It was cool and dim in the little church, and there was a faintly spicy smell composed of polished wood and the musty tang of old prayer books. The rhythmic breaking of the waves reached us beneath the bronchial dirge of the organ. The church was full; the Haigs were well known and respected.
It was a simple and moving service. I held tightly to Sarah’s hand and, despite my efforts to stop them, the tears ran down my cheeks. I was weeping as much for Matthew as for Kate, but Mike, on my other side, was a solid, comforting presence.
It would have been quick, I kept assuring myself; she’d hardly have had time to realise what was happening. Much worse for Matthew, left behind with his burden of guilt and self-reproach.
And out of the blue came the thought: at least her threat of scandal died with her.
* * *
Somehow, the time passed. I had not, after all, made my phone call to Gil, though my mother rang when she read of Kate’s death.
I assured her I was all right. No point in worrying her with nebulous fears, and in any case these no longer seemed so urgent. My sense of foreboding had been amply justified by Kate’s death, and no amount of talking to Gil could have forestalled it. I’d long since rationalised Matthew’s first, agonised murmur. He had ordered Kate out of the house, and she’d driven off in a temper; of course he blamed himself for her death.
He still walked on the moors for long, lonely hours, but gradually his shoulders straightened and the look of strain left his mouth. And Sarah, with the wonderful resilience of childhood, began to smile again. September slid into October, and still the weather held.
Work on the book was spasmodic. Sometimes Matthew dictated furiously for hours on end. Then the next day I would find the typed pages torn across, with the word ‘Sorry!’ scrawled across them. And we would start again.
Once he said, ‘I realise I’m not the easiest person to work with at the moment.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ I said. I would have typed the same page a hundred times if its dictation could have eased him in any way.
Even Mike seemed subdued. I seldom saw him during the day – in fact, almost the only times I had done so were during Kate’s ill-fated visit. But on my free evenings we went to the cinema once or twice, and for drives along the coast, and on one occasion he invited me for supper at the farm. In all that time there was no sign of Derek and Sandra, for which I was grateful.
It was on the visit to the farm that he said without preamble, ‘Before the accident, you told me Matthew and Kate had a row.’
His words hung on the air with a question in them.
‘Yes,’ I said unwillingly. I had spent a large portion of the last few weeks trying to forget it.
‘What about?’ he asked quietly.
I looked away. ‘I’ve no idea.’
‘Presumably it was to do with Kate’s marrying again?’
I didn’t reply and he gave a bark of a laugh. ‘You can bet Matthew didn’t know about it the night before. It must have come as one hell of a shock.’
To change the subject, I picked up a silver cigarette box which he’d said was a twenty-first birthday present and ran my thumb over the monogram – M.C.S. ‘What’s the “C” for?’
He did not reply. He was sitting very still, watching me. ‘Why won’t you talk about the row?’
‘It was nothing to do with us. What does the “C” stand for?’
‘“Charles”. Look, Emily, this might be important. Why did Matthew lie to the police?’
‘Lie?’
‘He said there was no reason for Kate to be in a temper when she drove off. We know that isn’t true.’
I replaced the box carefully. ‘He probably thought it was none of their business. What difference did it make, anyway? It couldn’t alter the fact of her death. It’s not as though another motorist was involved, who needed to be exonerated.’
Mike said reflectively, ‘Those cliffs certainly had it in for Kate.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘First the boulder, then that. Two “accidents” in twenty-four hours.’
I didn’t like the emphasis he placed on the word. It reminded me, for the first time since Kate’s death, that I’d suspected the boulder incident hadn’t been accidental. Suppose her death wasn’t, either?
‘What are you trying to say, Mike?’ I could hear my voice shaking.
‘Nothing, my love, not a thing. But the way you leap to my cousin’s defence makes me wonder if he has need of such loyalty.’
