Fear in the Sunlight (Josephine Tey Mystery 4)

by Nicola Upson

  ‘Over here on the gravel. Apart from anything else, it’ll be easier for people to see him – those who follow us up from the hotel.’

  ‘You’ll be there to stop them getting too close, though? We don’t want anyone to know it’s a gag until we’ve had our fun.’

  ‘Of course. It’ll be easy to cut them off at the gate by the Bell Tower. Except for the steps up from the terrace, it’s the only entry point to this courtyard. No one will be able to see that his bruised and broken body is neither bruised nor broken.’

  Hitchcock looked sceptical. ‘Unless the idiot moves.’

  ‘I think the amount you’re paying him to lie still will do the trick.’

  ‘Good. I’ll gather everyone together on the terrace at around midday. Mr Turnbull will be in the Bell Tower by then?’

  ‘Absolutely. If he stands on the fourth level – under the bell, where the brick changes to stone, see?’ Hitchcock nodded. ‘If he stands there and leans out a little, he can be easily spotted from the front of the hotel, and he can see you. All you need to do is draw attention to him a couple of times to make sure everyone knows he’s up there.’

  ‘That’s easy enough.’

  ‘Then we need to make everyone believe that he’s jumped. When you’re ready, give Turnbull the signal.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘Oh, something simple that’s plain enough for him not to miss. Why not just stand up? That’s ordinary, but there’s no mistaking it from a distance and it will tell him it’s time to make his way down the steps and take his position outside. When you see he’s gone from the balcony and you’re sure everyone’s looking at you, just tell them what you want them to believe. By the time we get up there, it’ll look as if everything’s happened exactly as you said.’

  ‘Turnbull will be there by then?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve timed it. It takes two minutes to get up here from the hotel, plus an extra few seconds for the shock to register with everyone. Turnbull will be able to get down those steps easily in that time, even if he’s had a couple of drinks. And the other advantage of having his body on the gravel is that no one will see him getting into position. It’s a blind spot from anywhere but here.’

  ‘Splendid. You’ve thought of everything.’ Pleased, he slapped David affectionately on the shoulder and turned to go back inside. ‘It’s his most appropriate role yet, don’t you think? Whoever would have imagined that Leyton Turnbull would stage such a dramatic comeback so late in his career? Bella will be livid. She’s worked so hard to destroy him.’ He glanced at David, trying to gauge his reaction, but David pretended not to notice; he was determined not to lose his composure again. ‘And there’ll be a full supporting cast for dinner?’ Hitchcock asked, when he saw that David wasn’t going to rise to the bait.

  ‘Oh yes. Everyone’s here now.’

  ‘Excellent.’

  ‘At least, everyone I know about.’ Just because David was party to most of the director’s jokes, it didn’t rule out the possibility that there would be a little surprise or two planned for him over the weekend: Hitch was nothing if not egalitarian in his manipulation of people’s lives. The director raised an eyebrow and smiled, but gave nothing more away. ‘You haven’t said anything about what you intend to do afterwards,’ David said as they walked back across the grass towards the Watch House.

  ‘Sit back and watch, Mr Franks. Sit back and watch.’

  ‘But what do you hope to get out of all this? It’s a lot of trouble to go to for a gag.’

  ‘Call it an experiment in guilt and fear. Put simply, I want to know how people will behave when they think a man’s death might be their fault.’

  It was always a mistake to second-guess Hitchcock’s motivations, but his reply genuinely surprised David. ‘Why would they think that?’ he asked.

  ‘Because by the time Mr Turnbull goes to bed, he’ll have been insulted, humiliated or threatened by everyone around that dinner table.’

  ‘You can’t rely on that, surely? Astrid Lake doesn’t seem the type to bully anyone. Spence wouldn’t think he was important enough to make the effort, and even Bella . . .’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I know she loathes him, but squabbling over a dinner table is a bit beneath her.’

