Behold a Fair Woman

by Francis Duncan

  Mark Belmore was sitting next to Ivan Holt.

  ‘Are you going to the sand racing?’

  Holt looked uncertain. His glance flickered towards Ruth Latinam.

  ‘I haven’t made up my mind,’ he said doubtfully. ‘It rather—depends.’

  Latinam overheard him. The hotel proprietor’s jovial face took on a knowing expression, significant but good-humoured.

  ‘Maybe we can make one or two guesses about that!’

  Ivan Holt looked uncomfortable. His sensitive face became shadowed with a sudden tenseness.

  ‘Maybe,’ he said shortly.

  ‘Women!’ Latinam announced, his smile wide. ‘Never can made up their minds! What about it, Ruth? Are you going to put him out of his misery?’

  Ruth Latinam’s dark eyes were troubled. Tremaine saw the flush creep up from her graceful throat.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean, Hedley.’

  He held up his hands in mock defence.

  ‘All right, all right. I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to put my foot in it. Just taking a friendly interest in my sister’s welfare, that’s all. Why don’t we make up a party and all go?’

  ‘Fine,’ Geoffrey Bendall said. ‘Transport on the house and seats overlooking the hairpin bend. I’m all for it. Any other takers? You, Nicola?’

  ‘Just what is this sand racing?’ she asked.

  ‘The local motor-car and motor-cycle clubs are holding a race meeting at Firon Bay,’ Ivan Holt said. ‘There aren’t any suitable roads on the island so they’re marking out a track on the sands.’

  ‘But won’t the sand be too soft?’

  ‘It’ll firm up well enough once the tide’s gone back, and they’ll arrange to finish the programme before it’s due to come in again. There’ve been several quite successful meetings.’

  ‘Sounds like a thrill,’ Nicola Paston said.

  ‘Don’t expect too much. There won’t be any speed records broken. But it should make an interesting afternoon. There are several really good drivers in the local clubs.’

  Mark Belmore glanced enquiringly at Tremaine.

  ‘Does it appeal to you? Janet was wondering this morning whether you’d like to go to the meeting.’

  ‘It sounds rather promising.’

  ‘Capital,’ Hedley Latinam interposed. ‘Why not come with us?’

  ‘We don’t want to butt in on your arrangements,’ Belmore said diffidently.

  ‘Don’t let that bother you. I like a crowd around me. The vulgar streak, I suppose!’ Latinam chuckled at himself. ‘Come on, let’s make a date of it. Your friend’s on holiday and I dare say your wife will appreciate a little extra company. The ladies do, you know.’

  ‘That’s true enough.’

  ‘It’s settled, then. We’ll leave just after lunch. Round about two o’clock. The meeting’s due to start at half-past so there’ll be ample time.’

  Latinam’s enthusiasm had stirred the others. Even Geoffrey Bendall was revealing more interest. Major Ayres, who had been hovering indeterminately on the fringe of the group, edged nearer the centre of things.

  ‘Should be a jolly good show, what? Must be years since I saw any car racing.’

  Hedley Latinam turned very slowly. Something of the joviality seemed to have gone out of his face although he was still smiling.

  ‘I’m sorry you won’t be able to join us, Major. It’s just too bad.’

  The major’s expression changed.

  ‘Too—too bad?’ he echoed hesitantly.

  ‘I remember your telling me that you’d be going into St. Julian Harbour tomorrow on some business or other. Pity that. It means that you won’t be able to get back in time to come along with the rest of us.’

  ‘Business?’ The major seemed disconcerted. He cleared his throat. ‘Hrrm. Yes. Of course. Stupid of me to have overlooked it.’ He finished his drink with a good deal more haste than he had so far shown and set down his glass on the bar at one side of the room. ‘Got to be off now. Promised to call on a fellow in the village this morning about a fishing trip.’

  ‘Don’t let us keep you, Major,’ Latinam said. ‘You’ll be in to lunch, of course?’

  ‘Hrrm. Yes, be in to lunch,’ the major returned.

  He went out. His face had the expression of a small boy who had just been robbed of a treat upon which he had set his heart.

