he's done to you! He doesn't know the meaning of love or loyalty. All he's ever thought of is himself."
In a daze Alix moved toward the stairs, her only thought to reach the privacy of her bedroom and give herself a chance to come to terms with the emotions that overpowered her.
"You're in a hurry, my dear!"
Alix turned and saw Mrs. Duval. The woman had slipped a beige coverall over her dress and was wearing gardening gloves; a chip basket hung from one arm and in her right hand she carried a pair of secateurs. For a bemused moment Alix thought the woman to wear fancy dress after all; then she remeber the passion for gardening and forced herself to smile.
"Going out to pick some flowers, Mrs. Duval?"
"Yes. I forgot that we needed some for the card room."
"Isn't it too dark to see?" Alix said, glancing out into the grounds.
"Not for me. I know the garden so well I can find my way in it blindfolded." Slipping out through the door, she closed it behind her.
With a heavy heart Alix returned to her bedroom. Numbly she stood by the window, overwhelmed by a discovery that threatened to destroy her calm—a discovery she had not made until she had seen Dina in Paul Duval's arms.
She loved him! Loved him in a way she had never thought possible.
It was a momentous acknowledgment, the more so since it was unexpected. Indeed it was this that staggered her. How could she have been so blind not to have guessed where her concern for him was leading her? Now she knew why she had championed his ability as a designer, why she had wanted him to establish his own name and no longer be hampered by his father's restricting influence.
Yet he regarded her only as Duval's publicist! Even the dress she was wearing had been given to her out of gratitude—a shaming word when the one she longed for was love! But Paul loved Dina, had done so from the moment she had lightly come into the salon at Alix's own behest. Oh for hindsight, Alix thought bitterly, and rested her flushed face against the coolness of the windowpane. But no amount of regret could change the past and, because of it, she must look to the future, bleak though she knew it would be.
With an effort she forced back her tears; if she cried anymore her face would be too swollen for her to go down to dinner. She glanced at her wristwatch, but she had come back into the bedroom without turning on the light, and it was too dark for her to see.
A distant clock chimed half-past the hour but she was not sure rf it was half-past seven or eight. How quiet the house was. Not a footfall could be heard nor a voice; only the faint call of a cricket. It was as though the carnival guests had been spirited away, and she had the feeling that if she crept downstairs she would find the rooms below dark and abandoned; the house a moldering ruin left open to the elements.
She shivered. She was becoming morbid and it was time to dispel the shadows. She groped toward the lights to switch them on but before she could reach it there came a sharp knock at the door.
"Who is it?" she called sharply.
"The maid," said a soft voice. "I'm sorry to disturb you but I would like to borrow your key."
Alix switched on the light and opened the door. A girl in blue uniform stood in the corridor. "What key?" she asked.
"The key to your bedroom, miss. I went to Miss Lloyd's room to turn down the bed but the door was locked. Your key fits it and—"
"Why should she lock it?" Alix interrupted.
The maid shook her head and Alix's heart began to pound, each beat a beat of fear.
"I'll come with you," she said and extracted the key from the lock.
Walking ahead of the maid, Alix reached Dina's bedroom first and, inserting the key, flung open the door. The sight that met their eyes made her recoil with shock. Then with a cry she ran forward.
Dina was lying on the bed, her head hanging over the edge, her eyes closed. One arm swung limply to the floor and a few inches from her fingers lay a small glass bottle surrounded by scattered white tablets. Alix bent close. Dina was still breathing though her face was ashen and her hands icy. She stooped to pick up the bottle and glanced at the label. They were sleeping pills but fairly weak ones. And judging from the number on the floor, Dina couldn't have taken many. Alix turned to the maid.
"Find Mr. Paul Duval and bring him here at once. But don't let anyone else know what's happened. Do you understand?"
The maid nodded and ran out, and while she waited, Alix dragged Dina back onto the bed and slapped her face and hands in an attempt to bring her around. But the girl remained unconscious, seeming to grow paler with every passing moment.
At last there were steps in the corridor and Paul came into the room. His skin was yellow against the white Harlequin frill around his neck, and his eyes were dark with fear.
"I was afraid of something like this," he said. "We'd better get a doctor."
"Can he be trusted not to talk about it?"
"He can be trusted to bring her around. Or would you rather have a corpse on our hands?"
"I don't think she'll die," Alix reassured him, holding up the pill bottle. "From the date on this, she only collected it this morning—and it couldn't hold more than twenty-five. There are fifteen left, so she's only taken ten."
"That sounds massive to me." Paul put his hand on Dina's forehead. "I wish I could remember my first aid. We'd better walk her around until the doctor gets here. You go and phone him while I do that. The number's two-four-two."
"Where shall I phone from? I don't want anyone to overhear."
"Go to my bedroom. It's the third door past here."
Frantically Alix obeyed him, praying the doctor would be in. Luck was with Dina, for the doctor himself answered the call and promised to be at the manor within five minutes. There was an advantage in living in a village, Alix thought as she ran down to the hall to wait for him. In a big city one might have had to wait for help until it was too late.