  ‘Is it? We’ll see. And I’m touched by your faith in human restraint, but I’m afraid I don’t share it.’ He gave David a wry smile, and there was a flicker of challenge in his eyes as he sat back down under the shade of the loggia roof. ‘Perhaps we should have our own little bet? That drawing you admired last time you came to dinner in Cromwell Road – the Sickert that’s hanging in the hall.’ David nodded. Art was Hitchcock’s most expensive indulgence, and he had an enviable collection of paintings, drawings and sculpture – bought, as a rule, to celebrate the success of a particular film. ‘If anyone shows the sort of self-control you credit them with tonight, the picture’s yours.’ He held out his hand to shake on the wager. ‘Alma is exempt from the agreement, of course. A gentleman should never bet on his wife.’

  ‘It’s too easy, sir. All I have to do to win is keep my mouth shut.’

  ‘But you won’t.’

  He spoke with a confidence that disarmed David. ‘What do you want from me if I lose?’ he asked cautiously.

  ‘Whatever you choose to give. That’s for you to decide.’

  David accepted the gamble but felt strangely apprehensive as he stood to leave. ‘I’d better go and find Turnbull,’ he said, picking his keys up from the table. ‘Just to make sure he knows what he’s doing.’

  ‘Take this with you.’ Hitchcock collected a book from the bed and threw it over to him. It was a proof copy and there was no cover illustration to indicate what it might be about, but David glanced through the opening pages, intrigued by its unusual title. ‘A little holiday reading for you – it looks like this will be our next project if the Madame gets her own way.’ They exchanged a glance that suggested she usually did. ‘You’ll see it opens with a death. I’ve been thinking while I was sitting on the balcony‚ we could even do that scene here. The tide goes out so quickly once it starts. Imagine the water receding to reveal a body lying on the beach, a woman in a swimming costume, her white bathing cap picked out in the sun. There’s a belt next to her, curling snakelike in the sand as the last of the water drains away – and we know immediately that it’s been used to strangle her.’ David looked out across the estuary, and the image was as clear to him as if he were looking at a photograph. ‘Two girls come out of the hotel, dressed for an early-morning walk across to the island. It’s the perfect day – carefree, hopeful, innocent. Then they spot the body, seagulls circling overhead. They open their mouths to scream, but all we hear is the frenzied screeching of those birds.’

  There was nothing quite like being around Hitchcock when his imagination was given free rein, and David lived for the excitement of moments like this. No one ever really believed the director when he said that the most rewarding part of any film for him was the preparation, but it was true: a meticulous planner, Hitch put all his energies into storyboarding a picture, developing the script and conceiving the special effects; after that, the filming itself was a matter of routine‚ and to say he sometimes looked bored was not an exaggeration. ‘Whose body is it?’ David asked, already drawn into the story.

  ‘An actress.’ He pursed his lips. ‘Yes, I know, there are moments when we all feel that way. But it doesn’t really matter who the body is – we won’t be using much of the rest of the story. There are a couple of characters worth keeping: a young girl, a wrongly accused man, a tinker. We’ll have to do some work on him.’

  ‘A tinker?’

  ‘Yes. A tramp, a gypsy, a gentleman of the road. Whatever you want to call them.’

  ‘You want to make a film about a wrongly accused tinker?’

  David’s incredulous tone seemed to amuse Hitchcock. ‘No, it’s not the tinker who’s wrongly accused – it’s the love interest. But the tramp’s vital to the outcom
e, so we have to get him right. Do you remember how much research we did on Blackmail? How we plagued Scotland Yard to get the proper procedures for arresting and charging a man?’ David nodded. ‘Well, it paid off‚ and this has to be the same. I might even do it myself this time. I could find out what really happens when a tramp spends a night in a hostel.’ He must have seen the look of disbelief on David’s face, because he added‚ ‘I’m not joking, you know. It might be fun to be an actor for a bit. What do you think? We could do it together, perhaps.’

  ‘I think the genuine article might consider you a little too well fed to be convincing.’

  Hitchcock roared with laughter. ‘Yes, you’re right, of course, and I’d never have the willpower to be credible.’ He walked David to the door, and it was a relief, suddenly, to be leaving. ‘Don’t tell Mr Turnbull quite everything, will you?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘And make sure Bella’s invited to dinner.’

