The House on the Cliff

by Charlotte Williams

  “Let’s sit down.” I indicated the bench and we went over. It was a good place to be. The metal seat of the bench was warm from the sun. I scanned the river for herons, but I could see none.

  Arianrhod sighed. It was a deep, exhausted sigh. Then she began. “Well, Gwydion’s remembered more about the trip on the boat that day. He’s told me everything. He didn’t just hear what happened. He saw it all, too.” She paused, registering my surprise. “He says that, when he heard the shouting, he crept up on deck. He put his head out of the hatch for a moment, to see what was going on. Evan and Elsa didn’t notice him. They had their backs to him, and they were struggling with each other. Elsa was fighting, screaming, but he wouldn’t let go. So she kicked him, hard, in the balls. He was furious, so he came at her. She was sitting on the edge of the boat. She tried to hold on, but he pushed her over the side into the sea.”

  Her voice trembled and she came to a halt. I looked down and saw that she was picking at her sleeve, anxiously rubbing and twisting the fabric between her fingers.

  “Go on,” I said.

  “Just before she fell in, she caught Gwydion’s eye and screamed at him for help. Evan looked round, but Gwydion ducked his head down into the hatch again and went straight back to his bunk. He lay down and waited there, his eyes tight shut, until Evan righted the boat and they sailed on.”

  “And he didn’t tell you anything about it when he got home?”

  “No. Not a word. But I noticed . . .” She paused. “He was never the same with Evan after that. They’d never been close, but from then on he seemed to be terrified of him.”

  I was puzzled. I wondered why Gwydion hadn’t told me all this himself.

  “So this has all come out in the last few days, has it? Since I saw you at Creigfa House?”

  Arianrhod nodded. “It’s just been such a shock.” She shivered, hugging herself against the cold. “I can’t believe my own husband would . . .” She didn’t finish her sentence, but let it hang there, miserably, in midair.

  “Of course, I’d never have covered up for him if I’d known,” she went on. ‘He told me that he’d taken her out there, and they’d been sailing along, and then she’d just decided, on an impulse, to dive into the water and swim home.”

  There was a silence. Eventually I broke it, as tactfully as I could.

  “Well, you knew that Evan had taken Elsa out on the boat to seduce her, didn’t you? That he’d probably provoked the situation?”

  Arianrhod stared out at the river. “You must understand . . . if you live with that kind of thing, day after day, you learn to ignore it. You have to.”

  She put her hand up to her face and covered her eyes. Her gesture reminded me of Gwydion.

  “And you knew he was a drunk. And had a foul temper.” I tried to sound as gentle as I could, but facts are facts, and Arianrhod had done her best, for years apparently, to avoid them.

  “Of course.” She lowered her head. “I was on the receiving end of it most of the time. That’s another thing you learn to put up with.” She paused. “But I didn’t think he was capable of . . .”

  She stopped short of saying “murder,” but the silence between us spoke volumes.

  “Even so, even before you knew, it was wrong to cover up for him, wasn’t it? You shouldn’t have lied to the police. To the girl’s mother.”

  She began to sob quietly. I opened my bag, took out a tissue, and handed it over. I do it without thinking these days. Every other person I meet seems to burst into tears when they talk to me.

  “I know.” Arianrhod’s voice was muffled by the tissue. “I feel terrible about it. But now . . . now it’s all going to come out.”

  “Come out? How d’you mean?”

  She wiped her eyes and blew her nose. Then she turned to face me. “Gwydion’s decided to go to the police. He wants to press charges. He’s going to tell them that Evan killed Elsa Lindberg.”

  It took me a moment to register what she’d said. I knew Gwydion was angry with his father, but I was surprised that he’d decided to take it this far. Surprised, and . . . rather proud of him. Gwydion was facing his demons, at last. And he’d done it under his own steam, without any prompting from anyone, as far as I could see.

  “Well, good for him,” I said.

  Arianrhod didn’t seem to be listening. “It’ll completely ruin Evan, of course. When all this gets out. Ruin . . . us.” She paused.