  3

  CONFIDENTIAL BUSINESS

  MARK BELMORE LOOKED at his watch.

  ‘I think we ought to be making a move as well,’ he observed to Tremaine. ‘Janet wants us back in good time so that we can make an early start this afternoon.’

  ‘Something laid on?’ Latinam asked breezily, and Belmore nodded.

  ‘We thought about running down to the other end of the island. For the scenery.’

  They made their farewells and took the road that led towards the bungalow.

  ‘Mr. Latinam seems to be on good terms with his guests,’ Tremaine commented.

  ‘I suppose it’s part of his business.’

  There was a touch of dryness of dryness in Mark’s manner and Tremaine regarded him shrewdly. Although his friend had not said so in words his manner left little doubt that his opinion of Hedley Latinam was not high.

  ‘His sister seems a very charming woman.’

  ‘It amazes me,’ Mark said, ‘to think that Ruth and Hedley Latinam are brother and sister. They seem so unlike, not only in looks but in temperament as well.’

  ‘I suppose that isn’t so very unusual. You find striking divergencies of character even in members of the same family.’

  ‘Well, you should know. I dare say you’ve made a study of that kind of thing in the course of your criminal investigations.’

  Tremaine straightened his pince-nez with a gesture of embarrassment.

  ‘You’re making it sound too grand, Mark. Any investigation I’ve been mixed up with has been mainly carried out by the police. I’m just an amateur who’s had a certain amount of luck once or twice.’

  Belmore grinned.

  ‘That isn’t what I’ve heard.’

  Ahead of them down the road they could see Major Ayres. He was carrying a stick, but he was stepping out briskly for all his greyness and his years. In the hotel lounge Tremaine had had the impression of a man past his prime but now the major’s spare figure was erect and he was walking with a purposeful stride.

  ‘I was puzzled just now, Mark,’ he said, probing. ‘Apart from Miss Latinam and her brother all the people we met are guests at the hotel, aren’t they?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’

  ‘I couldn’t make out the relationships. Between Mr. Latinam and the others, for instance. He seemed much more familiar towards them than I would have expected—more like another member of the party.’

  ‘That was just his way. Latinam’s always like that. He isn’t in the place to make money and he doesn’t have to keep a guard on his tongue for fear he’ll say something to upset one of his guests. I dare say that helps to make sure that nothing does go wrong. After all, it’s one of the laws of economics that the more money you have the more you can borrow; and I imagine it works out on much the same lines where the hotel business is concerned! Besides, they’ve all been there for some while now. The Rohane doesn’t appear to do anything with the ordinary fortnight’s holiday visitors.’

  ‘You mean they’ve had time to get used to each other? I suppose that does explain it. What about Major Ayres? Has he been staying there long?’

  ‘He’s the oldest inhabitant. Apart from Mrs. Burres. She was probably still in her room. Sometimes she doesn’t appear before lunch-time.’

  ‘The major and Mrs. Burres are more or less permanent?’

  ‘Latinam took them over with the hotel. Part of his agreement I shouldn’t wonder. I feel rather sorry for the major and the old lady. Neither of them seem to have any relatives to speak of—none who have much of an interest in them, anyway. They came to the island because they wanted a reasonably warm sp
ot to settle in and couldn’t afford to pay too high a price for it.’

  They reached the bungalow in good time for lunch and when their meal was over and Tremaine had insisted on helping to clear it away they set out on their excursion.

  That part of the island where the Belmores lived was the lower end of it; the land sloped, gently at first and then quite steeply, up to the south-western end, which was visible as a tree-clad plateau rising out of the plain. Mark drove towards this high ground, taking a route through the centre of the island which passed near the ruined windmill that was the reason for the name of the surrounding district.

  At close quarters it was plain that it was in a dilapidated condition; its sails, broken and split, hung dejectedly, and the body of the windmill was open to the sky in several places.

  ‘So that’s Moulin d’Or.’ Tremaine turned to keep it within view as the car threaded its way down the narrow lane through which they were travelling. ‘Why golden windmill? It looks anything but that!’

