Dangerous Sea (33 page)

‘The St Regis to begin with and then we may take an apartment. It depends what the doctor says.’

‘Yes of course. Philly . . . what do you really think? Is she . . .?’

‘She’s not well. She hardly eats but that’s not it. I really don’t know, Lord Edward. I sometimes think it is better not to know. To know might be to have no hope.’

‘I understand,’ he said gently. ‘Tell me, Mrs Roosevelt, did you know Mr Fairley before you came on board?’

‘In London, do you mean?’

‘Yes, or I wondered if you had known each other in the States?’

Mrs Roosevelt considered. ‘I never met either of them before but I do believe Philly and Miss Barclay saw something of each other in London.’

‘I thought they must have. Do you happen to remember where they met?’

‘I believe it was at dinner with the ambassador, dear Mr Bingham, who is now so ill. Yes, I wasn’t able to go, I remember. I had a migraine but I think Philly mentioned that terrible man Senator Day had been there as well. Oh dear! I suppose one shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.’

The door opened with a crash and Perry appeared, breathless. ‘Corinth! Have you come to visit Mother? How kind of you. You must excuse me. I’ve been playing shuttlecock with Frank and I’m quite pooped. I thought I might have a shower before I put on my “landing-in-New York” clothes.’

‘Then I shall leave you. I too must pack – or rather watch Fenton pack as he won’t let me interfere. He is transferring his services to Lord Benyon for the duration of his stay in America – at least I hope that’s all it will be – so I must learn to look after myself.’

‘I’m quite sure you can do that,’ Perry replied. ‘Verity – Miss Browne – was telling me about your life in South Africa. I gather you – what’s the expression? – “knocked about a bit” there.’

‘You musn’t believe all Verity’s stories,’ Edward said smoothly. ‘She is a journalist, don’t y’know. Have you ever read anything accurate in a newspaper when the subject happens to be something you know about?’

‘I’ll tell her you said so,’ Perry said, laughing. ‘We won’t say “goodbyes” because I am sure we will see you before we disembark.’

‘And I was just saying to your mother – in New York, too, I hope.’

As Edward closed the cabin door behind him, he heard stifled laughter and he wondered what they really thought of him. Did Perry imagine he was a complete fool? He thought he needed a drink – it was now eleven o’clock. He made his way to the cocktail bar and found Roger, the barman, deep in conversation with Jane Barclay who was sipping something violet-coloured through a straw.

‘I hope I’m not interrupting, Miss Barclay . . . Roger, gin and tonic please.’

‘Not having one of these?’ she asked, thrusting the list of cocktails under his nose.

‘No, thank you. As often as not they make me feel dizzy. I think it’s the colour as much as the taste.’

‘You’re right, I guess. Roger, this is quite repellent. I can’t think why you recommended it.’

‘I say, Miss Barclay . . .’ Edward began.

‘Jane. I feel after all we have been through, you know me well enough to call me Jane.’

He was aware he was expected to invite her to call him Edward but he did not. Instead, he said, ‘I am pleased to have bumped into you, Jane. I wonder if you would mind if we go over to that table in the corner? There’s something I want to say to you before we part and this seems like a good opportunity.’

He thought he noticed her go a shade paler but she only replied, ‘How fascinating. Yes, of course. Roger will bring over your drink.’

When they were seated out of earshot of the barman with their drinks and a plate of olives on the table between them, she said, ‘I suppose you want to tell me that Verity – Miss Browne – has decided you should turn me over to the New York Police Department.’

‘That’s not my job. I merely wondered if you would satisfy my curiosity on a certain matter?’

‘If I can.’

‘When you confessed to having done away with Senator Day, you gave me the impression that your motive was to protect your husband.’

‘That was my motive. Day had made Warren’s life a misery and threatened to do worse – said he would haul him in front of some Senate Committee he was involved in and have him banned from ever working in the States again. You may not think it but Warren is very highly strung, very emotional. His politics and his work are the only two things he cares about and, if he was prevented from working, I think it’s possible he might kill himself.’

Edward raised his eyebrows. ‘But he could always work in Europe.’

‘He’s an American through and through. It’s in the States he needs to find his audience. Apart from anything else, there’s no movie industry outside Hollywood to speak of. He’d starve. He’d shrivel up and die.’

