Motive for Murder (6 page)

‘No, no, of course not,' Mike said quickly. ‘Anywhere along the coast is fine, provided you watch the flags. Can you – swim?'

That question again. ‘Yes, quite well.'

The waiter approached with the first course, and the wave of relief was tangible. Apparently swimming was something else it was unwise to talk about. A shiver of uncertainty, almost of fear, pricked its way up my spine. What was wrong with them? Why was I shut out? Even by Mike, who'd been so gentle with me.

I don't remember much more of the evening. Afraid of saying something else wrong, I sat miserably silent, forcing down the food without tasting it. Mike exerted himself to be attentive and amusing, but I found it hard to respond. Derek and Sandra danced, their faces pressed together, their arms twined round each other. I pleaded a headache which, with the heat and blaring of the band, was almost true.

Then came the dark fog again, crouching outside the restaurant like a beast beyond the circle of the camp fire.

I shrank into my coat, turned up the collar, and clenched my hands tightly in my lap. Mike, after a glance at my face, remained silent. Behind us, subdued whispers and giggles told plainly what Sandra and Derek were up to. Well, he wouldn't ask me out again, that was for sure. A real Jonah I had turned out to be.

But it wasn't my fault! I protested silently. It was theirs, with their silences and their guarded eyes. And I couldn't help it if Derek's coarse jokes did not amuse me.

At last, the car turned into the familiar gateway and drew up in front of the house.

‘Don't bother to get out,' I said quickly, seizing the handle.

‘Emily –'

‘Good night!' I half fell out of the car and ran quickly to the front door, where Mike caught me up.

‘Emily –' he said again.

‘I'm all right – please go.'

He put a finger under my chin and tilted back my head, trying to see my eyes in the light from the hall. His own were gentle, troubled, regretful. For a moment I almost wished that, disregarding my protest, he would hold me. I was in need of comfort at that moment. But he just said softly, ‘I'm sorry, angel.'

‘Thanks for a lovely evening!' I said in a rush, and wrenched open the front door. It closed firmly behind me, and I leant against it, blinking away tears.

Then, to my horror, I heard a door open and Matthew's voice called, ‘Is that you, Miss Barton?'

Footsteps sounded from the library passage and he came round the corner into the hall. ‘I was worried about the fog –' He stopped short on seeing me at bay, my back to the door. ‘What is it? Whatever's wrong?' He came towards me. I levered myself away from the door with both hands, shaking my head. He said sharply, ‘Did Mike – ?'

‘No!' I shook my head violently. ‘I'm all right, really, just a – a bad headache!'

He stared at me, his eyes full of concern, and the last of my control snapped. ‘Goodnight!' I choked, and, brushing past him, fled up the stairs to the sanctuary of my room.

I woke slowly to the realisation that it was Sunday, the sun was shining, and that, as Mrs Johnson was at her daughter's, I would have to join the others for breakfast. I turned and buried my head in my pillow, away from the smarting sunshine. I didn't want to see anyone. Unwilling memories of the previous evening washed over me: Derek and his loose wet lips; the tension when I mentioned going swimming; and Matthew in the hall below, helplessly witnessing my distress. And I had told him I could take care of myself! What must he think of me?

Well, I thought rebelliously, sliding out of bed, they could keep their secrets, and whatever they said, I was going for a swim this afternoon. They were already in the dining ­room when I went down half an hour later. Matthew nodded a greeting over his newspaper. His eyes flickered over my face, then dropped again to his reading.

‘Did you have a nice time with Uncle Mike?' Sarah asked brightly.

‘Yes, thank you,' I replied, pouring myself some coffee.

‘Eat your breakfast, Sarah,' instructed Miss Tamworth automatically, and the moment passed.

Because Matthew was working to a deadline on the book, and Linda's departure had delayed him more than I'd realized, he'd asked earlier if I'd have any objection to working on Sundays. I hadn't, especially since I'd earn double pay; so it was agreed we'd follow the same routine as on any other day.

The novel was now progressing well, and I quite looked forward to my sessions in the library, as eager as any future reader to discover what would happen next. That morning, however, my late night and subsequent emotional upheaval weighed heavily, and it was an effort not to yawn.