  ‘It used to belong to the wealthiest man in the district,’ Janet told him. ‘I’m going back a hundred years now, long before the island knew anything about making money out of tomatoes and tourists. He used to grind all the corn that was grown on this side of St. Julian Harbour and he used to charge a high price for doing it. He was supposed to have a hoard of golden coins hidden in the mill and that’s how it came to be called Moulin d’Or.’

  ‘And did he have a hoard of gold?’

  ‘Nobody seems to know. Some people said that he did and others that it was all rumour and that there was no gold at all. Whatever was the truth, either the gold or the rumour of it killed the miller in the end. He was found one morning lying outside his mill with his throat cut. Nobody ever found out who did it, and nobody—not to talk about it, anyway—ever discovered about the gold.’

  ‘I suppose plenty of people have tried to find it?’

  ‘Well, they did at first, and then the story grew up that the mill was haunted. There were all sorts of tales about the miller’s ghost having been seen—guarding his treasure, I suppose—and the islanders have always kept well away from it. That’s why it looks so dilapidated. It’s a wonder it hasn’t tumbled down long ago.’

  ‘It’s an interesting story, anyway,’ Tremaine remarked. ‘I must go across sometime and have a closer look at it.’

  ‘Better watch out for the miller then!’ Mark told him with a chuckle. ‘Ghosts can be awkward customers to deal with!’

  The island scenery had already grown more attractive than that to be found in the flat and rather untidy-looking area of the bungalow with its low, stone walls and light, sandy soil. They were climbing the slope leading to the plateau now, and when he glanced back Tremaine saw that blue water was visible on either hand; the entire stretch of coastline to the west was clearly outlined. The grey pointed tower of the church at Moulin d’Or rose out of the plain; the sun’s rays shimmered upon the glass of the greenhouses clustered thickly around it.

  ‘You’re looking at the workshop,’ Mark commented. ‘It hasn’t much beauty but it helps to keep the island solvent.’

  They drove on through a green countryside of scattered houses and small farms to reach the coast at the island’s other extremity. To gain the bay which was their objective they had to descend a long, winding lane, bordered by tall hedgerows. At intervals during their descent a turn in the path or a gap in the hedges gave them a glimpse of the beach with its surrounding cliffs.

  They passed a number of holiday-makers, laden with bathing wraps, towels, and hold-alls, plodding steadily in the opposite direction. Despite the perspiration glistening on his forehead, for they had had to leave the car at the head of the lane, Tremaine’s sentimental soul was expanding.

  ‘I like a scene like this. It makes you forget about the unpleasant things like war, and murder, and treachery, you have to read about in the newspapers every day.’

  ‘Wars, and murders, and treachery need human beings to bring them about,’ Mark Belmore said soberly. ‘All the raw material’s here, you know, just as it is anywhere else. How do we know what’s going on inside the minds of the men and women we meet? They may look as though they’re perfectly happy, without an evil thought in their minds, but we can’t be certain of it.’

  Tremaine stopped for a moment or two at the bend in the path at which they had just arrived and regarded his friend curiously.

  ‘What’s on your mind, Mark?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘Nothing,’ Belmore returned quickly. ‘Nothing at all. Come over here,’ he added, moving towards the hedge. ‘You can just see Mortelet lighthouse from this point. It’s a dangerous coast for shipping hereabouts, but the mail boats keep well clear of this side of the island.’

  It was clear that he wanted to change the conversation. Dutifully Tremaine noted the slender lighthouse perched precariously, it seemed, upon the vicious outcrop of rocks, and they went on down the path.

  Deck-chairs dotted the beach. The tide was almost full and gay figures fringed the water, flanked by a screen of brightly coloured floats. They walked awkwardly over the loose pebbles almost to the water’s edge.

  ‘I’m going to enjoy my afternoon,’ Tremaine said enthusiastically.

  ‘So am I,’ Mark said significantly. ‘But not by watching all these energetic people. They wouldn’t dream of working as hard anywhere else.’

  They settled down in deck-chairs. All three of them had brought newspapers, but Tremaine had already looked through them during the morning and he was in any case far more interested in what was going on around him.

  He watched the swimmers and the occupants of the floats. It was a pleasant, soothing scene, and he allowed his mind to be lulled by it.

