Well, I thought rebelliously, sliding out of bed, they could keep their secrets, and whatever they said, I was going for a swim this afternoon. They were already in the dining room when I went down half an hour later. Matthew nodded a greeting over his newspaper. His eyes flickered over my face, then dropped again to his reading.
‘Did you have a nice time with Uncle Mike?’ Sarah asked brightly.
‘Yes, thank you,’ I replied, pouring myself some coffee.
‘Eat your breakfast, Sarah,’ instructed Miss Tamworth automatically, and the moment passed.
Because Matthew was working to a deadline on the book, and Linda’s departure had delayed him more than I’d realized, he’d asked earlier if I’d have any objection to working on Sundays. I hadn’t, especially since I’d earn double pay; so it was agreed we’d follow the same routine as on any other day.
The novel was now progressing well, and I quite looked forward to my sessions in the library, as eager as any future reader to discover what would happen next. That morning, however, my late night and subsequent emotional upheaval weighed heavily, and it was an effort not to yawn.
After lunch I said to Sarah, ‘How about coming down to the beach with me?’
‘She has Sunday School this afternoon,’ Miss Tamworth said primly, and not, I felt, without satisfaction. I was disappointed; Sarah was good company and I did not want to be left to my thoughts today.
However, as there was no help for it, I set off, alone as usual, down the rough road to the cliffs. Dark glasses protected my still-sensitive eyes, but even through my sandals the heat of the road scorched my feet as I crossed it. The short turf was hot and prickly, but it was springy to walk on, and a welcome breeze touched my face. Slowly in my flopping sandals I went down the worn stone steps. A smell of baking seaweed rose to meet me. The bay, as usual, was deserted. At the bottom of the steps I turned and walked along the base of the cliffs, my sandals weighted down by the hot, soft sand. I dropped the book and towel I had brought, spread out the rug, and dropped thankfully down on it.
Nothing stirred. Even the seagulls were quiet. I stripped off shirt and shorts and lay down in my swimsuit. Beneath the rug the sand shifted and moulded itself to the shape of my body. Out of the metallic blue sky the sun beat down. Orange and gold patterns flickered against my eyelids – flickered, spun and were gone. After a while I slept.
The raucous call of a gull awoke me, and I sat up, my skin feeling tight in the heat. My watch said three-thirty. It was time for that swim, and I ran down the hot sloping sand to the sea. The tepid water was cool on my hot feet and I stood for a moment, shivering deliciously as it lapped my ankles, licking away the grains of sand. Then I walked slowly forward, kicking against the water until some of the spray splashed up on my body, when, with a gasp, I plunged in.
Once under, the water was almost bath-warm. I drifted luxuriously, revelling in the gentle slap of the waves against my face, the minute rise and fall of my body supported by the sleeping sea. I floated into a patch of cold water and pushed myself lazily out of it again. A gull swooped close at hand, shearing off as I turned my head to watch it. After a while I took a breath and submerged. The water was crystal clear. A mill pond, as I had said. At the bottom, embedded in the brown sand, coloured pebbles lay like buried treasure. I remembered with a wave of nostalgia the summer holidays of long ago, when Gil had taught me to dive, and I had brought home boxes of pretty pebbles as trophies to decorate the garden.
Idly now I dived, collected a handful and came up again, treading water as I dropped back the more ordinary stones. I put my head down to watch their lazy, spinning descent. There was another batch over to my right and I set off to inspect them, swimming strongly along the bottom of the limpid water.
Just what happened next I’m still not clear. The first thing I noticed was a turmoil of water churning where all had been smooth. The next minute, to my horror, I was spun round, seized firmly by the back of my head, and dragged, struggling and coughing, up to the surface. Choking, kicking, I fought wildly to free myself, but the grip that held me was vice-like. Panic sluiced over me. Was this why I must not swim in the bay – some strange force that carried one swiftly out to sea? I opened my mouth to scream and the salt water rasped my throat.
Suddenly sand grazed my threshing legs, and I realized with a weakening flood of relief that I had been pulled not out to sea but back to the beach. Just beyond the last slow lick of water, I was abruptly dropped.
