Quest for Alexis (26 page)

Brett stood hesitating for a moment, as if he felt
torn. Then he said quickly, “I really must get going. There’s a planning meeting at ten-thirty, and I’ve bare
ly time to make it.” He bent and kissed me swiftly on
my cheek. “I won’t be gone all that long. I reckon
that Elspeth and I should arrive about teatime.”

Elspeth. I had completely overlooked her, too.

Since Brett’s return last night when we had talked,
I had believed that he and I were together once more
after these long months of separation. In my newfound
feeling of warm security I had shut my eyes to the part
Elspeth Vane played in his life. Elspeth directed near
ly every one of the films Brett made, and often they
traveled together, both in England and abroad. When
they were actually filming, Brett saw Elspeth every
day. And at night, too? Was the former relationship
between them still continuing?

After Brett had gone, I went in search of Rudi and
found him in the Oak Room. He was sorting through
some papers in a halfhearted fashion.

“Hello, Gail. There isn’t really anything for me to
do, but somehow I can’t just do nothing. So I’m collating Alexis’s notes. One day, perhaps, someone will
be interested in them.”

It was the same as Brett had said about the film.

I thought how ill Rudi looked. I wished I could say
or do something that would ease his feelings of guilt.

I walked over to the window and stood staring out
through the leaded panes. This morning the sun was shining again, mocking us with its cheerful golden
brilliance. Against the pale-blue sky, the tips of the
conifer trees stood up like an edging of black lace. I
was thankful that the Oak Room looked out to the rock
gardens and not to the terrace where Madeleine had
fallen.

“Rudi, I’ve been thinking—there’s no reason for
Freda Aiken to stay any longer. We could pay her off
and suggest she leave right away.”

Rudi said heavily, “Is that a hint, Gail? Do you
mean that you’d like
me
to leave Deer’s Leap, too?”

I spun around to face him. “No, of course I didn’t
mean anything of the kind. Later ... well, I don’t
know what will happen. Obviously I shan’t be staying
on here myself indefinitely. But please don’t think of leaving, not for the time being. I need you here. With
Freda Aiken, though, it’s altogether different. There’s
really nothing more for her to do. Perhaps I’m being
unjust to her, but every time I see the woman I can’t
help wondering if ...”

“Wondering what?”

“Well, it could so easily have been Freda who left
the newspaper for Madeleine to see. I wouldn’t put a
thing like that past her—there’s a sort of spiteful streak
in her that would think it amusing. Obviously though,
she’d never have expected such a terrible consequence.
If it
was
Freda, then that would explain why she’s so dreadfully upset.”

Rudi was staring down at his hands, gripped tightly
together on the desk. “If you feel like that, Gail, I
suppose it’s best to get rid of her at once. I don’t much
care for Freda myself, I admit, and I wouldn’t be
sorry to see the back of her.” He hesitated, looking
uneasy. “All the same, I’d hate having to tell her to
her face that she’s got to get out.”

“I wasn’t expecting you to, Rudi,” I said quickly.
“That’s
my
job. I’ll go and tell her right away.”

Freda Aiken was in her bedroom and opened the
door to my knock.

“Oh ... it’s you, Miss Fleming. I was just...”

Though it was nearly ten o’clock, she was still in her
dressing gown. She looked so dejected that I couldn’t
help feeling sorry for her. But believing what I did, re
membering that she’d shown no human kindness to
ward Madeleine in the short time she’d been my aunt’s
nurse, I hardened my heart.

“I just wanted a word with you, Miss Aiken. You’ll
understand that there’s really no point in you staying on at Deer’s Leap any longer, so I thought
...”
I saw
her eyes widen in alarm. She started to make some
protest, and I added hastily, “Naturally your salary
will be honored—whatever the arrangement was. But
there’s nothing for you to do here now, and you could
be working somewhere else, or having a holiday.”

Her face seemed to crumble up, and she looked as
if she was going to burst into tears.

“Oh, Miss Fleming, please don’t send me away. I
...
I’ve got to stay nearby, to give evidence at the inquest, and I
...
well, I’d hate to have to lodge with
strangers.”

It seemed extraordinary to hear Freda Aiken speak
ing as if we at Deer’s Leap were her friends. But it
was true that I had forgotten about her being needed
for the inquest.

“Oh well,” I said awkwardly, “in that case I suppose—”

“Then I can stay?” Her face brightened at once.
“Oh, you are kind. I’m so grateful. I’ve had a dread
ful night, Miss Fleming. I couldn’t sleep at all for
thinking. I mean, your poor aunt was supposed to be
my responsibility. She was put in my charge.”

Amazingly, I found myself defending her, trying to bring reassurance to this woman I disliked so much.

“You mustn’t torture yourself, Miss Aiken. You
couldn’t be expected to spend every single moment
with her.”

After I had left Freda, I decided on an impulse to
have a look in the bedroom Belle Forsyth had used.
Just possibly I might find some clue there.

It was, as always, immaculately tidy. I stood in the
middle of the blue carpet, staring about me, reluctant
to touch anything that Belle had handled. But I forced
the feeling down.