For a moment we stared at each other. Then Mike got to his feet with a laugh. ‘OK, OK, we’ll drop it. Are you ready for something to eat?’ And he rang for Mrs Trehearn. But he had resurrected for me two sentences, both spoken by Matthew. One was ‘There’s nothing I can do to stop you – short of killing you!’ And the other, an anguished whisper: ‘I didn’t mean to kill her.’
Aware of Mike’s assessing eyes, I sat down and tried to eat my meal.
* * *
It was a few days after that conversation that I met Jane. I had gone into Chapelcombe to do some shopping, and with half an hour in hand before the bus home, I went to the Tudor Café. The afternoon was cool, with a mist low over the sea, and the café was surprisingly full for a Monday. There were no free tables, so I approached one where a girl was already sitting.
‘Do you mind if I join you?’
‘Not at all.’ She looked up with a smile and passed me the menu. ‘Summer’s finally gone hasn’t it?’ She nodded out of the window at the grey afternoon.
‘It looks like it, but we can’t complain this year.’
‘That’s true. Are you on holiday?’
‘No, I work here.’
‘Well, I don’t envy you. Lovely in the summer, of course, but when the mists come in and the winds get up, it’s a different matter.’
‘Do you live here?’
‘No, I’m just down for a long weekend – I go back tomorrow. But I was here earlier on, in July. Very different it was then – a bit of life about it.’
The waitress brought my tea and scone. I was glad enough of another girl to talk to, even briefly. It was something I had missed during my stay in Cornwall. My companion passed me the sugar. ‘Where do you work, then? I shouldn’t have thought there was much scope down here. At the Bank, are you?’
‘No, I’m with Matthew Haig, the writer. He lives here.’
She looked up in surprise. ‘I thought his secretary was a tall, blonde girl?’
I felt myself go hot. ‘She – left. Did you know her?’
‘Not well. I used to see her at the Baths in Mevacombe.’
My heart stumbled before I realised why, then it started a slow, laborious pumping. I heard myself say, ‘I think you must be mistaken; Linda couldn’t swim.’
The girl laughed. ‘That’s what they all thought, wasn’t it? Her boyfriend used to tease her, so she wanted to surprise him. She certainly surprised her instructor; he found she’d a natural gift for it. She’d reached the life-saving course when I met her.’
I could feel a pulse beating in my throat. She leant across the table and put a hand on my arm. ‘What’s the matter? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost!’
I moistened my lips. ‘Are you quite sure we’re speaking of the same person?’
‘I should think so. Tall, pretty girl – lovely figure. She told me she worked for an author in Chapelcombe. Linda something, like you he said. Look, you’re not going to pass out, are you?’
I shook my head. ‘Who was her instructor – at the Baths?’
‘Curly-haired chap, name of Bill. Rather fancied her, I thought.’
‘I must see him.’
‘Oh, he’s gone. He was about to emigrate to Australia and just filling in time before his ship sailed. But why do you want to see him?’
I owed it to her to tell her. ‘Linda Harvey was drowned in the bay.’
‘Drowned?’ She withdrew her hand sharply from my arm. ‘But – that’s impossible.’
‘It happened.’
‘Well, all I can say is, it must have been a very heavy sea to have drowned Linda. I tell you she could swim like a fish!’
‘It was a calm day.’
Her eyes widened, and in them now was a reflection of my own unease. ‘I don’t understand how that could have happened,’ she said flatly.
‘Cramp?’ There was desperation in the suggestion.
‘It’s possible, I suppose.’ I could see she wasn’t convinced. Somehow, neither was I.
I tried to marshal my whirling thoughts. ‘Could you – would you mind telling me your name?’
She looked surprised. ‘Jane Birch. Why?’
‘I’m Emily Barton. Look, would you be prepared to repeat all this – to someone in authority, if need be?’
‘The police, you mean? Oh, now look here, I’m not getting mixed up in anything like that! Not on your life! Anyway, I’m going home tomorrow.’
‘But it might be important.’
‘You mean it might not have been an accident?’
I hadn’t yet formulated it into words, even to myself, and the direct question made me flinch. ‘Possibly.’
