Several people were already there, and I seated myself in much the same place as I had the previous evening. This time, though, there was no Dick Harvey talking excitedly about his find. I glanced anxiously at my watch. Eight-thirty; surely even if he’d had a puncture, as Morgan had suggested, he’d have been back by now.
“Coffee, Miss – er – Laurie?” The fluttery Miss Bunting was beside me. Philip immediately stood up.
“Let me do that – you sit down.”
“No, really, it’s all right—”
“Please, I insist.”
“Well, in that case—” She smiled uncertainly and seated herself beside me. Until now, I’d not spoken more than a couple of words to her, and as we embarked on a rather stilted conversation, I was able to study her more closely. She seemed nervous, talking in a quick, low voice and blinking rapidly as she did so, but this might be habitual. I reflected that if I spent much time in Miss Norton’s company, I might well be nervous myself.
As though my thought had conjured the woman up, she loomed suddenly above me. “I see you’ve deserted me, Joan!” she announced with mock severity, and Miss Bunting fluttered even more.
Miss Norton held out a large hand and I obediently put mine into it. “We’ve not met formally, have we? Eunice Norton.”
“Clare Laurie,” I said, “and may I introduce Philip Hardy?”
“Here for the golf, Mr Hardy?” Miss Norton inquired, as she joined us on the sofa.
“I’m afraid I don’t play.”
“No time, eh? I know you men! What line of business are you in?”
I held my breath, and after the briefest pause Philip answered, “Insurance.”
“Ah, the triumph of hope over experience, as Dr Johnson remarked in a different context. We teach at a girls’ school in Cardiff, for our sins.”
“What subjects?” I asked, since it seemed to be expected.
“Joan takes music and drama, and I English Literature.”
“Tell Clare about your hobby, Miss Norton,” Clive suggested from across the room. “I’m sure she’d be interested.”
I turned to her inquiringly, and she gave a pleased smile. “Actually, I’m researching the history of fairy tales.”
My heart gave a jerk, though whether because of the hobby itself or Clive’s drawing my attention to it, I couldn’t be sure.
“My principal aim is conservation, you see,” Miss Norton was continuing. “As I’m sure you’re aware, every country has its own collection, and while many of them are known world-wide, others are in danger of being lost. Andrew Lang did a magnificent job on them some forty years ago, but I’ve been able to unearth quite a few he missed.”
She glanced at me almost coyly. “In fact, the first volume has already been published. I’ve a copy with me, if you’re interested.”
“More power to your elbow!” Clive said jovially. “Speaking on behalf of all parents, anything that would make a change from Snow White or Jack and the Beanstalk would be more than welcome!”
Perhaps I imagined the brief, splintered silence. Certainly I held my own breath. But Miss Norton was still looking at me hopefully, and I forced myself to say, “Thank you, I’d love to see it.”
I glanced at Clive but he was smiling benignly, to all appearances quite unaware of any undercurrents. It was Pauline who changed the subject, and to one no more comfortable.
“I do wish Dick would come,” she exclaimed anxiously. “Something must have happened, for him to be as late as this.”
“Well done, darling; we’ve been doing our best to keep off that subject.”
“Well, I’m sorry, but I’m really worried.”
There was another silence, unmistakable this time, and in the middle of it Philip stood up, took my empty cup from my hand and replaced it with his on the trolley.
“You were going to look out that book for me, Clare.”
“Yes, of course.” I was glad to leave this suddenly claustrophobic room. “I’ll get it now.”
As we went out into the hall, he said in a low voice, “What was all that about? Sinbad playing silly beggars?”
“I’ve no idea.”
“In any other circumstances, it would have been quite amusing; it’s hard to associate Miss Norton with frog princes and sleeping beauties.
“Anyway, to business. I’d like to have a look at that plan.” He glanced at the empty reception desk. “And perhaps we should order a packed lunch for tomorrow.”
The day of reconnaissance. “Yes, let’s do it now, while we think of it.”
