Motive for Murder (18 page)

‘Not too near the cliff, thank you.'

‘It's safe enough here.'

We sat side by side, our backs against a sandhill, eating Mrs Trehearn's ham sandwiches and dropped scones. Mike said, ‘This may be the last time; Summer Time ends soon.'

Already the sun was low on the horizon. I looked back the way we had come. The first touch of red was in the sky. The sand had become darker and the cliffs seemed to huddle closer.

‘It's the Chapelcombe Show at the end of the month,' Mike said, breaking into my sombre thoughts.

‘Oh?' I turned back to him. ‘What does that involve?'

‘It's mainly agricultural – sheep, pigs and cattle. But there are flower and vegetable entries and cages of rabbits and pigeons and so on. It's later than usual this year because the chairman was taken ill and everything was put back.'

‘Are you exhibiting?'

‘Certainly; we usually do quite well.'

I held my steaming mug in both hands to warm them. Around us the air thickened perceptibly. He put an arm round me and the warmth of it was comforting to my cold back.

‘Do you wish you'd never come to Cornwall, Emily?'

‘In some ways.'

‘Funny to think if you hadn't applied for the job we'd never have met. I might have been sitting here with my arm round some redhead!'

I smiled with him, but my thoughts had gone back to that day in London when Matthew had first sat scowling at me across a table.

‘Since you don't have to rush back, how about walking on to Mevacombe and having a pub meal?'

‘We've only just finished tea!'

‘That was just a snack, and we won't get there before dark. Are you warm enough?'

‘I shall be, walking, but what about your ankle?'

He bent down and prodded it. ‘It's bearing up quite well. I must be tougher than I thought.'

We repacked what remained of the picnic in Mike's haversack and started to walk again. The sky had deepened to tangerine and there was a still, breathless beauty about it that was somehow melancholy.

‘Have you ever been in love, Emily?' Mike asked me. ‘Really in love, I mean?'

‘I – think so. Once.'

‘I've never let myself. I've seen too much unhappiness, and it's been my motto to love lightly and not too well. Until now,' he added quietly. ‘I rather think I've fallen for you, Emily. Much harder than I meant to. Do you think you could ever love me?'

The sunset blurred and sparkled like a prism, and I blinked rapidly. ‘Oh Mike, I wish I could!'

He stopped and pulled me to him. ‘There's no hurry, darling,' he murmured. ‘Just let it come.'

‘That – other time,' I whispered. ‘It's still there.'

‘I can wait.'

If only I could relax and be happy with Mike, instead of always looking over my shoulder for Matthew's dark, restless shadow!

He took my hand and we went on again. A golden wash now suffused our world. High above us a lonely gull dipped and called, swerving down suddenly to the gilt waves and itself becoming stained with the sun's last splendour, a golden bird on a motionless golden sea. The long, twisting pools left by the tide mirrored the sky like golden snakes on the dark sand. It could have been the birth of time. Mike was holding my hand very tightly. There was a waiting hush in the air. Then swiftly, the glory faded, the gold cooled to pale turquoise and the first stars pricked through. A yellow sickle moon swung in the sky. It was a night made for lovers, I thought, and my heart ached.

It seemed a long way to Mevacombe, but at last we could see the lights of its pier twinkling ahead of us, and the cliffs lowered and evened out into a promenade. The town was larger and more tourist-minded than Chapelcombe. It had fish and chip shops, a dance hall – and swimming baths.

We came up from the dark beach into the lights of the town like shipwrecked mariners, blinking in the brightness. Mike was filled with a buoyant gaiety and we swung our hands and laughed along the streets. My ears were nipping now in the evening air but I was still touched with the magic of the sunset.

We turned into one of the old pubs and moved gratefully to a table by the fire. Horse brasses gleamed on the walls and against the bar leaned tanned, blue-eyed men in thick jerseys.

'I'll try the cider,' said Mike. ‘How about you?'

‘That sounds delicious.' I held out my hands to the blaze.

Mike came back and put the tankards on the table. Sitting down, he raised his to me.

‘To us!' he said. ‘Don't change, Emily. Ever.'