‘Well, I’m taking no chances, thank you very much. If I go blabbing to the police, I might get my own head bashed in!’
I said sharply, ‘I didn’t mean –’
‘Look, dear, I don’t care what you meant.’ She was fumbling in her purse for some money. ‘I’m sorry I ever mentioned it. Now forget it, will you? Don’t try to drag me in, I’ll deny I ever met her.’ She stood up. ‘And if you take my advice, you’ll do nothing about it either. In this world, it’s Number One that you have to look out for.’
She went hurriedly over to the cash desk. At the door, she glanced back over her shoulder, and seemed relieved that I had not moved. Then she was gone. I sat alone, staring at her empty chair. Linda could swim. She couldn’t have drowned in a calm sea – unless somebody held her head under water.
* * *
Mike said, ‘Look, honey, something’s the matter, I can see that. Tell Uncle Mike what it is. Are you still upset about Kate?’
I shook my head.
‘What, then?’
‘Linda.’
‘Linda? But I thought we got that sorted out ages ago.’
I had to tell someone. I couldn’t take the sole responsibility of possibly ‘withholding evidence’. Quickly, with my hands knotted in my lap, I told him about the girl in the café.
When I’d finished speaking we sat in silence for a long time. Then Mike said, very softly, ‘My God!’
I twisted round to face him. ‘It must have been cramp.’
‘Must it?’
‘Oh for God’s sake, Mike, what else? Who could have wanted to harm Linda?’
‘Or Kate?’ asked Mike gently. ‘Or you, for that matter?’
My skin prickled and I moved sharply. ‘Emily, what are you going to do?’
‘I was hoping you would tell me.’
‘Quite honestly, I don’t see what you can do. It’s a pretty thin story, without any confirmation. The instructor has conveniently gone to Australia, and Jane isn’t going to back you up. All it would do is create more unpleasantness for Matthew, and I think he’s had as much as he can take.’
‘I know.’
‘Of course, if you feel you should –’
‘No, no!’ I shook my head several times. ‘I just wanted to talk it over with someone, that’s all.’
‘Poor love, what a time you’re having down here! Emily – promise me something.’
‘Yes?’
‘Take care of yourself. I mean that. Take very good care of yourself. It might be better not to mention to Matthew that you met this girl.’
I didn’t think it necessary to tell him that I had no intention of doing so.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
It was Saturday again, a mild, golden October day. Sarah was spending the day with a school friend. People had rallied round very kindly after her mother’s death, and her time was fully occupied. I was glad for her sake, though I missed her company, and my free afternoons were sometimes unbearably long.
Matthew had already left for the pub and I was sorting through some papers when there was a tapping on the French window and Mike stood smiling at me. I went across and let him in.
‘How’s my girl today?’
‘Not too bad.’
‘Ready for some exercise?’
‘Exercise?’ I repeated cautiously.
‘I thought we might go for a walk this afternoon, along the coast, and if you’re free this evening, we needn’t hurry back.
‘That would be lovely.’
‘Good. I’ve jobs to finish off, so meet me at the gate at half-past three. I’ll ask Mrs Trehearn to pack up a picnic.’
‘I’ll look forward to it.’ I went back to my desk and continued sorting out the top copies from the carbons, knocking them gently on the flat surface to shape them into neat piles. Then I carried them over to Matthew’s desk.
‘The morning’s work?’ Mike enquired, watching me.
‘Yes; he likes to read them through before we start on the next lot.’
I opened the lower right-hand desk drawer where the completed pages lay, and dropped the new ones neatly on top.
‘Fait accompli!’ I said.
He put his hands on my shoulders and studied my face. I looked steadily back at him. His eyes were more blue than grey today, reflecting his sports shirt. What had Kate said? ‘He’s too good-looking by half. It ensures that he always gets his own way.’
‘A penny for your thoughts!’
