by Anne Morice
It proved almost too easy to draw her out on the subject of Sarah, and in fact she drooled on so repetitively about their unique relationship and single minded devotion that I began to regret having picked this as my jumping off point. To steer her on to more prosaic lines, I said:
‘As you know, I only met her so briefly, but there was one thing which puzzled me a lot about Sarah.’
‘Well yes, I expect there were several. She was a very complex character in some ways and except with me she had great areas of reserve.’
‘I daresay most people have, but I’m speaking of a purely superficial trait which must have struck everyone when they first met her.’
‘I can’t imagine what that could be,’ Julie said in a rather haughty tone.
‘Perhaps you took everything about her so much for granted that you’d ceased to notice; or perhaps you understood that it was a cover-up of some kind and were able to discount it.’
‘Oh, no, that’s quite out of the question You must have misunderstood her completely if you believed her capable of deceit in any form. She was the most straightforward person in the world. In fact, if she had a fault it was in being a little too opinionated and outspoken. If she saw anything which needed putting right she couldn’t rest until it was done, no matter who she offended.’
‘Yes,’ I agreed, ‘that’s exactly what I’d been led to expect, and yet, you know Julie, from an outsider’s point of view, she was not like that at all. Superficially, at any rate, she was riddled with self doubt and practically incapable of making the most trivial decision without clamouring for reassurance from all sides. Maybe it was just a pose, but that doesn’t seem to be quite in character either.’
Julie was staring at me, open mouthed and incredulous, but I could not tell whether the passage of time had already put even such mild criticism on the level of heresy, or whether she was genuinely bewildered. To help things along, I said,
‘Well, that’s how it appeared to me, at any rate, and what really interests me is whether she was always like that, or whether it was only a recent phase. This is not aimless curiosity, you know. I suspect she may have been in an abnormal state during the few days before her death, and I honestly believe that if we knew the cause it might help us to find out why she was murdered.’
That did it. In a typically clumsy gesture which nearly sent a plate flying, Julie brought her elbows up on to the table and covered her face with her hands, as though the mere sight of me was unbearable. Clearly, I had lost my advantage and, with shock tactics as the only weapon left, I said,
‘And the same goes for Kit, incidentally. We’re not great friends, but I’ve had ample opportunity to observe his behaviour, and I can tell you that he wasn’t at all himself that weekend. For one thing, have you ever known him get so drunk as he did? Are you listening, Julie?’
She slightly shook her head, then nodded, and, unable to guess whether she had answered the questions in sequence, there was nothing for it but to plough on.
‘I know he drinks a lot, but it doesn’t normally get out of hand, and that’s the only time I’ve seen him literally incapable. I think it’s partly because he’s vain about his looks and keeps himself in such marvellous physical trim that alcohol doesn’t usually affect him very much. But it certainly did that evening. He was absolutely sodden and I keep wondering why.’
She still did not utter a word, though now jerking her head spasmodically, as though to shake off a persistent wasp, and I kept going:
‘Because, you see, there wasn’t any apparent reason for it. You could argue that everyone is liable to go overboard once in a while, but why then? There he was, reunited with Sarah, and four days’ holiday ahead. So far as one could tell, there hadn’t been a cross word between them, and everyone was being radiant to him. Even your father, who might conceivably have disapproved, told me that he was in favour of the marriage. So what had gone wrong?’
I dragged an answer out of her at last, but it was a pretty dusty one. She removed her hands from her face, but only to bracket them in a shield above her eyes, and she said in a listless voice:
‘I don’t know, Tessa. I really don’t understand what you’re driving at. I keep recalling that evening, when it seems to me now that we were all happy for the very last time. And you fitted in so well. Sarah had been nervous, but she took to you at once, and so did Magnus. Everything had been going so beautifully, and then it all started to fall apart. Looking back, I’d somehow associated that with the Grahams, but I don’t know; maybe the rot set in even before they came. I’m sorry, Tessa, but I can’t seem to concentrate properly. Perhaps I’ve had too much wine or something, but I feel I should go to bed now, if you’ll excuse me.’
She stood up and stumbled over to the door, and I followed her out of the room and upstairs to the gallery. It was a boring and faintly ludicrous ascent, because the combined effects of lameness and alcohol required her to grip the banister and drag herself up like a small child, one step at a time and I felt it would be tactless to overtake her and proceed at a normal pace. However, we made it at last and the exercise had evidently cleared her head a little, for at the top she turned to me in a plucky imitation of Sarah’s hostessy manner, saying,
‘Sorry to be so frightfully dim. I’ll be fine in the morning. Goodnight, Tessa. I do hope you sleep well.’
2
The hope was not realised. Possibly I had been over-lavish with the wine myself, but in the dragging solitude of the hours before dawn, when even the stirrings of queasiness herald the onset of a fatal disease, it struck me, among other depressing contingencies, that the salmon mousse might not have been quite up to the mark. I would have given ten years of my life to have had Robin on call to bring some common sense to bear on the situation, and for lack of it lay awake groaning in self pity for what seemed like several long nights strung together, before falling asleep with the daylight.