Later, we feasted on enormous Cornish pasties, which, despite the picnic tea, I managed to finish.

Since we had not brought the car, we travelled home on the local bus. Mike led me to the top deck and we sat trying to peer past our own reflections to where the sea lay in darkness. The bus stopped opposite the road up to Touchstone. It was now very dark; the slim young moon had retreated behind some clouds and there were no street lights up here. I would have stumbled on the rough path but for the security of Mike's hand at my elbow.

‘Tomorrow?' he said at the gate.

‘Tomorrow,' I replied. I started to walk up the drive, but he called after me.

‘Emily –'

‘Yes?' I turned back, my fingers already searching for my key.

‘Take care.'

‘I will.'

The hall light spilled on to the drive. I let myself in and locked the door behind me. The savoury pasty had made me thirsty, and, deciding to take a glass of milk up with me, I pushed open the kitchen door and halted in surprise. Matthew was standing at the sink, and turned when he heard my footsteps.

‘Oh, you're back. Did you enjoy yourself?'

‘Very much, thank you. What are you doing in here?'

‘Trying to repair the damage I've done to this saucepan. I warmed up some baked beans and the light was too high.'

‘Where's Tammy?'

‘It's her evening off.'

And Mrs Johnson was at her daughter's. Surely one of them could have left him something. ‘Have you had anything to eat?'

He grimaced. ‘Some dried-up beans. It's my own fault. I'm not usually so moronic, I just wasn't concentrating.'

‘I'll do you some eggs,' I said, opening the fridge.

He shook his head. ‘Nonsense, that's the last thing you need after an evening out. Anyway, I'm not really hungry any more.'

Ignoring him, I laid the eggs on the counter. ‘Scrambled or fried?'

He hesitated, then grinned, and again I was struck by his youthfulness when his face relaxed, as it so seldom did. ‘Well, if you insist, scrambled. You'll join me, won't you?'

‘I couldn't – I'm full of Cornish pasty.'

He perched on the edge of the table, watching me break eggs into a basin. ‘Where have you been?'

‘We walked along the beach to Mevacombe.'

‘It was a lovely sunset,' he commented.

‘Yes.'

I cooked the eggs, made some toast, and laid it out as appetisingly as I could on the kitchen table.

‘At least stay and keep me company. It's not very late.'

I sat down, elbows on the table, and watched him.

‘This is delicious – it seems I was hungry, after all.'

‘What do you usually do at weekends?'

‘Open a tin, I'm ashamed to say. When Linda was here – she used to fill me up with spaghetti. It was a speciality of hers – we had a different sauce every time.'

So he and Linda had sat here eating spaghetti. She'd had a ‘soft spot' for Matthew, Mike had said. And Kate had wondered if there was anything between them. Perhaps they were both right.

I stood up and Matthew looked at me in surprise.

‘If you'll excuse me I'll make a start on the dishes. I don't want to leave them for Tammy in the morning.'

‘I'll help you.' He took the last forkful, stood up and brought his plate to the sink.

‘There's no need,' I said tightly, and added before I could stop myself, ‘Or did you always help Linda?'

He frowned. ‘Have I said something to offend you?'

I shook my head, splashing water into the bowl.

‘I didn't mean the spaghetti was any better than the
eggs.
'

When I still didn't speak, he said, ‘Emily, you're not still upset about Linda's death?'

‘Shouldn't I be?' I snapped. ‘First Linda, then Kate. I might be next.'

‘What do you mean?' His tone had sharpened.

‘Only that this doesn't seem to be a very lucky house.'

‘No.' He lifted a glass and began to dry it. After a moment he said, ‘You don't really believe that, do you?'

‘What?'

‘That something might happen to you, too.'

I paused, my hands still in the soapy water. ‘I don't know. I don't drive, so at least I won't go over the cliff.'

‘And you can swim, so you won't drown.'

I pressed my hands down flat in the bowl until my fingers ached. ‘Linda could swim too,' I said unsteadily, ‘but it didn't help her.'

At my side Matthew became still. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the tweed of his jacket and his hand still holding the glass.

‘What did you say?'