Gasping, coughing and retching, I rubbed the water out of my eyes to find myself staring unbelievingly into Matthew’s white face.
‘Are you all right? Oh God, Emily, I thought –’
‘You!’ Relief merged into indignation. ‘What on earth were you doing, dragging me out like that? I was only collecting pebbles!’
He went still. ‘Pebbles?’
I opened my hand. Two small shapes, smooth as birds’ eggs, still lay in my palm. He stared at them in silence. Then he said expressionlessly, ‘I’m sorry. You must think me a fool.’
‘I told you I could swim.’
‘I was on my way down here when I saw you go under. I didn’t stop to think – I just went after you.’
Relief had made me light-headed. I said facetiously, ‘Secretaries must be hard to find!’
He stared at me, the colour beginning to come back to his face. I shook back my dripping hair. ‘Anyway, I thought you were playing golf?’
‘We only had nine holes. I was hot and sticky and decided a swim would be a good idea. I don’t – often come down here.’
‘Well,’ I said feelingly, ‘it’s all yours!’
He stood up abruptly. ‘I seem to have lost the inclination. I’ll see you at the library at five.’ And with a curt nod he started back up the beach, leaving me like a stranded mermaid.
At the bottom of the steps he stooped to retrieve shirt and trousers which he had presumably flung off in his headlong dash to my rescue. I watched him all the way up the steps, but he didn’t look back.
I realized that I was shivering. I got to my feet a little shakily and made my way back to the rug, towelling myself vigorously till the nylon of my swimsuit was almost dry. Then I dug out my paperback, rolled over on my stomach and resolutely started to read.
But it was an afternoon for interruptions. I had read only the first ten pages when a shadow fell across the page. I turned and looked up, squinting into the sunshine, expecting that Matthew had changed his mind. But it was Mike who stood above me, smiling uncertainly as though unsure of his welcome. I stifled my involuntary spurt of gladness, turned back to my book, and said ungraciously, ‘Oh, it’s you!’
‘What a welcome!’ He flopped down beside me and, reaching up, twined a strand of my hair round his fingers.
I jerked my head away. ‘All I wanted was a quiet afternoon,’ I said crossly, ‘but first Matthew comes down, and now you!’
‘Matthew?’ He sobered abruptly. ‘Matthew was here?’
‘Yes, I’m surprised you didn’t meet him on the path. It was only about ten minutes ago.’
He sat up, his eyes on my damp hair. ‘You went swimming together?’
‘Not exactly. He charged in when I was indulging in marine studies and forcibly dragged me out.’
‘Did he now?’ His voice was very quiet.
I turned to look at him, puzzled. ‘What’s the matter?’
There was a strange, far-away look in his eyes. Then they refocussed on me and he smiled a little. ‘Nothing’s the matter, honey, only –’
‘Only what?’
He was silent, staring down at his hands, clasped between his raised knees. ‘Only I shouldn’t make a habit of swimming with Matthew, that’s all.’
A little breeze sprang up from nowhere and touched my shoulders with its cool breath. I shivered.
Mike said, ‘Still, don’t let’s waste time talking about him. I came to apologize – for last night.’
‘Oh, that.’ I looked away from him.
/>
‘Yes, that. I’ve been wondering all morning what I could say to you, but all I can come up with is – I’m sorry. Will you forgive me?’
‘There’s nothing to forgive.’ Nothing tangible, anyway. Just the feeling of being shut out; not one of them.
‘You see, Derek and I go back a long way. We’ve done a lot of things, been to a lot of places together. And he’s been going round with Sandra for several weeks now, which is a long time for Derek! So we know each other, and tend to forget you don’t know us too.’
He was still classing himself with them, I thought miserably.
‘You forget I’m not Linda?’ I said deliberately.
‘Linda?’ he echoed sharply. ‘What the hell? –’ Then the guarded look again. ‘I don’t see what any of this has to do with Linda.’
‘Nor do I really,’ I said wearily, tired of the discussion. I liked Mike, and I didn’t want to antagonise him.