Philip pressed the bell on the desk, but as he did so, the telephone rang in the office behind and we heard Mr Davies say, “Carreg Coed Hotel.” Then his voice tautened. “Yes? What’s the trouble?”
I clutched at Philip’s arm.
“Yes, that’s right,” Davies was saying. There was a long pause, then he said expressionlessly, “Oh, my God!” And again, “Oh, God. Yes – yes, of course – I suppose you must. There’s nothing I can do? Very well.”
There was a click as the phone was replaced. Philip and I waited. Wynne Davies appeared in the doorway, his face white with shock.
“It’s Mr Harvey,” he said, his voice shaking. “He’s been found at the foot of a cliff, over at Pen-y-Coed. He’s dead.”
I made some incoherent exclamation and Philip said quickly, “The man who was late? How terrible – what happened?”
“No one seems to know. I suppose he lost his footing – it’s very dangerous there. That was the police; they found an envelope in his pocket, addressed to him here. They want to look through his things to find out who they should notify.”
Philip registered my rigidity. “Clare? Are you all right?”
“Take her to the bar, Mr Hardy – I’ll come and open it now. As luck would have it, Dai took the day off for his sister’s wedding, and I’m having to stand in for him. Come to that, I could do with a drink myself.”
We crossed the hall together and Wynne Davies pulled up the grill and poured brandy into three glasses. Philip put one into my hand and made me drink it. The fumes went up the back of my nose and I choked.
“That’s it,” said Wynne Davies mechanically, and swallowed his own. “He asked for an early breakfast,” he continued, almost to himself. “Never dreamed that was the last time I’d see him.” He pulled himself together with an effort. “Would you mind looking after the bar for me, sir? I shan’t be long, but I must go and tell Gwynneth.”
Shoulders bent, he went out of the room. Philip was looking at me curiously.
“Come on, Clare, snap out of it – you hardly knew the man. I know it’s a shock, but accidents do happen.”
“It wasn’t an accident.”
Philip’s hand, reaching for his glass, stopped in mid-air.
“What did you say?”
“I said it wasn’t an accident.” I’d been unaware of the thought until I heard myself stating it, but I accepted it without question.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
I took another gulp from my glass. “He was late for dinner last night because he’d found something exciting which he thought was valuable. He said he’d have to contact the authorities.” My voice dwindled away.
I had his full attention now. “What did he find?”
“I don’t know. He wouldn’t tell us any more till he’d been back for another look.”
“Did he say where it was?”
I shook my head.
“Who knew about this?”
“We all did.”
“Not very wise to shout it abroad, but he wasn’t to know that.”
“He was such a nice, harmless little man.” My voice rocked.
Philip said slowly, “So you reckon he found more than was good for him?”
“Either that, or someone thought he had.”
“Meaning Sinbad?”
I stared at him. In my distress, I’d forgotten our unknown associate. “I suppose so.”
�
��You’re quite sure you don’t know who Sinbad is?”
“Quite. It could be any of the men here: Andrew Dacombe, Clive, Morgan – presumably not Mr Zimmerman?”
“No, definitely not.”
“It could even be Mr Davies,” I said reflectively, but Philip shook his head.
“Not unless he’s a bloody good actor.”
“Poor Dick; if he’d gone next week, there’d have been nothing to find and he’d have been all right. How dreadful, to think his life hung on five days.”
“Aren’t you rather jumping the gun? What he found might be something altogether different and nothing whatever to do with us.”
“But you don’t really believe that.”
He sighed. “I suppose not.”
“Well, whatever it was, his mistake was in talking about it. Because without even being sure what he’d stumbled on, someone couldn’t afford to take the risk.”
Philip was gazing thoughtfully into his glass. “Where were all the people you mentioned, this morning?”
I tried to think back. “Morgan had some work to do – probably in his room. I met Clive on the hill. Mr Zimmerman and his wife went to the golf club, though I don’t know what time, but you say they’re in the clear anyway. Andrew and Cindy were playing tennis when I left, but I don’t know for how long. Still, I can’t see her being mixed up in this.”
