Windward Crest

by Anne Hampson

  She nodded understandingly, paused a moment and then,

  ‘Have you never thought of marrying again?’

  ‘My wife hasn’t been dead very long.’

  ‘But you were separated. You never wanted a divorce—?’ She stopped, then added apologetically, ‘I shouldn’t have asked you that. Tell me to mind my own business, Jake.’

  He smiled in the dimness of the car.

  ‘I appreciate your concern, so why should I tell you to mind your own business? No, Dominie, I never thought of divorce, even though I had for a long time been resigned to the fact that there was no hope of a reconciliation.’

  ‘Would you marry now—if you met someone nice?’

  He turned his head, to look oddly at her. His expression was revealed in the lights flaring forth from an hotel they were passing and she frowned in puzzlement.

  ‘For companionship, you mean? I’m getting on, my dear.’ These words only added to her perplexity; he was only fifty-one, which was still quite young, for a man.

  ‘I don’t consider you old, Jake,’ she returned gently, and a curious little silence ensued.

  ‘You don’t?’ he said musingly at last. ‘You really mean that, Dominie?’

  ‘Most certainly I do. And what you are in years doesn’t matter anyway. It’s how you look and feel. You look so young—and the way you play with the children—Indeed you’re not old,’ she told him with emphasis.

  ‘It’s quite true that I don’t feel old,’ he agreed, and lapsed into a strange silence for a while. ‘I shall have to think about it, my dear. Yes, I certainly shall.’

  ‘About remarrying?’ she queried eagerly, thoughts racing on ahead to produce a picture of a radiant Erica as a bride.

  To her surprise Jake seemed to frown at this eagerness; she gained the impression that he was rather amazed that she should betray it. And to strengthen this impression was the long hesitation that took place before he answered,

  ‘Yes, Dominie, about remarrying.’ But he then immediately changed the subject, and to her disappointment Dominie could find no opportunity of bringing in her little piece about Erica, and how attractive she was, and how the children had taken to her.

  On their arrival home Molly was still up, but just about to go to bed. They both looked inquiringly at her.

  ‘Geoffrey had the toothache,’ she explained before Jake could put his question. ‘He’s been in dreadful pain, poor mite, and I brought him downstairs and put pepper on it—’

  ‘Pepper?’ exclaimed Dominie and Jake together.

  ‘An old-fashioned remedy,’ Molly told them gravely, her big eyes rolling in her dusky face. ‘He screamed, I must admit, but the heat cured him.’

  ‘It did?’ gasped Dominie, amazed.

  ‘Oh yes, it cured him. But he was wide awake and so I sat with him and we looked at pictures.’ Molly had met them in the hall and she glanced towards the sitting-room. ‘I forgot to put the book away, Mr. Harris, I’ll do it before I go to bed—’ She broke off and yawned. ‘It’s the book Mr. de Arden brought over for them once, the book with all the pretty pictures of fairies and flowers and animals that his sister made—a scrapbook, he said it was when I asked him. I’ll go and put it away,’ she said again. ‘Mr. de Arden said at the time that it must be taken care of.’ She would have gone off to the sitting-room, but on seeing her yawn again Jake told her to go to bed.

  ‘I’ll see that the book’s put away in a safe place. Good night, Molly, and thank you for seeing to Geoffrey.’

  ‘That’s all right, Mr. Harris—and don’t forget if ever you have the toothache: plenty of pepper!’

  ‘Pepper,’ whispered Dominie, her amused eyes following Molly up the stairs. ‘Poor Geoffrey!’

  ‘He’s survived, obviously,’ laughed Jake as he led the way into the sitting-room. ‘Molly’s a case; she has the oddest remedies, but I must admit that nine times out of ten they’re effective.’

  ‘I shall have to take Geoffrey to the dentist in the morning. We can’t have him in pain.’

  Jake stood by the couch and picked up the scrapbook lying there. Dominie stood by the door, not having entered the room and, looking up, Jake said,

  ‘You’re for bed?’

  ‘I’m not a bit tired,’ she owned, and came into the room.