  David closed the door behind him and walked back to the darkness of the Bell Tower, where he could sit for a moment without anyone seeing him. He closed his eyes and the anger began to subside. When he opened them, he saw a trickle of blood on the pages of the book and realised that he had been clutching his keys so tightly that the metal had pierced his skin.

  10

  Josephine walked along the coastal path, a little way behind Marta and Lydia. The well-trodden route skirted the edge of a vast woodland area and was lined on the seaward side with sloe bushes, whose fruits were just starting to form. Marta was quiet, she noticed, while Lydia chatted easily about anything that came into her head, and Josephine found her presence unexpectedly reassuring: left alone, she and Marta had behaved like strangers afraid of getting to know each other, and the distance between them hurt her more than she had ever imagined it might.

  She glanced through the rich green of rhododendron leaves into the sun-streaked darkness of the woods and marvelled at the way in which – even on one of the busiest weekends of the year – Portmeirion’s network of woodland paths and beautiful garden walks meant that there was always peace to be found somewhere. Idly, she picked a sloe from one of the bushes and crushed it between her fingers, glad of the time to think. Perhaps she had been wrong to avoid Marta so resolutely over the last few months. If they had seen each other more often, this paralysing shyness might never have developed, or would at least have been resolved by now. Letters were all very well but – passionate and eloquent though they were – they had allowed her to intellectualise her love for Marta, almost as if it were happening to someone else. But looking at her now, Josephine could no longer hide behind words and reasoning. Her longing for Marta was the most intensely physical thing she had ever known, and it left her feeling needy and exposed.

  Marta chose that moment to turn and wait for her, and her timing was so uncanny that Josephine could almost believe that she had spoken her thoughts aloud. She felt herself blush, and Marta smiled. ‘Penny for them,’ she said, but the playful look in her eyes made it clear that she didn’t need to pay to know what Josephine was thinking. ‘And I’ll go higher if pushed.’

  ‘No prizes for guessing that one, surely,’ Lydia said, squeezing Josephine’s arm affectionately. ‘She’ll be plotting how best to tackle the Hitchcocks. Any suggestions?’

  ‘Do it quickly.’ Marta pointed up ahead, to where a small white terrier was standing belligerently in the middle of the path, barking fiercely. ‘I’m sure that’s one of their dogs.’ They cleared the trees and walked out onto the headland that formed Portmeirion’s most southerly point. ‘Yes, that’s Alma on the rock.’

  Josephine shaded her eyes from the sun, and looked with interest at Alma Reville. She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting, but it was something far more daunting than this petite young redhead, dressed unconventionally in a perfectly tailored trouser suit. Alma had a camera, and was engrossed in taking a photograph across the water. Much to Josephine’s relief, the director’s wife seemed far more interested in the composition of her picture than in anything going on around her. ‘At least she hasn’t seen us,’ she said, turning to go. ‘If we head back now, we won’t have to speak to her.’

  Lydia caught her arm. ‘Why on earth don’t you want to speak to her?’ she asked, making no effort to hide her astonishment.

  Josephine knew her behaviour was absurd‚ and she didn’t need Lydia to point it out, particularly in front of Marta. ‘Because I’m not in the mood,’ she said stubbornly. ‘It’s far too hot to haggle‚ and‚ anyway, I don’t want to have to think about it today. Being forty’s bad enough,’ she added, trying to make light of her nerves. ‘At least let me deal with one crisis at a time.’

  ‘Don’t knock forty,’ Marta said, winking at her. ‘You know what they say.’

  ‘And if you pull this one off, it’ll be the best birthday present you’ve ever had.’ Lydia turned conspiratorially to Marta. ‘For God’s sake, darling, talk some sense into her.’

  Josephine looked defiantly at Marta, daring her to take Lydia’s side. ‘We could just say hello,’ Marta suggested diplomatically. ‘You won’t be able to avoid it at dinner, and it might be less of an ordeal if you break the ice now, when she’s on her own.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ Josephine admitted, although her inclination was still to put off the moment for as long as possible.

  ‘And I honestly think you’ll like her. Anyway, from what I can see, you’re not bothered whether this happens or not so you’ve got nothing to lose. Let Alma do the running.’ Marta grinned. ‘Just sit back and enjoy being courted.’