Philip said on a questioning note, “Cindy? Cinderella?”
Briefly, my precarious world rocked again. Then I shook my head. “No, I’m sure that’s coincidence.”
“But have you considered that it could be a woman?”
I hadn’t. I said incredulously, “Who killed Dick Harvey?”
“It could be, if she was working to Bryn’s orders.” He looked at me levelly. “It wasn’t you, was it, Clare?”
The breath left my body as if I’d been winded.
He continued, “It wouldn’t have taken much to push him over. Those cliffs at Pen-y-Coed are lethal, covered with slippery grass. Matthew and I went there one day. There are warning notices all over the place.”
He added impatiently, “Oh, stop looking like that, for God’s sake. I wasn’t serious, but I want to bring home to you just what it is you’re involved in. And for what it’s worth, even if we knew who Sinbad was, there’s nothing we could do about it. Whether you like it or not, if he did kill Harvey, it was to protect us as much as himself.”
I closed my eyes on a wave of nausea. “But Dick wasn’t a threat to anyone,” I protested faintly.
“He would have been, if he’d unearthed the loot. Just think about it – the whole operation scuppered at the last minute because he happened to bumble along.”
I looked at Philip with something approaching hatred, and his eyes dropped from mine. But before he could speak, Pauline came hurrying into the room, her eyes wide.
“Have you heard? Oh Clare, isn’t it terrible? I knew something was wrong! That nice little man! He gave Stuart one of his old coins.” Her eyes filled with tears.
Philip moved behind the bar. “What can I get you? Mr Davies left me in charge and I expect a fair bit of medicinal alcohol will be called for tonight.”
Clive and Morgan came in with the Zimmermans, whom I studied with covert suspicion. They looked so ordinary – he slightly rotund, balding, bespectacled; she with permed hair, small round eyes and a tightly corseted figure. Yet they were at least partly responsible for Dick’s death, with their eagerness to buy whatever it was that Bryn had procured for them.
Mamie came hurrying over to Pauline and me. “Isn’t this horrible?” she exclaimed. “I just can’t believe it! I said to Elmer, ‘Not that nice little guy!’”
His universal epitaph, I thought dully. Here lies Dick Harvey, a nice little guy.
“Can I get you a drink, Clare?” Morgan was at my side.
“No, thanks, I’ve just had one.”
“Come and join us, Mr Rees.” Mamie Zimmerman moved farther round the window-seat and Morgan sat down beside me.
“The police are coming,” Pauline said. “What a way to end a holiday! He came here every year, you know. Mrs Davies was telling me the other day that he enjoyed the company. Outside school, I think he was rather lonely; he never mentioned any relatives.”
I felt tears sting my eyes and looked down quickly. Under cover of the table, Morgan’s hand closed reassuringly over mine. When I raised my head again, Philip was watching us from behind the bar. Morgan, catching our fused glances, withdrew his hand.
“Am I encroaching?” he asked quietly, as the two women chatted beside us.
“No, of course not.”
“Philip mightn’t agree.”
I didn’t reply. Whatever my own inclination, I must play by Bryn’s rules, or, I thought shudderingly, I might find myself hurtling off a cliff.
“Are you sure you won’t have a drink? It might help – Dick’s death has shaken us all.”
“No, thanks.” I added sadly, “Now we’ll never know what he was so excited about.”
Andrew and Cindy came in and joined the group at the bar. Everyone seemed to be herding together in this small room, seeking comfort from each other. The lounge must have been empty by now except for the old ladies and the school-mistresses.
Wynne Davies returned, thanked Philip for relieving him, and took up his place again. Philip moved round to the front of the bar but made no attempt to join me. I noticed with misgiving that he’d refilled his brandy glass.
“I tried to persuade Gwynneth to go to bed, but she wouldn’t,” Mr Davies was saying. “It’s hit her pretty hard. Like one of the family was Mr Harvey, coming here every year.”