  ‘Let’s have a drink, then.’ He poured it, while Dominie sat down on the couch and picked up the book which Jake had put down. Idly she flipped the pages, thinking of the little girl who had pasted in the pictures, so very neatly. Jake took a seat beside her and half-drew the book on to his own knee.

  ‘Fairies and toadstools and gnomes,’ he mused. ‘How we all loved them when we were small! Fantasy ... and childhood ... No other time in one’s life comes up to it, Dominie—for at that time we really and truly believe. When we grow older and receive the knocks that disillusion us we cease to believe and there’s no more magic left.’

  She swallowed. No more magic ... Loving someone was magic.

  She flipped more pages, handling the book as if it were something sacred.

  ‘She was so careful. Look at the way she’s cut round these flowers.’

  Jake nodded, and flipped another page.

  ‘Babes in the Wood. She’s cut round every leaf separately, and almost covered the children with them.’

  ‘And more leaves falling from the tree.’ Sadness swept through Dominie and she had no wish to see any more of the child’s work. But Jake was turning page after page until the end was reached. And there, in the back, was a large envelope.

  ‘What’s this? Cuttings she never got round to pasting in, I expect.’ Jake lifted the flap and shook the contents on to the open book. ‘No, these are nothing to do with the book ... but they are to do with Alicia. This is her picture. She was about sixteen.’ He held out the snapshot and Dominie looked at the sweet young face of her fiancé’s sister.

  ‘She was ... beautiful,’ breathed Dominie, sadness sweeping through her again. ‘And this is her about a year later, I should think?’ She picked up another snapshot from the book. ‘It’s taken at Windward Crest.’

  ‘That’s right. She’s on the terrace—at the far end; it’s a bit different now, as Rohan’s had more bushes put in.’

  He found another snapshot and handed it to Dominie, while he idly leafed through cuttings from a school magazine reporting on the skill of Alicia at games and swimming. One cutting carried a picture of a group of schoolgirls dressed in medieval costume.

  ‘It mentions here how good an actress she was,’ commented Jake, going on to say that this cutting was not from the school magazine but from the local newspaper. ‘Now what the devil’s this supposed to be?’ he said suddenly, and held the snapshot out for Dominie to see.

  ‘This...?’ She frowned and took it from him. ‘I know where this is,’ she murmured, puzzled that it should be here, among these papers which Rohan had saved. ‘It’s a snap of a place not far from where I used to live. What on earth could he want with it? There’s no one on it—and the view is scarcely one on which you’d waste a film.’ She shook her head, absently fingering a corner where the impress of a paper-clip gave evidence that something had been attached to the snapshot at one time. ‘How very strange! Imagine Rohan knowing this place.’ Turning the snapshot over, she saw, written in a bold hand, the names of the main road and the minor road leading on to it, with its halt sign clear and prominent.

  ‘I remember now,’ Jake was saying as he took the snapshot from her to scan it again. ‘This is the spot where the accident occurred. The man who witnessed it took this the following morning and posted it to Rohan, having got his address from the hospital to which Rohan took his sister, not at that time realising she was dead. The man seemed to think he was helping Rohan, that through this he might be able to do something about finding the woman, but of course it was ridiculous. In any case, Rohan was too grief-stricken to bother about a search at that time, especially when he had absolutely nothing on which to go. Apparently the woman p
ut her lights off, so it was impossible to see her number. Rohan shouldn’t keep this,’ added Jake almost angrily. ‘What good does such a reminder do?’ He was frowning at the words on the back of the snapshot, lapsing into silence as he stared at them.

  Dominie was also frowning, but unconsciously. As Jake had begun to speak strange tingles—almost imperceptible at first—swept along her spine. The sensation began slowly to take a more palpable form and she found herself shivering. Memory was returning ... Suddenly a numbness gripped her legs and her hands felt as if ice had touched them. Jake was speaking again, saying he would very much like to throw away the snapshot, as it could only hurt Rohan every time it came to light. Turning his head as he talked, he gave a start on seeing Dominie’s expression.

  ‘What on earth’s wrong with you?’ he exclaimed. ‘You look as if you’ve seen a ghost!’