‘You said there were only two things he cared for – his work and his politics. I think you forgot the third thing.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Yourself. He’s no fool. He loves you. I’ve watched him look at you. He may flirt with other women but it’s almost out of politeness. It’s only you he loves.’

Jane flushed. ‘I hope so,’ she mumbled.

‘That’s why he could never survive losing you to the electric chair.’

She winced. ‘You’re very blunt.’

He went on remorselessly. ‘He would know you had killed to protect him and he would feel so guilty. In fact, he knows – or thinks he knows – already. At the ball last night, he came over specially to tell me to take no notice of your confession.’

She looked up abruptly. ‘He did? But how could he know? Did you tell him?’

‘No, but there is one other person who might have told him, isn’t there?’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Don’t be silly, Jane. You know who I mean – Philly Roosevelt. It was she who lured Day to the edge of the swimming-pool so you could knock him on the head and you made the confession the way you did to leave her out of it . . . to protect her.’

‘Why . . . why do you think that?’

‘Mrs Roosevelt – who, by the way, I am convinced knows nothing about this – told me you had all met at the American Embassy in London. I guess you found out somehow that the Roosevelts, too, had suffered as a result of Day. He was Philly’s father’s business partner. While he ended up in gaol, Day went on to make a political career and a fortune.’

‘What you don’t know,’ Jane said wearily, ‘is that Day had debauched Philly when she was just a child. He was the most horrible lecher. I told you he offered to protect Warren if I agreed to be his mistress. Anyway, he was a family friend of the Roosevelts. He used to read the twins children’s stories.’ She spoke with utter disgust. ‘She was only ten when he first . . . fumbled her. Then, when she was fifteen, he raped her. Oh no,’ she went on, seeing Edward’s face. ‘Nothing was ever said or admitted, though I am sure Perry must know or at least suspect. Philly said it happened in his office in the Senate. He said he wanted her – had always wanted her and, if she gave herself to him, nothing bad would happen to her father. She refused and he forced himself on her . . . on the leather couch in his room. She told me she still can’t smell leather without wanting to vomit. And he never stopped wanting her. It was easy for her to persuade him, when they met up again on the
Queen Mary
, that she might become his mistress. When it came to sex, he was as vain and gullible as most men.’

‘Why did she tell you what Day had . . . had done to her if she hadn’t even told her mother?’

‘We had a heart-to-heart in the little-girls’ room when we met at the ambassador’s dinner. Anyway, she was ready to talk.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Philly had been going to a psychoanalyst in London. He had made her face up to the trauma of being raped and it made her angry for the first time.’

‘Why angry so long after . . .?’

‘Before that, she thought
she
had sinned . . . that
she
was the guilty one. It sounds mad, I know, but she believed it was in some way
her
fault she had been raped.’

‘And was that what made her ill . . . mentally?’

‘The rape? Yes, so the analyst said. Philly had this feeling of being dirty and she hated eating because that made her feel dirty too – all that flesh. So she ate as little as she could and washed.’

‘Washed?’

‘Like Lady Macbeth, you remember. She washed her hands ten or twenty times a day and had at least three showers a day.’

Edward recalled how Mrs Garton, Benyon’s sister, had explained
The Magic Flute
: a story of cruelty – of harsh and unjustified punishment. Was that the meaning of this killing? Philly had punished herself for a sin she had not committed. The Senator had been punished but was it justice or unjustified retribution? He felt unqualified to pontificate.

‘And she never told her mother?’

‘She knew her mother was already suffering from seeing her father go to gaol for fraud but I believe she did know. Her migraines – I think they come from a subconscious knowledge of what Philly has been through. Anyway, Mr Roosevelt – or Ravelstein, I should say – was not saved from gaol despite Philly’s ordeal. Even Mrs Roosevelt swore they would never speak to Day again.’

‘Wasn’t she surprised when she discovered he was a passenger on the
Queen Mary
?’

‘She just thought it was a dreadful coincidence but it brought on her headaches. She hardly dared leave her cabin.’

‘But it wasn’t a coincidence, was it?’

‘No, we found out through the embassy that he was going back to the States on this ship and we made sure we were on it too.’