The doctor arrived almost to the minute and Alix took him straight upstairs. She stood outside the door, hearing odd sounds behind it and trying not to visualize what was happening.
Some fifteen minutes later Paul emerged and ushered her in, murmuring that the danger was over. Dina lay back on her pillows, obviously recovered though still shaken. She half raised a hand in a weak greeting and Alix squeezed it gently and set it back on the cover.
"Go to sleep, Dina. You'll feel better when you wake up."
The lids came down over eyes that were startlingly blue against the chalky white skin, and Alix went and stood by the open window while Paul escorted the doctor downstairs.
She was still standing there, reluctant to leave Dina, when Paul came back. He looked ravaged with shock and, remembering that only a short while ago he had held Dina close and comforted her, she could understand how he must feel.
"No one must know about this," he said suddenly. "I'll tell mother that Dina has a headache and can't come down to dinner."
"I think your father should know the truth."
"It's too late."
"What do you mean?"
Paul shifted his gaze
from the figure on the bed and focused on Alix. "It's too late because it's all over between them," he said harshly. "He would not care. Nobody lasts with my father—you know that."
"I'm afraid I do," "Alix said and turned back to the window.
At that moment a terrible scream rent the silence of the night; an anguished cry that came from the garden below. Somewhere out in the darkness a woman was screaming, screaming, screaming.
CHAPTER NINE
Alix pushed the window open and peered down below into the garden. The dark shrubs and trees merged with the murky sky and she could not see anything. Again a scream rent the air, tearing aside the veil of the night with a thousand splintering sounds.
"Who can it be?" Alix cried in alarm.
Paul did not answer and she tugged at his sleeve. As if in a dream he stepped back from the window and looked across at Dina, who was now sleeping.
"Stay with her until we come back," he ordered the maid and hurried out.
Ignoring the main staircase, he turned along the end of the corridor and ran down a narrow flight of stairs that led to a stone-flagged corridor. At the end a door gave access to the garden, and drawing back the bolts, he stepped out into the night. Alix remained close behind him, but though they sped across the damp grass they were not the first on the scene, for lights were already flashing to and fro in the shrubbery.
"What's happened?" Paul called. "Who's there?"
"We're in the rose garden," a man's voice called back.
Breathing heavily, Paul raced down a path to a rustic arch entwined with roses. Passing beneath it, Alix came onto a small, circular lawn enclosed on every side with pergolas. In the center stood a sundial and gathered around it was a group of people. A man in eighteenth- century costume, whom she recognized as Mr. Allan-Jones, was bending over a dark shape on the ground, while a short distance away Peter stood with his arms around Fleur, who was huddled against him.
As Alix watched, Mr. Allan-Jones straightened, and the beam from his flashlight fell directly upon the figure at his feet. With a gasp of horror she clutched at Paul's arm.
Henri Duval lay spread-eagled on the ground, his black cloak trailing around him, his arms outflung. The hideous skull mask still covered his face, the papier mache gleaming white. But it was not at the mask itself that she stared, but at the eye sockets; through one of them a sticky substance was oozing to form a crimson, spreading stain.
"He's dead," Allan-Jones said quietly as Paul bent to examine the body. "Shot through the head with this fancy little weapon here." With his foot he indicated a small, jade-decorated pistol.
"Dead!" Paul slowly got to his feet. "How did you find him?"
"Mr. North and Fleur discovered the, er…"
"That's right," Peter said unsteadily. "We were strolling in the garden and we… we stumbled over him in the dark. I had a flashlight in my pocket and when we saw his face…"
So that was the explanation of the terrible screams they had heard. Alix stared at the tiny pistol lying half- hidden on the grass. Could this pretty little toy really be lethal?
"How is it we didn't hear the shot?" she asked.
"It must be fitted with a silencer," Peter replied. "Though why he came out here to kill himself…"
"I don't think he did kill himself," Mr. Allan-Jones said. "He was right-handed and only a left-handed man could shoot himself in the left temple like that! Besides, look where the gun is. No, I'm afraid it's murder!"
Murder! At the ominous word a hush fell over everyone. Alix felt herself trembling and Fleur whimpered.
It was at this moment that Amy Duval came through the rose arch and stood looking at them.
"Don't come nearer, mother." Paul stepped forward to intercept her. "Father's had an accident."
He put his arm around her shoulders and tried to steer her away from the sundial, but she twisted free and advanced slowly and calmly to where her husband lay. She showed no emotion as she looked down at the terrible bloodstained mask, but stood there for a moment without speaking.
"Is he dead?" she asked in a toneless voice.
"Yes," Paul replied. "Now let me take you back inside."
"No," she said sharply. "I'm all right. But your father—carry him into the house. I don't want him lying on the cold ground."
"We can't touch him," Paul said gently. "Nothing must be touched until the police arrive. Did anybody telephone?" He glanced inquiringly at the others.