  Dominie just stared, unable to speak, while every nerve in her body rioted and her heart thudded madly against her ribs. She closed her eyes, and then she heard herself speaking, disjointedly, huskily, and in tones no louder than a whisper.

  ‘I—I have something to tell you...’ She had realized she was mumbling incoherently and now she endeavoured to be more articulate. ‘But first, Jake, you must make me a solemn promise that you will never, under any circumstances, repeat what you hear to Rohan?’

  ‘Dominie ... What is this all about? You’re so white—’

  ‘The promise, Jake,’ she pleaded, driven by some urgent force to relate to someone what had happened.

  ‘Of course I promise.’

  ‘You remember my telling you about Jerry, and about my driving home afterwards?’ Jake nodded and she continued, ‘I was dreadfully ill with shock, and during that drive home I had a complete blank in my memory. All I could recall was a screech of brakes, and I’ve felt, all this time, that something important happened during those few blank moments.’ She stopped, aware of Jake’s deep puzzlement. An agonizing lump had risen in her throat and she swallowed several times in order to remove it. Her voice was no more than a whisper when at length she was able to speak. ‘I was the woman responsible for the accident that killed Rohan’s sister.’

  ‘You—!’ Jake stared uncomprehendingly. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘It all fits,’ she told him, black despair in her voice. ‘I always knew it would come back to me some time, and now it has, owing to my seeing that snapshot. I know exactly what happened during those few lost minutes. I came out of the side road without stopping. I heard the dreadful screech of brakes...’ Dazedly she moved her head from side to side, trying to concentrate. ‘I always thought they were my own brakes, but I now know they were Rohan’s. I stopped and a man tapped on the window. When I let it down he put his head inside the car and said I was—was drunk...’ Again she tailed off, frowning heavily. ‘He said something else first. I can’t recall what it was—’ She shook her head.

  ‘It doesn’t matter; it’s not important. I remember mumbling about Jerry,’ she went on as Jake would have interrupted, ‘because his face was before me all the time—’ She shuddered violently at the picture and comfortingly Jake took her cold hands in his. ‘I scarcely knew what I was doing or saying, but I do remember saying over and over again that Jerry was dead, that the lorry had killed him. Don’t you see, Jake, how it all fits?’

  ‘I’m damned if I do,’ he exploded after an incredulous silence. ‘You were never drunk in charge of a carl The man said he smelled whisky, or some spirit. You never touch spirits!’

  Dominie explained about the spilled brandy, going on to say that the smell of this, added to the fact that she was probably mumbling incoherently, would without doubt give the man the impression that she was drunk in charge of the car.

  ‘I caused the accident,’ she whispered in an anguished voice. ‘It does fit, Jake, no matter what you say.’

  He looked at her, frowning heavily. Then he shook his head, as if determined to throw off any doubts she had managed to put into his mind.

  ‘You never caused that accident,’ he declared. ‘I’m absolutely sure of it.’

  ‘You’re kind, Jake, but it isn’t any use. I know I came out of that road—’

  ‘This particular road,’ he cut in, taking up the snapshot again and tapping it almost savagely. ‘You actually recall coming out here?’

  She hesitated, her eyes flickering uncertainly.

  ‘It must have been that road—’

  ‘Was it! Never mind about the “must have been”. Let’s keep to facts.’

  ‘This is the road I’d use, Jake. A few hundred yards along the other road—the one I came into—is the junction with the dual carriageway, and I remembered everything from the time I reached it.’

  Jake did not speak for a moment; he was in one of his familiar moods of thoughtful silence.

  ‘You’ve just said that you remember exactly what happened during those lost few moments,’ he said at last, turning his head to look straight into her eyes. ‘But there’s a good deal still missing as far as I can see. You haven’t yet mentioned the accident itself. Did you see it?’

  Dominie shook her head.

  ‘I wouldn’t, would I? You see, I drove on a little way—the witness said this—’

  ‘Forget the witness,’ Jake cut in roughly. ‘Do you yourself remember driving on after you heard this loud application of brakes?’

  She nodded, but frowned to herself.

  ‘Y-yes...’