I lay back on the rug and half-closed my eyes. Mike peeled off his shirt. His back was smooth and evenly-bronzed, the muscles rippling under his skin. The tiny hairs on his forearm glinted gold in the sun. Then he turned and looked down on me, his eyes gold-flecked, so wantonly long-lashed for a strong, virile man.
‘Emily,’ he said softly, ‘forgive me, please.’ My arms lifted to receive him as his mouth came down to mine. Under my hands his back and shoulders were warm and smooth as silk. It was a wonderful kiss. At last, he raised his head far enough to meet my eyes. We smiled at each other and I sighed from sheer happiness. Coming so swiftly on my black depression, the effect was intoxicating.
He traced gently round my eyes and mouth with one finger. ‘You have the most beautiful eyes, do you know that?’
With an effort I remembered Matthew’s words.
‘I bet you say that to all the girls!’
He smiled lazily. ‘It doesn’t make it any less true.’
A token denial would, I felt, have been more acceptable.
I sat up. ‘I must be going. It’s four-thirty and I’m due in the library at five.’
‘To hell with the library,’ Mike said, entirely without rancour, ‘and to hell with Matthew!’ He kissed me again.
All right, Matthew, I said silently, I know, I know! He’s a flirt, he’s had a string of girls. But after my fright in the water and Matthew’s own strangeness, a little light-hearted love-making was a wonderful relief.
With an effort I pushed him away and sat up. ‘Really, Mike, I must go.’
He folded the rug while I pulled on shorts and shirt. Then he slung his own shirt over one shoulder and, with his hand under my elbow, we set off up the stone steps.
At the gate of Touchstone, he handed over the rug. ‘You’re on your own now, sweetheart. There’s an invisible notice on this gate which reads “No hawkers, vagabonds or Staceys”.’
I opened my mouth to ask when I’d see him again, but prudence came to my aid. He kissed me lightly on the nose, raised a hand in salute, and continued up the sheep track to the moorland and the farm.
I turned into the drive and as I did so, caught a movement at the sitting-room window. Matthew had been watching us.
He was waiting for me in the library when I reached it, rather breathlessly, at ten past five.
‘I’m sorry I’m late,’ I murmured.
‘You’ve recovered, I see. No doubt you had more congenial company after I left.’
I did not reply.
‘Miss Barton, I might be repeating myself, but I do feel I should warn you –’
‘Not to take Mike too seriously? And if I, too, may repeat myself, I can take care of myself.’
He held my eyes for a minute, then looked irritably away. As long as you know what you’re doing,’ he said shortly, and without further preamble launched straight into dictation.
As my pencil skimmed over the pages, I wondered what had caused their mutual dislike, leading each to caution me about the other – and felt a chill of apprehension before I knew why. Then I remembered that Mike’s warning had been altogether more sinister: I shouldn’t make a habit of going swimming with Matthew. Well, I did not intend to; my experience with him in the water was not one I wanted to repeat.
Determinedly blotting out such speculations, I forced myself to concentrate on the work in hand.
CHAPTER SIX
The sunshine was still with us the next morning, and this time my spirits were in keeping with the day. And it was Monday, I reflected as I finished my breakfast. If only all Monday mornings could be like this! It was amazing to think that this time last week, as I was driving to Paddington with Gil, I’d never even met Mike or Sarah – or Derek and Sandra.
As I came out of my bedroom, the letterbox rattled in the hall below and some envelopes fell on to the carpet. Perhaps there’d be a letter from home.
I ran downstairs and picked them up. Then I stiffened, staring down at the top envelope until the words swam into each other. Miss Linda Harvey ...
I’m not sure why I reacted so strongly; it was quite possible that some of Linda’s friends didn’t know she’d left Touchstone. But I’d been hoping to see my own name, and to read hers instead was an eerie sensation. For this letter was addressed to Matthew Haig’s secretary, and for a moment it was as though I, Emily Barton, did not exist – almost as though I myself were Linda Harvey.
I shook myself impatiently. Behind me, the grandfather clock struck nine, and I slipped the envelope into my pocket. Now they’d have to tell me her address, so I could forward it. I might even, I thought defiantly, deliver it personally.