I turned my head towards him. ‘I said Linda could swim. She was doing a life-saving course at Mevacombe Baths.'

His face was frozen. ‘That's not possible. Everyone knew –'

‘It was because you all teased her that she had lessons. They discovered she was a natural. She swam like a fish.' I was quoting Jane.

Matthew moistened his lips. ‘Then how – ?'

‘Exactly. How could she drown on a calm day?' I wrenched my eyes from his shocked face. ‘So you see I
could
drown, after all. And a boulder can fall on anyone, can't it?'

His hand gripped my arm. ‘I told you – that was an accident.'

‘Three accidents,' I said hoarsely, ‘and two of them fatal.'

His fingers were like steel on my arm. ‘For God's sake –'

The clock on the shelf whirred and stuttered and settled back into its even ticking.

‘Who told you about Linda?' he demanded.

‘I met a girl in the town – she knew Linda at the Baths.'

‘But why –'

‘I don't know. She was going to have a baby, wasn't she? Perhaps that was – inconvenient.'

‘You mean she drowned herself deliberately?'

I paused. ‘Perhaps.' But my hesitation had been too long and the alternative was in my silence.

Matthew said harshly, ‘You're mad! You don't know what you're talking about.' Then, sharply, ‘Have you mentioned this to anyone else?'

‘Only Mike,' I said.

‘Oh of course, Mike.' His voice was vicious. ‘And what did he say?'

Don't go swimming with Matthew. Be careful. Take care.

Too late, discretion blundered to my aid. ‘That it was all nonsense.'

‘So I should bloody well think. You'd be well advised not to speak of it again, to anyone.'

He flung the tea-towel on the draining-board and left the room. With tears pouring down my face, I finished washing the dishes.

I woke the next morning to relentless rain. It matched my mood exactly. The magic sweetness of yesterday had lasted barely longer than its sunset, Mike's tenderness being overshadowed by Matthew's harsh words. I'd known it would be foolish to speak of Linda to Matthew, but jealousy at the thought of their companionship had made me incautious.

I brushed my hair unnecessarily hard. Damn Matthew and Linda and Mike and everyone! From now on I wouldn't concern myself with any of them, but concentrate on my work and leave this miserable house at the earliest opportunity.

Steeling myself to face Matthew, I went down to the library. He didn't even glance at me, but began dictating in that hard, clipped voice which consigned everyone to hell, and I took down his words in much the same spirit. I finished my notebook and went straight on to another.

‘No doubt you're seeing Mike today?'

The words had come with no change of tone, and I started to write them before I realised they were for me.

‘Yes, but I'll be back at five as usual.'

‘I was about to say you needn't be; I'm going out at lunch-time myself and shan't be back till late.'

‘Oh. Thank you.'

He pushed his chair back and stood staring moodily out of the window. Streams of water gushed down the pane and the garden was obscured by a curtain of rain.

‘I phoned the Baths this morning. They've no record of Linda being there.'

My heart started its slow pump. ‘The instructor who taught her has emigrated.'

‘Then nothing can be proved.'

I stared at his hunched shoulders and the fear-prickle crept along the back of my neck.

‘No,' I agreed after a moment, ‘nothing can be proved.'

Something in my voice swung him round. ‘So there's no point in going to the police, is there?'

‘That's what Mike said.'

He stared at me oddly. ‘What I mean is, we've only the word of an unknown girl that Linda could swim. She might even have been mixing her up with someone else.'

‘Yes,' I said.

He said harshly, ‘You don't sound convinced.'

‘It all happened before I came. What can I know about it?'

‘But this girl – did you believe her? Is she likely to come forward?'

‘You don't have to worry,' I said heavily. ‘She made it quite clear that not only would she not come forward, but she'd deny ever meeting Linda.'

Sickly I saw the tension go out of his face. ‘Then she couldn't have been sure herself.'

I didn't correct him. Jane had been sure enough, but she didn't intend to be ‘mixed up in anything.'

Matthew lit a cigarette and tossed the smoking match into the waste-paper basket. He drew a lungful of smoke and spiralled it at the ceiling.