  I nodded slowly, taking in for the first time what it would mean to her if Gwydion decided to take Evan to court: quite simply, the total destruction of her family, of everything she’d spent her entire adult life protecting. Her husband and only son were about to go to war, in public, over a sordid crime that, whatever the outcome, would rake up a ton of muck and end up humiliating her almost as deeply as it would Evan. How much easier it would be for her, I thought, to kick over the traces, persuade Gwydion not to act.

  “But still, it’s the right thing to do.” She seemed resigned to her fate. “And I must support my son.”

  “That’s very brave of you.”

  “The thing is, I’m not sure the police are going to believe him.” Arianrhod lifted her head and gazed out at the river. “It all happened so long ago. And he’s the only witness.”

  I followed her gaze.

  “He was only six years old at the time,” she went on. “Then there’s the fact that he’d forgotten it all for so long. And only remembered it now.

  “Of course . . .” She hesitated for a moment. “It would help if you could . . .” She stopped.

  “Could what?” I turned to her, puzzled.

  She took a deep breath. Then her words came out in a rush. “Dr. Mayhew, I’ve come to ask if you could act as a witness when it comes to trial. An expert witness.”

  I was taken aback. “Me? But . . .”

  “We’ll need you to explain how he came to remember what happened. Through the dream. Under therapy. How you led him to discover . . .”

  “I didn’t lead him, he did it for himself.” I thought back. “We had very few sessions together, in fact.”

  “Yes. But you’ve helped him so much. Been so kind to us. Coming down to visit when he was so . . . unwell.”

  I was touched at how grateful she seemed. I realized how isolated she must have felt, trying to cope with her errant husband and fragile son.

  “Well, I’ll do what I can, of course.” I paused. “I’m happy to report on our sessions, if that’s what you want.” I shifted uncomfortably. The metal seat on the bench was beginning to feel hard and cold. “But I’m not sure it’ll be a great help. There really isn’t a lot to tell.”

  “Thank you.” Arianrhod smiled at me in relief. “I don’t know whether it’ll carry any weight, either. It’s going to be tough. But it’s good to know someone’s on our side.”

  I smiled back somewhat guardedly. Then I looked at my watch. “I’m going to have to get back to the office now, I’m afraid.”

  “Of course. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

  “Not at all.”

  We got up to leave.

  “But next time, Arianrhod,” I said, as we walked off back down the path. “Do me a favor. Ring up and make an appointment in advance, would you?”

  “This doesn’t ring true to me, Jess.”

  Bob and I were talking over dinner. The children had got up and gone off to watch television, leaving us at the dining table.

  I hadn’t told him everything about my conversation with Arianrhod. And I’d given him an edited version of the events leading up to it. I hadn’t told him about my visits to the Morgan place, or—obviously—what had happened on the beach with Gwydion last time I was there. And I hadn’t told him about my meeting with Solveig Lindberg in Stockholm either, though I had a feeling that, sooner or later, I was going to have to. I’d just outlined the bare bones of the story, told him that an ex-client of mine, Gwydion Morgan, was planning to take his father, Evan, to court for a suspected murder that he’d seen him
commit as a child, and that he’d begun to remember under therapy with me. I’d also explained that Arianrhod, Gwydion’s mother, had visited me that morning and asked me to be an expert witness in the trial when it came to court, and that I wasn’t sure what to do.

  “I’ve known Evan for years. I’ve worked with him at the Assembly, he was a consultant on our arts funding strategy. I just don’t believe that he’d commit a murder and then cover it up,” Bob went on. “It sounds completely out of character. . . .”

  I’d never been asked to be an expert witness in a trial before, and I was beginning to have second thoughts about having agreed, in principle, to help. Bob’s a lawyer; he understands this kind of thing, and I don’t. Which was why I was asking his advice.