I was opening the top drawer of the tallboy when it
struck me that I must be careful not to disturb any
thing. One day there might be a full-scale criminal
investigation.

The contents of the drawer were entirely imperson
al. They might have belonged to anyone. Odds and
ends of lipstick, face cream, and powder, a bottle of
skin lotion, some French Fern bath cubes—all well-
known makes that could be bought at any pharmacy.

The unexotic, everyday beauty items that fitted the
image of Belle Forsyth—nurse and companion. And a
small pile of handkerchiefs, all plain white hemstitched,
unmarked in any way.

I closed the drawer and passed to the next one
down. It contained chain-store underwear, neatly folded. Several pairs of tights. In the bottom drawer there
were blouses and sweaters, all like a million other
women possessed.

What exactly was I looking for? I didn’t know. Just something,
anything,
that would point to Belle’s true
character—give a lead, perhaps, about where she had
come from. Just a tiny shred of solid evidence.

On the bedside table was a paperback, a collection
of modern verse. I flicked through the pages, expecting
nothing, finding nothing. I went across and opened the
heavy oak wardrobe. There were a couple of wool
dresses on hangers, a red jersey suit, a gabardine rain
coat, two or three skirts. A black umbrella, neatly
rolled, was looped over a hook. I examined every item
without hope. Manufacturers’ labels told me nothing.
The pockets of the suit and raincoat were empty.

Clean white paper lined the bottom of the wardrobe.
But in one corner, at the back, it wasn’t lying quite flat. As I automatically bent and smoothed it down
with my hand, I felt a ridge of something like a piece
of thick cardboard.

Suddenly excited, I drew the lining paper back. I
saw a large buff envelope, torn open along one edge.
The name and address were typewritten—
Miss Belle
Forsyth, Deer’s Leap
...
It contained photographs. I shook them out, spreading them on the carpet.

There were five altogether, postcard size, all of them
similar—but none exactly the same—as the picture of
Belle I’d seen in the newspaper. The changed Belle, with her hair cascading down. In one photograph the
tip of her tongue showed teasingly between her lips.
In another her shoulders were drawn back to reveal
the outline of her breasts through the thin silk of her
dress.

A series of six, obviously, and one photograph had
been carefully chosen and passed into the hands of a newspaper. The photograph that best portrayed Belle
Forsyth in the way it was wanted to portray her—as a
cheaply provocative woman for whom the distin
guished Alexis Karel had abandoned his invalid wife.

I picked up the pictures, one by one, examined
them, and turned them over. There was no identifica
tion, nothing to show where they had come from. I
looked again at the envelope, but it was empty.

The postmark was my only clue. It was smudgy,
and at first glance I couldn’t make it out. I went over
to the window, tilting the envelope to catch the sun
light. Against the blue postage stamp I could hardly
decipher anything, except, at the bottom, the word
Sussex.
So it had been mailed locally.

The date was completely unreadable, but concen
trating on one letter at a time, I decided that the name
of the town began with
S
and ended ...
ven.
I felt
triumphant. There was only one place in Sussex that
could possibly fit. Seahaven. Someone in Seahaven—
the photographer presumably—had sent Belle these
prints.

With a sudden rush of excitement I slipped the
photos back in the envelope and ran along the corridor
to my bedroom. I didn’t want to waste time changing.
I pulled on a belted raincoat over my slacks and
hastily checked my face in the mirror.

Downstairs there was no one around. I collected the
spare car keys from the hook by the door and went
straight through to the Warrenders’ side of the house.
Since I didn’t know what I hoped to discover in Sea
haven, I was glad not to have to explain things to Rudi for the moment.

Caterina happened to be in the staircase hall, ar
ranging early daffodils in a bowl that stood upon the antique marble table.

“Gail, my dear, how are you this morning? You
managed to get some rest, I hope?”

“Yes, thank you, Caterina. I—”

“Good morning, Gail.”

Sir Ralph’s voice came from behind me. Turning, I
saw him standing in the open doorway of the library.

“I gather from my son that he’s planning to finish
that film of his about Alexis. The Lord knows why. It
seems to me the quicker it’s all forgotten, the better
for everyone. Do
you
understand what’s in Brett’s
mind, Gail?”

He spoke with a kind of suppressed anger, and I guessed there had been sharp disagreement between
Brett and his father. I determined to ask Brett, the first
moment I could, whether it wasn’t time for Sir Ralph
and Caterina to be told the truth as we believed it.
With the evidence I’d just found of the photographs,
and what I hoped to get from the man who had taken
them, there was surely enough to convince them we
were right.

Perhaps, I thought with wildly flaring hope, it was
already enough to convince other people, too.

I restrained my mood of optimism and said quietly,
“We don’t know the whole story about Alexis yet, Sir Ralph. Brett wants to be ready when the time comes.”

“Ready for what?” he asked brusquely. “I’m sorry,
my dear—the last thing I want is to upset you, but
when I think of Alexis driving your poor aunt to such desperation that she took her own life.”

“The person who left the newspaper in her room is responsible for that,” I said.

“Madeleine would have found out sooner or later. It was only a question of time. And it goes to prove what I’ve maintained all along—that she ought to have been
told the truth at the start.”