“It’s dreadful.” Cindy Dacombe pressed her fingers to her lips, her eyes wide to keep back the tears. Andrew’s arm went comfortingly round her shoulders. “If only he’d let you go with him, Mr Mortimer,” she continued. “You asked him, didn’t you?”
I stiffened, striving to hear Clive’s reply above the hum of conversation.
“I might have suggested it, last night,” he admitted, his voice a little strained.
I thought: it would have been almost eleven when he joined me on the hill. Suppose after all he’d had access to a car? Would he have had time to drive to Pen-y-Coed and back before coming after me to establish an alibi?
Outside the window, wet darkness pressed against the panes. Was it really only nine hours since I’d sat here with Morgan, waiting for Aladdin?
As though a part of my remembering, there came the sound of a car swishing off the main road. Headlights raked the window behind us, moved on, and the long sleek car drew up at the front door.
The police had arrived.
Chapter Eight
‘Can it be summed up so,
Quit in a single kiss?’
Bridges: I will not let thee go
WYNNE DAVIES passed the bar back to Philip and went to meet them, and a minute later Clive Mortimer, making some comment I didn’t catch, followed him out of the room. We could hear voices in the hall, heavy feet moving towards the stairs, and studiously avoided each other’s eyes.
The minutes went by. Though several attempts at conversation were made, we were all on edge, straining for sounds of the policemen’s return.
Someone refilled my glass and I automatically drank from it. To my heightened senses, it seemed that everyone watched everyone else, trying to probe behind the masks we presented to each other. Could they guess that Philip and I were not what we seemed? Or were they equally guilty of duplicity?
I shook my head to clear it. The police were here; I’d wanted to contact them, hadn’t I? Would it be possible to seize the chance to tell them what I knew? Or – I shuddered – if Dick’s death really was linked with our enterprise, might they charge me with murder? Nothing, in this unreal world, seemed impossible.
After what felt like an eternity, Mr Davies reappeared in the doorway.
“The sergeant here would like to ask a couple of questions,” he said, and a
solid, red-faced man came forward.
“Sorry to intrude, ladies and gentlemen,” he began in his lilting voice. “A nasty business, this. I wanted to ask if the deceased ever mentioned any relatives to you? It’s a forlorn hope, like, since Mr and Mrs Davies here knew him better than you did, and they never heard him speak of anyone.”
“There was only the school,” Morgan said.
“Yes, sir, we have that address. Do any of you know where he was making for when he set off this morning, or what he’d discovered that excited him so much?”
“Not what he’d found, he was keeping it to himself.” That was Elmer Zimmerman. “But as to where he was headed, surely it would have been where he was found? Wasn’t his car there?”
“Yes; it was because it was still unclaimed at closing time that the alarm was raised. But, see, it’s hard to think what there could have been at Pen-y-Coed to interest a man like Mr Harvey. Views and that, yes, and a lovely beach, but nothing else. And no one remembers seeing him there.”
“He wasn’t the sort people remember,” Pauline said.
Another sad epitaph. I wished now that I’d studied Philip’s map in the car; how near Cefn Fawr Castle was Pen-y-Coed?
There were a few more general questions, then the policeman took his leave. “I’ll give you a receipt for his possessions, sir,” he was saying, as he and Mr Davies went back through the hall.
The reflection of the brightly-lit room hung suspended in the darkness beyond the window, and I watched the people behind me mirrored in this looking-glass world, where things were the opposite of what they seemed, turning with relief as Mrs Davies came in with a tray. She was pale and red-eyed, but was quite composed.
“I’ve made some fresh coffee; I thought you might feel in need of it. And let’s shut out this depressing darkness.”
We cleared a space for the tray, and Morgan leaned over to pull the heavy curtains across the bay. The room became smaller still, but cosier.
“I’ll pour,” I volunteered, standing up. My hand was not quite steady, but at least I didn’t spill any. When everyone was served there was a cup left over, and I realised Clive Mortimer hadn’t returned. I’d poured black for myself, hoping to clear my head from the lingering effects of the brandy.
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