‘You meant to kill him?’

‘We did.’ A smile of satisfaction, even of triumph, creased her face.

‘And now she’s better?’

‘Oh no, I wouldn’t say that. Not better. I can’t see her ever being better in the way you mean but at least she feels the job has been done. Her father has been avenged.’

Edward looked worried. ‘I had noticed her washing but I put it down to her being so delicate.’ He grimaced. ‘I’ve had a terrible thought. When you said the job had been finished, could that not mean she might . . .?’

‘Have nothing more to live for?’ Jane gasped. ‘Oh God, I didn’t think of that.’

‘I think we should go and find her,’ he said urgently. He had remembered one other thing Mrs Garton had said about
The Magic Flute
: ‘No wonder Pamina tried to kill herself.’

‘I have this awful foreboding. Do you know where she is? She wasn’t in her cabin a moment ago. Perry was there with his mother. He said he had been playing shuttlecock with Frank. Perhaps Philly was watching. I never thought to ask him.’

‘I saw her not long ago. I think she was heading towards the promenade deck.’

‘I was there earlier. There was hardly anyone around. Everyone’s packing, I suppose. I’d just feel easier in my mind if I had spoken to her.’

They walked quickly out of the cocktail bar and made their way on deck. It was strange how small the ship seemed when one was trying to avoid someone and how big it was when one was looking for someone. There was no one playing deck games so they decided to walk round the ship.

‘You go one way round and I’ll go the other so we can be sure we don’t miss her,’ Edward said.

He set off towards the bow and, though he came across two or three acquaintances, none of them admitted to having seen Philly. Then, at the furthest point where the deck turned back on itself, he saw a flash of white. It was Philly. He ran, or rather limped, the few yards that separated them. She was standing on the second rung of the rail which ran round the deck. He called out her name and she seemed to hear him because she turned her face towards him, was hit by a sudden gust of wind, tried to steady herself and lost her balance.

Edward made a grab for her but missed and, with a cry of horror, saw her topple over. As he launched himself towards the rail, his knee gave way under him and he fell on the deck almost weeping with the pain. Jane Barclay appeared at that moment and knelt beside him.

‘Lord Edward, are you all right? Shall I call the doctor? Oh, your poor leg.’

‘Over the side,’ he gasped. ‘She went over the side. I couldn’t stop her.’

‘Philly?’

‘Yes, Philly. She fell . . . I couldn’t stop her. Oh God!’

Fearfully, Jane got up from her knees and went to look over the rail. She could see nothing. The sea was just the rolling, featureless, sheet metal it always was. Then she looked directly below her. On the lower deck lay the broken body of the girl in white. There could be no doubt that she was dead. She lay on her back, her head twisted awkwardly to one side, and blood poured from it making an angry halo of red on the wooden deck. Then people began to gather about the body, obscuring Jane’s view.

‘Jane, what is it? What are you staring at? Philly . . . is she . . .?’

There came a scream of anguish that chilled his blood. With a great effort he pulled himself to his feet and heaved himself over to the rail. He could not suppress a groan. The little crowd below him parted. Perry had his twin in his arms. He was kissing her ruined face but, in his agony, he raised his head and saw Edward and Jane staring down at him in horror.

‘This was your doing,’ he cried. ‘I hope you are satisfied!’

Did he mean he blamed Jane for making his sister a murderer or did he mean Edward for not having stopped her falling to her death? With the pain in his leg and the pain in his heart Edward did what he had never done before and fainted.

When he came to, the first thing he saw was an anxious-looking Verity. He was lying on his bed but how he had got there he had no idea.

‘Thank God! The doctor said you would come round but I was beginning to think you –’

‘Tell me it was just a nightmare!’ he interrupted, grasping her hand.

‘It wasn’t, I’m afraid. What happened? Jane said you were looking for Philly and you fell and . . .’

‘I saw Philly climbing over the rail but I . . . I couldn’t reach her. My bloody knee . . .’

‘Did she mean to kill herself, do you think?’

‘I don’t know . . . perhaps. Oh God! How has Frank taken this? Do you think he’ll ever forgive me?’

‘It wasn’t your fault you couldn’t get to her.’