I moved under his hands and he dropped them. ‘I was just thinking,’ I replied with a touch of asperity, ‘that you’re the answer to a maiden’s prayer!’ And wondering, my mind added, why all your gentle, practised love-making doesn’t move me half as much as Matthew’s single passionate and irritable kiss. The tail end of the thought caught me by surprise – I was schooling myself not to think about Matthew – and the colour rushed to my face as though I’d spoken aloud.
Mike laughed, naturally attributing the blush to my comment. ‘Any maiden in particular?’ he asked.
‘All of them, I’ve no doubt.’
‘Well, this is the one I have my sights on!’ He flicked thumb and finger gently against my cheek and the gong sounded for lunch. ‘See you later, sweetheart.’
We set off as planned at three-thirty, down the path towards the sea and across the road on to the springy turf. Directly opposite we could see the ‘Danger’ notice barring the usual way down to the bay. We turned left and walked more slowly, the salt-encrusted wind in our faces, our hands linked. My mind was still on the morning’s work. The book was coming along well now and today, at last, Matthew had seemed to be more in the swing of it than at any time since Kate’s arrival at Touchstone.
‘Mike,’ I said idly, ‘what would make you murder someone?’
As I spoke he stumbled at my side and swore, bending down to rub his ankle.
‘Have you sprained it?’ I asked anxiously.
‘I don’t think so. Some goddamned rabbit hole.’ His face had whitened.
‘Sit down for a while and rest it,’ I urged. ‘We’re not in any hurry.’ Cautiously he lowered himself to the grass and I began to rub his ankle with gentle fingers.
‘What were you saying before I tripped?’
I smiled apologetically. ‘I asked what would make you commit murder.’
‘Does that pass nowadays for small talk?’
‘Suppose there’s a wealthy old man living alone. You decide to murder him. You go along to his flat and hit him over the head with an ornament. Now, the million dollar question is, why? He reached down suddenly, pushing his hand off his ankle, and looking up in surprise, I saw his face was livid. ‘Oh, I’m sorry!’ I exclaimed. ‘Am I making it worse? Wait here while I run back and phone for a taxi to take you home.’
’I’m all right. You pressed on a tender spot, that’s
all.’
‘But it might be badly sprained. We’ll have to abandon the walk.’
‘Nonsense, it will ease in a minute or two. It’ll only stiffen if I don’t use it.’ He gave me a crooked smile. ‘You were asking why I murdered someone.’
‘Oh yes. Was it love, fear, jealousy – but hardly, an old man! – greed, or revenge?’
‘You said he was wealthy; surely it would be for gain?’
‘You’d think so,’ I agreed, frowning, ‘but he wasn’t robbed.’
‘So this isn’t a hypothetical case?’
‘Oh no, it really happened.’
’And you’re playing detective? Well, the only other thing I can think of is that one was blackmailing the other.’
‘That’s a possibility, I suppose.’
He looked at me with a quizzical smile. Are you going to explain this extraordinary conversation?’
‘Oh I’m sorry – didn’t I say? It’s Matthew’s novel.’
‘Matthew’s – novel!’ He started to laugh, and I looked at him in surprise. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘that’s a relief! I was beginning to think you had me on a murder rap!’
I smiled. ‘No wonder you were looking worried!’
‘Just a minute, though; you said this really happened?’
‘The old man was actually killed, yes, but that’s only the starting point. Matthew’s invented a cast of characters and given them all different motives, to try to work out who might have done it.’
‘But who did in real life?’
‘We don’t know; the murderer hasn’t been found.’
‘Well, without being obtuse, how will Matthew know when he hits on the right motive?’
I considered for a moment. ‘I don’t suppose he will.’
‘Then it strikes me as rather a pointless exercise.’
‘But it’s a novel, Mike; he’s not interested in who did it so much as why. He’s not a policeman, after all,’ I added, remembering Matthew’s comment to Mrs Statton.
Mike made a move to get up, and I put my hand under his arm to help him. Gingerly he stood, putting all his weight on the uninjured foot. Then he lowered the other, testing it. After a moment he straightened and smiled at me.
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