  “I mean, everyone knows he drinks too much, that he can be bad-tempered. And he has a colorful love life, of course.” Bob gave a wry smile. “Back in the day, before I met you, I used to go down to his parties at Creigfa House. There were always lots of gorgeous women clustered around him, would-be actresses and the like.” He sighed. “He was a randy old dog, I’m not denying that. But he’s a decent man at heart. I’ve always admired him. He’s phenomenally cultured. Talented. And generous. Those parties really were a mecca for anyone doing anything interesting in Wales. He’s done so much for the country, for the Assembly. . . .”

  “Oh, I see.” I could feel my temper rising. “So just because he’s done a lot for the Assembly he can screw every woman in sight and get away with it, can he? Even though he’s a married man.”

  Bob looked surprised at my outburst. Then he began to realize he was treading on dangerous territory.

  “Well, no. Of course not. All I’m saying is that he may have his faults, but I can’t believe he’s a murderer. Or a liar.”

  “So why would his wife say he was, if he wasn’t?”

  “I don’t know. She’s a strange woman, by all accounts.” He paused. “She’s probably jealous. She’s had a tough time, I should think, and it’s taken its toll.”

  “And the son? Why would he be gunning for his father as well?”

  “Well, perhaps he’s taking his mother’s side. These things go on in families. . . .”

  “Bob, a young girl drowned out at sea,” I cut in. “She was nineteen. Evan Morgan was trying to seduce her. His son saw the pair of them fighting on a boat shortly before she died.” I gave an exasperated sigh. “Aren’t we owed an explanation? However great a man Evan may be?”

  “Yes, of course.” Bob lowered his voice, responding to the frustration in my tone. “Her death needs to be fully investigated. Evidently, it wasn’t at the time.” He paused. “But I’m just not convinced by this evidence you’ve come up with. I think we need to hear Evan’s side of the story.”

  I didn’t respond.

  “And if I were you,” he went on, “I wouldn’t commit myself to anything.”

  “Well, thanks for your advice.” I tried to sound polite. “But I think I’m going to, all the same.”

  Bob finished eating, got up from the table, went over to the sink, and rinsed his hands.

  “OK. As you wish.” Then he added, as he dried his hands on the towel, “And I’m going to get in touch with Evan. I’d like to talk this over with him and find out what this is really all about.”

  Although his voice remained calm, I sensed he was angry, but I said nothing as he turned and walked out of the kitchen. Just as he did, Nella came in.

  She went over to the fridge, opened the door, and peered inside. “There’s never anything to eat in this house.”

  “Yes there is.” I waved at the fruit bowl on the sideboard.

  “Biscuits?”

  “We’re trying to cut down on them. For Dad. There are some crackers, if you like. Cheese . . .”

  “OK, OK.” She shut the fridge door, went over to the sideboard, and picked up a banana.

  “How’s the homework going?”

  She shrugged.

  “Need any help with anything?”

  She shook her head and made for the door. Just before she left she turned and said, “Oh, by the way, Mum, I’m going to London on Saturday with Tamsin.” Her tone was casual. “For the audition.”

  “Oh yes?” I tried to sound casual, too. “How are you getting there?”

  “Tamsin’s mother is going to take us on the train. She’ll drop us off, do some shopping, and then collect us.”

  I thought for a moment.

  “Is Emyr going to travel up with you?”

  “No.”

  “Why’s that?”

  Nella scowled. “Because I knew you wouldn’t let me go with him.”

  “Did you tell him that?”

  “Of course not. I don’t want him to know I’m treated like a child at home.” The scowl softened. “I just said I’d be fine going without him, and he accepted that. He’s quite busy at the moment, anyway.”

  I thought that was odd, but I let it pass.

  “So where’s the audition being held?”

  “The Bush Theatre. The producer, Tony Andreou, works there.”

  I considered the matter for a moment.

  “Well, that sounds all right,” I said eventually. “But are you sure you wouldn’t like Dad and me to drive you up? We’d love to see you do your audition and meet Mr. Andreou.”

  “No thanks.”

  There was a short silence.

  “So what time’s the audition?” I asked.

  Nella shifted from foot to foot. “I’m not sure yet. They haven’t fixed it.”

  “Oh?”

  “The thing is, if this producer is running late, I may have to stay overnight.”