The two letters addressed to Matthew I took into the library. ‘The post has come, Mr Haig.’
‘Thank you. I trust you slept well.’ The sardonic tone was reflected in the raised eyebrow.
‘Excellently, thank you.’
We started work, but I remained very conscious of Linda’s letter in my pocket. Would he know her address? He must have a record of it from her original application. How long had she been here? It was ridiculous, I thought impatiently, to know so little about her. This time they would have to answer me.
The coffee came, and, half an hour later, was taken away untasted, with a reproachful look from Mrs Johnson. Matthew raced on, and my hand ached from gripping the pencil, but pride prevented me from asking him to slow down. Grimly, I concentrated on keeping up with him.
At five to twelve, he sighed and leant back in his chair. ‘That was a good morning’s work. Did you get it all down?’
‘Yes, thank you.’ I flexed my cramped fingers. Now was the moment, before he went for his pre-lunch drink. I stood up as though to return to my desk.
‘Oh, Mr Haig,’ – my voice was studiedly casual – ‘I wonder if you could let me have Miss Harvey’s address?’
The effect of my words was more dramatic than I could have hoped. About to rise, Matthew halted, both hands on the arms of his chair and head lowered. Then, slowly, he sat down again and looked up at me. His eyes burned into mine. ‘What did you say?’
My mouth was suddenly dry, and I moistened my lips. ‘Miss Harvey’s address; could I have it, please? A – a letter has come for her.’
He let out a long-held breath. ‘Well, you’d better tear it up; it won’t be any use to her now.’
My eyes widened. ‘I can’t do that! Surely she –’
‘What do you know of Linda Harvey?’ he interrupted harshly. ‘Who’s been speaking to you about her?’
‘No one, that’s the point. But surely she only left because – because ...’ I stumbled to a halt.
He was staring at me, his eyes narrowed and keen as gimlets. ‘Well, since you’re obviously riddled with curiosity,’ he said at last, with an edge to his voice, ‘I might as well tell you that Linda Harvey is dead. She was drowned in the bay four weeks ago.’
Outside on the path a dog barked suddenly. From the passage I could hear Mrs Johnson busy with the vacuum cleaner. My hand went slowly to my throat as a feeling of nausea spread over me, and I
remembered Matthew dragging me, kicking and struggling, out of the sea.
I whispered, ‘So that was why – you thought ...’
‘Yes, that’s why I dragged you so unceremoniously out of the water.’ His voice was more gentle, as though he realized the shock he had given me.
‘And I was flippant and silly,’ I said quietly, ‘I’m sorry.’ What had I said? Secretaries must be hard to find. My face flamed.
Matthew had risen. ‘I should have broken it more gently. I’m sorry. Sit down for a minute.’ He went to the corner cabinet, poured a tot of what I assumed was brandy, and came back to me.
‘Drink this.’ I had started to shake, and he had to hold the glass for me. ‘You didn’t know her,’ he commented, watching me curiously. ‘Why has it upset you so much?’
‘Because nobody told me she was dead.’ I looked up at him. ‘Why didn’t they?’
His eyes slid away. ‘I didn’t want to make an issue of it. It might have frightened you.’
‘Frightened me?’
He made an impatient movement. ‘Put you off staying, I mean.’
But Mike hadn’t wanted me to know either; did he think I’d be frightened? And – oh God – what had he said? Don’t make a habit of swimming with Matthew. He hadn’t meant – he couldn’t have meant – that was ridiculous. I forced myself to say, ‘How did it happen?’
Matthew turned away and stood staring out of the window, his hands driven deep in his pockets. ‘As far as we can gather, she fell asleep on a lilo and drifted out to sea. She couldn’t swim.’
‘How dreadful,’ I whispered. ‘Who – found her?’
‘I did.’ The tone precluded any further questioning. Poor, dead Linda. I thought of the happy girl in the snapshot and imagined her drowned beauty, blonde hair entangled with the seaweed – a floating Ophelia. I swallowed the rest of the liquid hastily and gasped as it seared my throat.
Motive for Murder Page 5