It was past ten o’clock when I woke, but not having expected to open my eyes on another day, the hour was immaterial. There was a breakfast tray on my bedside table, and a note from Julie propped against the coffee pot, which read as follows:
‘You looked so peaceful I hadn’t the heart to wake you. Have gone shopping, but back in an hour. No hurry to get up. Love J.’
There was one rather annoying omission in this message, insofar as it did not specify the time of its composition, but I deduced from the temperature of the coffee that it could not have been there for more than twenty minutes and, with the whole house to myself and more than half an hour in hand, this was plainly a chance in a million to embark on the next move.
I used up another five minutes in fortifying myself with some tepid coffee and a slice of flabby toast, while pulling on slacks and a jersey, and before leaving the room had the foresight to look out of the window which faced over the drive. There was a black Jaguar parked near the front door, which did not prove anything because this was a six-car family if ever I met one, but it did convey the warning that Julie’s shopping expedition might have been postponed and that she was still in the house. I therefore stood in the gallery for several minutes, leaning down over the rail and repeatedly calling her name. There was no answer, nor any sound at all from the cavernous depths, and as a last precaution I padded along to her bedroom and tapped on the door. Absolute silence here too, and I turned the handle and looked inside. There was no one there, but both beds were made up and on each set of pillows there was a collection of teddy bears, woolly dogs and bunny rabbits. It was rather a saddening sight and, as I shut the door, it occurred to me, not for the first time, that Kit was probably well out of it.
My next call was only a few yards away and the door was unlocked. Nothing, at first glance, had changed since I was last there but only one object required close attention and to reach it I had to pass by the archway leading to the dressing room and private gymnasium, and then turn into the L section of the bedroom.
The desk top was clear of papers, with only a massiv
e silver inkstand and the two telephones on its vast polished surface. I stationed myself in front of it, my hands clasping the back of the swivel chair, and my eyes almost on a level with those of the woman in the portrait. There was something insipid and yet appealing in her expression, and I remained riveted to it for several minutes after verifying what I had come to find out. I was about to turn away at last when a prickling sensation at the back of my neck warned me of the presence of someone standing just behind me. Cold with shock and fear, unable to speak or move, I clenched my hands tighter round the chair and heard a voice say softly:
‘Interesting portrait, isn’t it?’
The fact that it was the voice I had expected to hear partially broke the spell. It cost an enormous effort, but at least I was able to turn round and meet the cruel, mad eyes, and this small achievement raised my morale one notch higher still. The power of speech gradually returned and I said, in as steady a voice as I could manage:
‘She must have been extremely beautiful?’
‘Oh, she was. Beautiful and cheap and wanton, as you’ve no doubt gathered. How nice to see you again, incidentally! I am so glad you consented to come.’
For some absurd reason, these incongruously conventional remarks started a fresh panic, and I became obsessed with the fear that he would ask me if I was enjoying myself. To stave off a rising hysteria, I cut in quickly:
‘I’m sure you must wonder what I’m doing in your room, but I was passing the door when I thought I heard the telephone. I didn’t realise you were back and Julie’s out shopping, so I thought I’d better answer it.’
He shook his head sadly. ‘No, my dear, I’m afraid that won’t do. These telephones don’t have bells, just a little buzz, which can’t be heard from outside. I should like to believe you, I really would. It quite dismays me to find you’re a liar, on top of everything else; but I have to tell you that the only part of your statement which rings true is that you had not realised I was back.’
Still striving against all the odds to cool this down to a normal level, I said:
‘Well, it is rather a surprise, isn’t it? I’m sure Julie can’t have been expecting you, or she’d have told me.’
‘Which is precisely why I didn’t inform her of my intentions. However, when I spoke to her on the telephone yesterday and she mentioned that you were coming to stay I thought it would be advisable to find out why. I never like to neglect details, as you know.’
‘Rather a trivial one, surely, to warrant so much time and trouble? Why shouldn’t I come and stay with her when she’d invited me to?’
‘I must confess I find that inadequate. Poor Julie is not over-bright, as you know. A little more credulous than you and me, and I daresay that story would do very well for her. But I think you and I are rather alike in some ways, don’t you?’
I forced back the instinctive denial, for it struck me just in time that he might not after all be perfectly sure of his ground and was trying to needle me into committing myself in some way.
‘Perhaps so,’ I replied indifferently.
‘Ah, you agree? I’m glad of that because you’ll probably understand that I’m not being melodramatic when I suggest that the world is too small to accommodate both of us?’
Once more, I tried to appear unmoved. I realised only too well that the pretence had become something of a farce but presumably, when confronted with a lunatic, any strategy is better than none at all.
‘No, I wouldn’t go all the way with you there, Magnus. I’ve apologised for being in your room, and it’s not really such a crime, is it?’
‘A crime? Oh dear me, no, I should think not. More of a coincidence is how I should put it. A coincidence which I was fortunate enough to have foreseen.’
‘What does it coincide with?’
‘A good question. The answer is: far too many things for my comfort. To name a few which spring to mind, it was you who discovered poor Sarah.’