  “Where would you stay?” I kept my tone level.

  “He could put me up at his house.”

  There was another silence. Then I said what she knew I was going to say.

  “I’m sorry, Nella. You can go up to London with Tamsin and her mother for the day.” I paused. I hated to spoil her fun, but there was no doubt in my mind. “But you’ll have to come back with them. If this producer wants to see you so much, he can see you in the daytime.”

  “But he may not be able to . . .”

  “Well then, Dad and I will take you up in the car and wait. But you’re not staying the night. And that’s final.”

  Normally Nella would have argued. But she knew that in this case I wasn’t going to budge, so she didn’t try.

  “I’m sorry, darling,” I went on. “I really am. But it’s just not on. You know that.”

  She didn’t reply. Instead, she threw the banana at the sideboard and flounced out of the door, slamming it behind her.

  The banana hit the edge of the sideboard and landed on the floor beside it. I walked over, picked it up, and for a moment felt like hurling it at the door, after her. But instead I calmly put it back in the fruit bowl, beside the rest of the bunch.

  13

  It was Saturday and I was shopping in the market. Upstairs, in the pet section, to be precise. Nella had gone to London for the day, to audition with the producer. I’d wanted to phone him and talk to him in more detail about the arrangements, but she’d begged me not to. I hadn’t wanted to embarrass her so instead, I’d given her strict instructions to return home with Tamsin and her mother on the train, even if it meant missing the audition. In the meantime, as the hours ticked by, I was struggling to take my mind off the situation, so I’d taken Rose out to the market. She wanted to buy a rabbit. She’d been pestering me about it for weeks, and I’d finally relented.

  It’s a funny old place, Cardiff market, a great covered building with wrought-iron doors and a glass ceiling, like a Victorian railway station, and inside, a smell of burned fat, and butchery, and wet fish, and old leather, and cut flowers. Downstairs you’ll find the butchers, the pigs’ heads arranged in rows like an audience at the theater, with the prices pinned to their ears, and the fish counter, where along with the scary deep-sea monsters, you can get freshly caught local cockles and crabs and laver b
read, that weird, green, salty, slimy seaweed stuff that’s supposed to be a delicacy here. There’s a haberdasher’s, where I often stop to buy buttons, zips, and bias binding, that sells the types of fabric you thought went out with the sixties: yards of nylon lace for net curtains, rolls of brightly patterned Crimplene for dresses, brushed cotton for nighties and pajamas. There’s no concession to the present: the leather-goods stores sell cheap, old-fashioned handbags; suitcases without wheels; straps for watches of the non-digital kind. And upstairs, in the gallery above, it gets even more recherché: there’s the ancient secondhand record shop with a life-sized figure of Elvis at the entrance; and beside it, the palm-reader’s, where a middle-aged woman with a plastic flower in her dyed black hair flits mysteriously in and out of view, between a pair of purple velvet curtains; and next to that, the greasy spoon, where a selection of hard-bitten men who look like the descendants of Steptoe and Son drink steaming mugs of tea, eating bacon, eggs, and beans, and read the racing papers. And opposite that, the pet shop, where Rose and I were standing, looking at the caged songbirds, the newborn kittens, the twitch-nosed rabbits, the crazily coiffured guinea pigs, the blind baby mice, and the fat white rats with their disturbingly long, pink tails.

  “Cruel, isn’t it? Keeping them cooped up like that.”

  I turned round. The woman who was speaking to me was in her sixties, well dressed, with immaculately cut and colored hair. She was accompanied by a dapper-looking man, slightly older, and equally well turned out.

  It took me a moment to recognize her.

  “Jean.” I paused. “Gosh. You look . . . you do look well.”

  “Thank you.” Jean smiled. “This is Windsor.”

  I nodded at her companion. He nodded back, but didn’t say anything. Instead he went over to one of the cages and looked at the rabbits with Rose.

  “That must be your daughter,” Jean said.

  “Yes. Rose. My youngest.” I tilted my head toward Windsor. “Is that . . . ?”