After lunch I said to Sarah, ‘How about coming down to the beach with me?'

‘She has Sunday School this afternoon,' Miss Tamworth said primly, and not, I felt, without satisfaction. I was disappointed; Sarah was good company and I did not want to be left to my thoughts today.

However, as there was no help for it, I set off, alone as usual, down the rough road to the cliffs. Dark glasses protected my still-sensitive eyes, but even through my sandals the heat of the road scorched my feet as I crossed it. The short turf was hot and prickly, but it was springy to walk on, and a welcome breeze touched my face. Slowly in my flopping sandals I went down the worn stone steps. A smell of baking seaweed rose to meet me. The bay, as usual, was deserted. At the bottom of the steps I turned and walked along the base of the cliffs, my sandals weighted down by the hot, soft sand. I dropped the book and towel I had brought, spread out the rug, and dropped thankfully down on it.

Nothing stirred. Even the seagulls were quiet. I stripped off shirt and shorts and lay down in my swimsuit. Beneath the rug the sand shifted and moulded itself to the shape of my body. Out of the metallic blue sky the sun beat down. Orange and gold patterns flickered against my eyelids – flickered, spun and were gone. After a while I slept.

The raucous call of a gull awoke me, and I sat up, my skin feeling tight in the heat. My watch said three-thirty. It was time for that swim, and I ran down the hot sloping sand to the sea. The tepid water was cool on my hot feet and I stood for a moment, shivering deliciously as it lapped my ankles, licking away the grains of sand. Then I walked slowly forward, kicking against the water until some of the spray splashed up on my body, when, with a gasp, I plunged in.

Once under, the water was almost bath-warm. I drifted luxuriously, revelling in the gentle slap of the waves against my face, the minute rise and fall of my body supported by the sleeping sea. I floated into a patch of cold water and pushed myself lazily out of it again. A gull swooped close at hand, shearing off as I turned my head to watch it. After a while I took a breath and submerged. The water was crystal clear. A mill pond, as I had said. At the bottom, embedded in the brown sand, coloured pebbles lay like buried treasure. I remembered with a wave of nostalgia the summer holidays of long ago, when Gil had taught me to dive, and I had brought home boxes of pretty pebbles as trophies to decorate the garden.

Idly now I dived, collected a handful and came up again, treading water as I dropped back the more ordinary stones. I put my head down to watch their lazy, spinning descent. There was another batch over to my right and I set off to inspect them, swimming strongly along the bottom of the limpid water.

Just what happened next I'm still not clear. The first thing I noticed was a turmoil of water churning where all had been smooth. The next minute, to my horror, I was spun round, seized firmly by the back of my head, and dragged, struggling and coughing, up to the surface. Choking, kicking, I fought wildly to free myself, but the grip that held me was vice-like. Panic sluiced over me. Was this why I must not swim in the bay – some strange force that carried one swiftly out to sea? I opened my mouth to scream and the salt water rasped my throat.

Suddenly sand grazed my threshing legs, and I realized with a weakening flood of relief that I had been pulled not out to sea but back to the beach. Just beyond the last slow lick of water, I was abruptly dropped.

Gasping, coughing and retching, I rubbed the water out of my eyes to find myself staring unbelievingly into Matthew's white face.

‘Are you all right? Oh God, Emily, I thought –'

‘You!' Relief merged into indignation. ‘What on earth were you doing, dragging me out like that? I was only collecting pebbles!'

He went still. ‘Pebbles?'

I opened my hand. Two small shapes, smooth as birds' eggs, still lay in my palm. He stared at them in silence. Then he said expressionlessly, ‘I'm sorry. You must think me a fool.'

‘I
told
you I could swim.'

‘I was on my way down here when I saw you go under. I didn't stop to think – I just went after you.'

Relief had made me light-headed. I said facetiously, ‘Secretaries
must
be hard to find!'

He stared at me, the colour beginning to come back to his face. I shook back my dripping hair. ‘Anyway, I thought you were playing golf?'

‘We only had nine holes. I was hot and sticky and decided a swim would be a good idea. I don't – often come down here.'

‘Well,' I said feelingly, ‘it's all yours!'