"There wasn't time," Allan-Jones replied. "We came straight out when we heard the screams."
"Then I'll go and call them," Paul said. "Someone had better stay here, though. Perhaps you and Mr. North would oblige? The ladies had better come back into the house with me."
Slipping a hand through his mother's arm, he drew her firmly away, leaving Alix and Fleur to follow.
Alix was surprised at the change that had come over Paul since the discovery of the murder. In Dina's bedroom he had seemed wary and apathetic but now he was in command of the situation, a note of authority in his voice.
Silently they adjourned to the drawing room to await the arrival of the police, and Paul saw that everyone was served with drinks. Sophie was sobbing wildly in a corner and Alix noticed that from time to time Madame Duval glanced contemptuously in the girl's direction.
Reflectively Alix studied her hostess. Only her pallor betrayed the shock she had suffered. But had the discovery of Henri's body been a shock? She remembered that the woman had been on her way out into the garden an hour earlier, wearing an old coat with capacious pockets that could easily have concealed a small gun. True, she had acted quite openly, but then that would have been the best way to avert suspicion from herself. Had Amy Duval suddenly made up her mind to put an end to her husband's infidelities once and for all? She certainly showed no . sign of grief for his death, though it was possible she was still too stunned to feel anything.
Nobody was in the mood for talking, and with a sense of relief Alix heard the sound of a car. She looked through the window and saw headlights emerge from the black mass of the pine trees. But as the lights drew nearer she realized it was not a police car but a private one. It swung to a stop before the entrance and Lady Brandon stepped out.
A moment later she entered the drawing room, tall and angular in a midnight blue evening dress, jewels flashing at her withered throat, her pale-colored eyes darting curiously over the assembly.
"I thought you'd be dining by now," she said in a surprised tone. "You really shouldn't have waited for me—it's almost nine."
"There'll be no dinner tonight," Paul said bleakly. "There's been an accident. Father's been shot!"
"Shot? Is he badly hurt?"
"I'm afraid so. He's dead. Murdered."
Lady Brandon looked incredulous. "Murdered? By whom?" she asked faintly.
"We've no idea. Fleur and Peter found him in the rose garden. The police will be here any moment."
"How dreadful. My poor Amy!" Lady Brandon hurried over to Madame Duval. "Let me take you to your room. You must lie down at once. You may think you feel all right, but that's only delayed shock."
To Alix's surprise Amy Duval did not demur and meekly allowed herself to be led out of the room, with Ivy Brandon's arm firmly around her.
Shortly afterward, another car emerged from the long driveway and Paul hurried out, returning with a robust- looking man in his late forties, with penetrating blue eyes in a craggy face. Paul introduced him as Detective Inspector Truscott, and he was accompanied by his assistant, Sergeant Coombes, and three constables. Truscott asked to be taken to the body but was careful to leave a constable in the room, thus precluding any of the guests from discussing the murder.
It was not until ten minutes had gone by and the inspector had still not returned that Alix remembered Dina, and unobtrusively left the drawing room and went upstairs. As she entered the bedroom, Dina stretched out her arms.
"What's going on?" she said weakly.
"There's been an accident." Alix sat
on the side of the bed.
"What kind of accident?''
"To Henri. He was… shot."
"Shot!" Dina sat up sharply. "You mean he's dead? That's what you're trying to say, isn't it? He's dead?"
Realizing the pointlessness of lying, Alix nodded. "I'm afraid he is. He was murdered."
At this last word the remaining color ebbed from Dina's face, leaving her milk white. She lay back on her pillow and stared at Alix, her eyes burning bright.
"He had it coming to him," she said slowly. "I'm surprised someone didn't do it years ago."
The blue eyes closed and she lay perfectly still. Alix watched her uneasily and after a little while stood up.
"Try to get some sleep," she adjured. "I'll be back later."
"Sleep!" Dina opened her eyes and began to laugh mirthlessly. Afraid of hysteria, Alix went to slap her, but as her hand lifted, the laughter stopped as suddenly as it had begun and Dina's expression became blank once more.
Motioning the maid to remain in the room, Alix hurried back downstairs, hoping to return to the drawing room unnoticed. But as she reached the bottom step Inspector Truscott came into the hall, his cold eyes fixed upon her.
"We've been looking for you," he said. "We're taking the names of all the guests and where they've been for the past hour."
"I was upstairs all that time," Alix replied.
"You've been down before. I saw you a little while ago."
"I, er, yes. I came down when I heard the screams. But I went back again to see Dina Lloyd. The actress. She's in her room with a headache."
"I see." The inspector escorted her into the drawing room and turned to the rest of the company. "Well, ladies and gentlemen, I won't be troubling you any further at the moment. I'll be in the sitting room across the passage and if any of you wish to speak to me privately, please tell the constable. Later, I will ask each of you to sign a statement."
As he turned to go, Mr. Allen-Jones spoke.
Rachel Lindsay - Designing Man Page 10