  ‘Not everything in life works like that,’ Lydia muttered. ‘Sometimes a little effort goes a long way.’

  ‘And sometimes things will happen if they’re meant to,’ Marta countered.

  ‘I’m not sure your blasé outlook on life necessarily applies to the film world.’

  ‘Which you know so much about, of course.’

  ‘Oh, let’s get it over with,’ Josephine said hurriedly, keen to stifle an argument which was no longer about Alma Reville. In any case, the matter had already been taken out of her hands. Another dog – a spaniel – lay at Alma’s feet, offering nothing more energetic in the heat than a lazy wag of the tail; when it struggled to its feet, the movement seemed to be more noteworthy than all the terrier’s efforts at attention, and Alma turned to see what the fuss was about. She waved when she recognised Marta and came over to greet them, slinging the camera casually over her shoulder.

  ‘I’m afraid you’ve caught me in the middle of some shameless sightseeing,’ she said, and Josephine detected the faintest trace of a Midlands accent. ‘These gardens are magnificent. I don’t know whether to despair or be inspired; it puts my efforts to shame.’ She kissed Marta on both cheeks and waited for her to make the introductions. Her enthusiasm was attractive, and Josephine liked her instantly for her lack of affectation; most people in her position would feel obliged to play up to the role that her husband’s fame had forced on her, but there was a quiet self-confidence about Hitchcock’s wife which made that unnecessary and which, Josephine suspected, rarely looked to anyone else for approval.

  ‘Miss Tey – it’s lovely to meet you at last,’ she said. ‘And you, Miss Beaumont. My husband and I saw you in Out of the Dark at the Ambassadors earlier this year. I hoped I might have an opportunity to tell you how much we enjoyed it.’

  Lydia looked pleased, if a little taken aback. ‘You’re part of quite a select band,’ she said dryly. ‘We only ran for a fortnight. But I’m glad you liked it.’

  ‘Yes, very much. And we loved Richard of Bordeaux, of course, but there’s nothing very select about that – half the country must have seen it.’

  ‘I’m surprised you go so often,’ Josephine said. ‘Now that the screen is the medium of the future.’

  ‘Ah, you read that interview.’ Alma looked approvingly at her, and conceded a smile. ‘Hitch and I have both been going to the theatre since we were children, and it’s
a very hard habit to break once it’s in your blood. He has a professional interest in ringing its death knell, of course, but between you and me he sees more plays than films. In fact, he’s saying no to America at the moment on the basis of our daughter Patricia, our house at Shamley Green and the fact that we can nip across to the West End whenever we like – and not necessarily in that order.’ She called the terrier to heel, rescuing another couple from a barrage of barked abuse; the spaniel had never left her side, and Josephine noticed that both dogs seemed to adore her. ‘Jenky’s a bit affronted,’ she explained, bending down to put his lead on. ‘We were walking through the woods and stumbled on some sort of dog cemetery. Now he’s behaving as if I were trying to tell him something. But anyway, I hope you can see a future of some sort in film, Miss Tey, because we have some business to discuss.’

  ‘Of course. I’m here until Monday, so whenever you and your husband are free.’

  ‘Why don’t we talk first? If Hitch is involved, he’ll launch straight into camera shots and you and I will wonder why we’re there at all.’ Josephine agreed, hoping her relief didn’t show. ‘Good. Tonight would be best. He’s got something up his sleeve for the rest of the weekend, so I’ve no idea what will happen but it probably won’t be peaceful. Shall we have a cocktail before dinner? I’ll meet you in the hotel at six.’ Without waiting for a reply, Alma turned to Marta and Lydia, and Josephine wondered if the rest of the negotiations were going to be any more mutual. ‘And I’ll see you both later, I hope. Perhaps you’d all like to join us for coffee? You never know, we might have a deal to celebrate by then.’

  She turned and walked back in the direction of the hotel, and Marta quickly squeezed Josephine’s hand. ‘Did you tell her I was dreading this?’ Josephine asked. ‘I didn’t expect her to be quite so gentle with me.’

  ‘I don’t know her well enough for that, but there was no need for me to say anything. She hates people as much as you do.’