‘Kit and me together.’
‘Oh, and Kit too, as you say; but it was you, if memory serves, who insisted on leaving her in the tent? Moreover, I understand that you were at Missendale within half an hour of Babs Graham’s death?’
‘There was no plan about that either; just a fluke.’
‘Indeed? And was it just a fluke that you were actively engaged on the African boy’s behalf, even to the extent of hiring a clever legal gentleman to take up his case? Oh yes, my dear, I know all about that. I am not without influence when it comes to checking on people’s activities. However, enough of that, we haven’t got all the time in the world. Julie may be back from her shopping at any moment.’
‘Does Julie know you’re here?’ I asked, striving to keep a spark of hope out of my voice.
‘Certainly she does. I could hardly keep my arrival secret from her, could I? She was a little worried about leaving you, but I said I was perfectly capable of entertaining you until she returned. I even invented a little errand to Missendale which I hoped she might undertake. And I’m not in the least worried about Julie, you know. If she does return and find you gone, she will merely conclude that you are out for a stroll or something. She won’t break in on us here, I promise you. She may not be so bright as her poor sister, but she does surpass her in obedience, and I have given strict instructions that I am not be disturbed.’
‘You’re mad,’ I said. ‘Absolutely raving. I’ve suspected it for some time, but this clinches it.’
‘By some standards, that may be true,’ he replied equably, ‘but it can hardly bring you much consolation. If I am mad, what chance have you of deflecting me with your so-called sane arguments? My mind is quite made up and nothing will alter it.’
‘But even you must see that you wouldn’t have a hope of getting away with it. Your influence doesn’t extend that far.’
‘You’re thinking, I daresay, that I may have some trouble in accounting for your disappearance?’ he asked, still speaking with the utmost civility, as though we were discussing some abstract problem, which I found even more demoralising than if he had ranted like a lunatic and which, I also felt sure, was his intention.
‘Exactly. Even if you could fool Julie indefinitely, which I strongly doubt, there are numerous other people who would start asking questions.’
‘Are there? I wonder? Julie, of course, is a separate case. Poor child, she misses Sarah so dreadfully, I live in constant fear that it may drive her to suicide one of these days. However, let us consider these numerous people. I take it your husband and cousin know where you are?’
I nodded, though evidently not putting as much conviction into it as I had hoped, for he looked more complacent than ever.
‘Even so, could they actually prove that you came? I flatter myself that I have summed you up accurately, as a headstrong, not always truthful young person, so they may not be hard to convince that, having announced one set of plans, you then embarked on another. Horrified, grief stricken, naturally, but not incredulous.’
‘Nevertheless, there is plenty of evidence to show that I did come.’
‘Again, I would question it. As you may have noticed, I had the forethought to put it to Julie that it would be only fair to give our staff some time off while you were here to keep her company; and in fact she went one better. So eager to please, poor child, that she sent them all packing without giving any instructions for preparing your room. She was quite distressed about it this morning. Apparently they hadn’t even remade the bed since your last visit.’
‘There is still my car,’ I reminded him, clutching at every straw to keep the dialogue flowing. ‘You may have some difficulty in explaining how it comes to be in your garage.’
‘Ah, the car! Thank you for reminding me. Not that I was in much danger of forgetting it. It’s an integral part of my plan, you see. When you do turn up, in two or three days, or whatever it may be, you will be found inside the wreckage of your own car. Quite a neat scheme, don’t you agree?’
Without any warning, I sud
denly found myself in the grip of the most extraordinary lassitude. Perhaps the unequal struggle of sparring with this bombastic, murdering maniac had sapped every last ounce of vitality, but what I experienced most strongly at this point was not so much fear as utter fatigue. I instinctively moved away from the claustrophobic L shaped enclosure, in search of purer air, and sat down on the bed. Whereupon, to my horror and amazement, I opened my mouth and yawned, like some great overfed, lazy cat.
For the first time, Magnus was truly disconcerted. Some ridiculous reflex action had caused me to turn my head, to apologise for all I know, and I clearly saw a fleeting expression of uncertainty in his eyes. For the moment I had the upper hand and, to gain time wherein to consider how to use it, I repeated the yawn, but in a more genteel form, patting my mouth with my fingers as though to admonish myself for bad manners. No gesture could have been more inspired, as it turned out, for my features were already so distorted by this carry-on that I was certain that no flicker of emotion was transmitted to Magnus when, over the top of my fingers, I saw the door knob moving back and forth. A second later a figure slid silently into view, and then passed like a shadow through the archway to the dressing room. The significance of this escaped me utterly, apart from vague forebodings of fresh trouble for myself. I bent down and pretended to search in my bag for a tissue while struggling to work out all the new implications.
‘I am sorry if I bore you,’ Magnus said.
Although it felt like six times as long, probably not more than two minutes had elapsed since he had last spoken, and hope see-sawed up again as I recognised the involuntary irritation in his tone. It swung higher still when, staring straight ahead of me in what I hoped would pass for an attitude of deep thought or total indifference, I saw no movement from the dressing room intruder and a new revelation broke over me.