He stood up abruptly. ‘I seem to have lost the inclination. I'll see you at the library at five.' And with a curt nod he started back up the beach, leaving me like a stranded mermaid.

At the bottom of the steps he stooped to retrieve shirt and trousers which he had presumably flung off in his headlong dash to my rescue. I watched him all the way up the steps, but he didn't look back.

I realized that I was shivering. I got to my feet a little shakily and made my way back to the rug, towelling myself vigorously till the nylon of my swimsuit was almost dry. Then I dug out my paperback, rolled over on my stomach and resolutely started to read.

But it was an afternoon for interruptions. I had read only the first ten pages when a shadow fell across the page. I turned and looked up, squinting into the sunshine, expecting that Matthew had changed his mind. But it was Mike who stood above me, smiling uncertainly as though unsure of his welcome. I stifled my involuntary spurt of gladness, turned back to my book, and said ungraciously, ‘Oh, it's you!'

‘What a welcome!' He flopped down beside me and, reaching up, twined a strand of my hair round his fingers.

I jerked my head away. ‘All I wanted was a quiet afternoon,' I said crossly, ‘but first Matthew comes down, and now you!'

‘Matthew?' He sobered abruptly. ‘Matthew was here?'

‘Yes, I'm surprised you didn't meet him on the path. It was only about ten minutes ago.'

He sat up, his eyes on my damp hair. ‘You went swimming together?'

‘Not exactly. He charged in when I was indulging in marine studies and forcibly dragged me out.'

‘Did he now?' His voice was very quiet.

I turned to look at him, puzzled. ‘What's the matter?'

There was a strange, far-away look in his eyes. Then they refocussed on me and he smiled a little. ‘Nothing's the matter, honey, only –'

‘Only what?'

He was silent, staring down at his hands, clasped between his raised knees. ‘Only I shouldn't make a habit of swimming with Matthew, that's all.'

A little breeze sprang up from nowhere and touched my shoulders with its cool breath. I shivered.

Mike said, ‘Still, don't let's waste time talking about him. I came to apologize – for last night.'

‘Oh, that.' I looked away from him.

‘Yes, that. I've been wondering all morning what I could say to you, but all I can come up with is – I'm sorry. Will you forgive me?'

‘There's nothing to forgive.' Nothing tangible, anyway. Just the feeling of being shut out; not one of them.

‘You see, Derek and I go back a long way. We've done a lot of things, been to a lot of places together. And he's been going round with Sandra for several weeks now, which is a long time for Derek! So we
know
each other, and tend to forget you don't know us too.'

He was still classing himself with them, I thought miserably.

‘You forget I'm not Linda?' I said deliberately.

‘Linda?' he echoed sharply. ‘What the hell? –' Then the guarded look again. ‘I don't see what any of this has to do with Linda.'

‘Nor do I really,' I said wearily, tired of the discussion. I liked Mike, and I didn't want to antagonise him.

I lay back on the rug and half-closed my eyes. Mike peeled off his shirt. His back was smooth and evenly-bronzed, the muscles rippling under his skin. The tiny hairs on his forearm glinted gold in the sun. Then he turned and looked down on me, his eyes gold-flecked, so wantonly long-lashed for a strong, virile man.

‘Emily,' he said softly, ‘forgive me, please.' My arms lifted to receive him as his mouth came down to mine. Under my hands his back and shoulders were warm and smooth as silk. It was a wonderful kiss. At last, he raised his head far enough to meet my eyes. We smiled at each other and I sighed from sheer happiness. Coming so swiftly on my black depression, the effect was intoxicating.

He traced gently round my eyes and mouth with one finger. ‘You have the most beautiful eyes, do you know that?'

With an effort I remembered Matthew's words.

‘I bet you say that to all the girls!'

He smiled lazily. ‘It doesn't make it any less true.'

A token denial would, I felt, have been more acceptable.

I sat up. ‘I must be going. It's four-thirty and I'm due in the library at five.'

‘To hell with the library,' Mike said, entirely without rancour, ‘and to hell with Matthew!' He kissed me again.

All right, Matthew, I said silently, I know, I know! He's a flirt, he's had a string of girls. But after my fright in the water and Matthew's own strangeness, a little light-hearted love-making was a wonderful relief.