  ‘You don’t seem very sure?’

  ‘I am sure, Jake,’ she said quickly, but again she frowned inwardly. She had not quite got the full picture, she realized. However, she knew for sure that she had caused the accident. It had occurred at a point where she would enter the main road; there was the witness who smelled the alcohol; he said the woman driver had mumbled incoherently, and Dominie knew that she had done this. In fact, she clearly recalled muttering all the way home—repeating that Jerry was dead. ‘Yes,’ she continued thoughtfully, ‘I did drive on. So I wouldn’t see the accident because it was behind me. The night was very dark,’ she added, ‘and there were no street lights, as it was a country lane.’ Jake gave a sigh and Dominie went on to point out that it would be a very strange coincidence if there was another woman driver, smelling of drink, and coming out of the side road without stopping, at about the same time as Dominie herself was doing so. ‘It was me,’ she ended with conviction. ‘It’s quite impossible that it could have been another woman.’

  After a long silence Jake began to nod, biting his lip hard.

  ‘You can’t remember what the man said to you?’ he inquired, rather in the manner of someone clutching at a straw.

  ‘No, but as I said, it isn’t important. I do clearly remember that he said I was drunk, and in such a contemptuous voice.’

  ‘I’m not at all convinced that you have the road right,’ Jake then said with a sort of dogged persistence, even while, on noting his haggard expression, it was clear to Dominie that he had accepted the fact of her being responsible for the accident.

  ‘It definitely was the road, Jake. I would have to come that way from the mortuary—’

  ‘Along a country lane?’

  She gave a small impatient gesture with her hand. ‘My home was in the suburbs, and you have to use that particular road to get to and from the town. It’s a sort of legacy from the past. There’s still a farm on one side of it.’

  ‘I can’t think you were responsible,’ said Jake in a hoarse voice. ‘There must be some mistake!’

  ‘I knew those lost moments would return one day,’ she murmured, ignoring Jake’s well-meaning protest. Heaving a great sigh, she began trembling from head to foot as the stark reality of her situation struck her forcibly. She was the one responsible for the death of Rohan’s sister, the woman he hated most in all the world. ‘Rohan,’ she cried in a strangled voice. ‘Oh, my dearest, forgive me!’

  ‘My dearest...?’ Jake stared, but instantly put this from him as, noticing how s
he trembled, he sprang to his feet and drew her to him. Her face was like parchment, her eyes glazed. ‘There is some mistake!’ he almost shouted, but his voice betrayed his doubt.

  ‘There’s no mistake—’ Dominie buried her face in his coat and wept. ‘No mistake ... I killed Alicia.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  Jake paced the floor, inwardly groaning with exasperation.

  ‘You can’t throw him over!’ Swinging round, he came back to where Dominie was sitting on the couch, her head in her hands. ‘I refuse to remain silent and let you ruin both your lives!’ The forceful manner was unfamiliar to Dominie, who hitherto had seen Jake only in a gentle mood.

  ‘You should go to bed,’ she told him listlessly. ‘This isn’t good for you.’ She glanced at the clock. ‘It’s past two,’ she added, and put her head in her hands again. She was drained, but there was a determination in her that nothing would move. Her head had begun to throb violently the moment enlightenment dawned, and the continued pain was dulling her senses. ‘Please go to bed—’

  ‘You can marry him without telling him,’ almost shouted Jake. ‘How is he ever to learn that it was you?’

  She looked up.

  ‘We’ve been into all this, Jake. I can’t carry a weight like that all my life. There should be no secrets between husband and wife. Each should know everything about the other—everything of importance, that is.’

  Jake drew an angry breath and turned away from her, into the centre of the room, where he stood for a long moment, in brooding wrathful silence.

  ‘You say you can’t remain silent if you’re married, yet you’re not willing to come out with the whole story now. Why not?’ he demanded, twisting his large body so that he faced her. ‘What harm can you do by going to him and putting the facts before him? Why can’t you let him decide whether or not there’s to be a marriage?’

  ‘Because I don’t want him ever to know that it was I who killed his sister. I shall give him up for the reason which I’ve already explained to you.’