  He glanced at his companions. Mark was immersed in his newspaper; Janet had allowed hers to fall to her lap and she was lying back with her eyes closed.

  ‘The tide’s going back pretty quickly,’ he observed to Mark. ‘I think I’ll take a stroll along the beach.’

  ‘Go ahead. Like me to come with you?’

  ‘No, you stay where you are. You look far too comfortable to be moved and I’m sure Janet won’t want to do any more walking just yet.’

  ‘I can’t say I’m keen on the idea myself,’ Mark admitted. ‘All right, old man. You’ll find us here when you get back.’

  Tremaine picked his way over the pebbles and the soft patches of wet sand left by the retreating tide. The cliffs flanking one side of the bay looked promising, as though they might contain caves; he could never resist the lure of a cave.

  He climbed blithely over a mass of tumbled rocks barring his path, oblivious to the damage he was doing to his shoes when he slithered on the treacherous seaweed or momentarily found his foot wedged between the sharp ridges where the hard stone had been worn away unevenly.

  The first cave was disappointing. From a distance it had appeared to be of impressive size but a closer inspection proved it to possess very little depth.

  Now, however, he could see that it was possible to climb for a considerable distance around the foot of the main cliff. At high water the approaches by way of the main beach to the various bays and inlets were cut off, but at this state of the tide there was no danger in choosing a route over the rocks although a certain amount of clambering was involved.

  He scrambled over the fallen and partially eroded boulders. His pince-nez had begun to slip and several times he was only just in time to save them from disappearing into a rock pool. But the spirit of exploration was aroused in him now.

  He found himself eventually on a wide ledge overlooking a sheltered inlet. At the back of the inlet was a cave which had the appearance of running some distance into the cliff.

  He was on the point of sliding down to the pebbles when he realized that there were two men sitting on the rocks near the cave entrance.

  There were plenty of people in the neighbourhood, some of whom—although they were mainly children—were also scrambling over the rocks;
he could hardly have expected to find the inlet unoccupied. His hesitation was due to the fact that one of the men was Hedley Latinam and the other was Alan Creed.

  Latinam’s dumpy figure there could be no mistaking, and although Creed was now wearing sports jacket and flannels instead of the bathing wrap in which he had last seen him he was sure that this was the gaunt man whom he had encountered with his wife on the night of his arrival.

  There was nothing to prevent him going down to make himself known. But somehow he did not do so.

  It was the expression on Alan Creed’s face that held him back. The man’s features, rendered unnaturally prominent by his sunken cheeks, with eyes that stared fixedly from beneath grizzled brows, had had a slightly forbidding air even at that first meeting; and now they were grim and set.

  Latinam he could not see, for the other’s back was towards him; but he could imagine the pudgy joviality still there in spite of any opposition; he was the kind of man who persisted in being hearty under any circumstances.

  Deep in conversation they did not notice him. Carefully he began to withdraw, but nevertheless he could not avoid hearing something of what was being said.

  It was Creed’s voice that came first, a harsh note in it.

  ‘How can I be sure of that?’

  ‘My dear fellow!’ Latinam’s tones, on a higher note, vibrated with a mixture of good feeling and distress at being misunderstood. ‘I won’t let you down. You know you can trust me!’

  ‘I know I’ve got to,’ Creed returned.

  That was all. As Tremaine slipped back out of sight the rocks blanketed the rest.

  He felt a twinge of disappointment and frowned at himself. To what base levels was he descending? Listening to other people’s private conversations was no way to behave, even if he was more than a little interested in the study of humanity.

  Still, it would have been intriguing to have heard more of what Creed and Latinam had been discussing. From the look on Creed’s face it had not been an ordinary conversation; whatever had been the subject it had been something that touched him deeply.

  Why had they chosen that secluded inlet for their meeting? It had meant a climb over the rocks, all very enjoyable for an elderly bachelor who still retained his boyish enthusiasms but hardly what one would have connected with two people such as Creed and Latinam. Creed did not have the air of a man who went climbing over rocks for the fun of it, and Latinam, for all his jovial appearance, was unlikely to be any more given to such a hobby.