The Far Side of the Sun (42 page)

‘Are you all right, Ella?’

‘Yes, thank you.’

‘Would you like something to eat?’

Ella shook her head but she bent over the menu. ‘Dan won’t see me any more. He says it’s too dangerous for me.’ Her voice sounded raw.

Dodie gently touched her shoulder. ‘It shows he cares for you.’

‘You don’t understand. I can’t not see him…⁠’ She stopped as she looked up at Dodie’s face. ‘Of course you understand, don’t you, you’re going through the same.’

Dodie didn’t want to talk about that. ‘What did Detective Calder say about Morrell and Sir Harry?’

Ella put down the menu. ‘That the murder investigation into Sir Harry’s death is being deliberately botched. The evidence destroyed. Key men moved out of reach. He thinks there’s a conspiracy to cover up the truth.’

‘Who is in this conspiracy?’ Dodie picked up her pad and pretended to scribble something down.

‘He doesn’t know for sure.’

‘So what’s his guess?’

Ella tipped her hat forward to cover her face. ‘Take your pick – there’s so much going on. So many secrets. Dan thinks it’s the Duke.’

‘What?’

‘Only someone that high up could order the removal of top men.’

‘Oh, Ella! I spoke to Christie today. He said that everyone knows there was bad blood between Sir Harry and his son-in-law. That’s the story he’s pushing to anyone who will swallow it. A family feud.’ She glanced around but Miss Olive was not in sight, so just for a moment she sat down in the chair next to Ella’s, their heads close. ‘Christie and the Duke are the two most powerful men on the island now. They must be the ones manipulating decisions and decreeing what the press hears.’

‘The reporters will ask awkward questions, you know they will.’

‘That’s why Flynn was framed. For asking too many questions that someone didn’t like.’

‘But, Dodie, that’s what you and I are doing now.’ Ella ran a hand down her cheek and seemed surprised to find its edges so sharp. ‘Stirring things up. I worry about you. Dan is right, it could be dangerous. I am protected by being the wife of Reginald Sanford, but you…⁠’ She hesitated and lowered her voice. ‘You are vulnerable.’

The two women looked at each other, the friendship between them weaving into complex knots.

‘Taking a well-earned rest, Miss Wyatt?’

The sarcasm in Olive Quinn’s voice was finely honed. Dodie jumped to her feet.

‘I’m sorry, Miss Olive, I was —’

‘Olive, dear, don’t be a tyrant. I asked Dodie to sit with me. There is something I need to discuss with her.’

‘Finished now, I hope. We are busy.’

‘Very nearly. Just one more minute.’

Reluctantly Olive Quinn withdrew, but not without a quizzical glance at Ella.

Dodie bent her head down to Ella’s level. ‘Ella, it seems that one of the keys to it all is the Portman Cay land deal. It connects everything – Johnnie Morrell, Sir Harry and Christie. That’s what Flynn walked into without knowing.’

One of the customers raised a polite hand to summon Dodie to her table.

‘I have to go,’ she said. ‘Be careful.’

Ella’s smile was grateful. ‘I’ll arrange to see Hector Latcham tomorrow. He’s Christie’s lawyer as well and so might know something about Portman Cay.’

‘Be discreet.’

Ella actually laughed. ‘I eat discretion for breakfast.’

‘I’ll bring you some tea.’

‘What about you?’

‘I have another appointment tomorrow to visit the prison before I start work.’

‘Ah.’ Ella grimaced. ‘Good luck.’

‘Thank you.’

As Dodie walked away, she wondered why the one thing that no one talked about was the gold. But by the time she brought the tea tray to the table, Ella was gone.

‘Reggie.’

Ella was standing in the dark on the balcony of their bedroom. Mosquitoes whined around her ears and somewhere in the distance the deep bass rumble of the ocean could be heard as it crooned to itself and sculpted the island into shape. Ella had never been a keen swimmer and now felt her limbs too weak to contemplate such a thing. She tried to remember when she had last eaten something, but couldn’t.

Reggie materialised at her elbow, as though he’d been just waiting for the sound of her voice.

‘Reggie, I’ve been hearing whispers. Is it true that the Duke is moving large sums of money around?’

‘I say, Ella, old thing. That’s frightfully indiscreet of you. Not like your usual self at all.’

Ella turned away and rested her elbow on the balcony ledge. The silence between them was filled by the cicadas and the dull refrain of the tree frogs.

‘But then,’ Reggie said in the kind of conciliatory voice he was good at, ‘you haven’t been quite your usual self recently.’ He paused. ‘Have you?’

‘These murders are upsetting.’

‘Of course.’

That was all. Neither could find anything more to say, so after a wait that only emphasised the vacant air between them, Reggie removed himself from the balcony and went inside.

‘Help me, Reggie,’ she whispered. ‘Please, please, help me.’ Her head dropped on to her hands and she shivered.

It was just after eight o’clock in the morning when Ella drove past Dan’s house the first time. Cars were parked in drives, shutters stood open, there was an atmosphere of purpose and activity in the street that was foreign to her. The houses weren’t dozing peacefully in the afternoon sun, as they had been before. She felt a stranger. Unwelcome. When she drove past the house in her Rover for the third time, she caught sight of Dan at the upstairs window. He was wearing a shirt and tie, and must have just stepped out of a shower because his hair looked wet and sleek. Neither waved.

A thin streak of pain travelled up from Ella’s chest to her throat and she looked down at her cream chiffon blouse expecting to see blood on it. There was none, of course.

Of course.

She turned the car back towards East Bay Street and headed in the direction of Hector’s office for her appointment with him, the image of Dan with his wet hair branded on her mind.

Don’t you know that when I am not with you, I die?

‘Hector, how kind of you to see me.’

‘My dear Ella, I can think of no better way to start my day.’ Hector Latcham kissed her cheek, guided her to a comfortable chair and summoned coffee for his guest. ‘Now how can I help you?’

‘I need to find out a bit about Portman Cay.’

‘Portman Cay?’ Hector repeated, frowning as he tried to place the name.

‘I believe you did the legal work on it when it was sold recently. For Harold Christie.’

‘Ah yes, I did indeed.’ He tapped his forehead with a self-deprecating laugh. ‘So many transactions in there that sometimes they get put in the wrong files.’ He sipped his coffee and regarded her thoughtfully over the rim of the delicate porcelain cup. ‘But what’s your interest in it, Ella? Not your usual preoccupation.’ He offered her a cigarette from an ebony box and lit one for her with a flourish.

‘To be honest, Hector, my curiosity has been roused by a rumour I’ve heard about Portman Cay.’

He crossed his legs, and it occurred to Ella how fit he looked for a man of his age, somewhere around fortyish. It reminded her of Dan.

‘As you’re a lawyer, Hector, I know I can trust you. I’ve been hearing about big money deals. What’s going on out there?’

‘Don’t worry your head about it, my dear.’

‘I asked Reggie.’

‘Did you indeed? What did Reggie say?’

‘He told me I’d best keep my nose out of it too.’

‘Good advice.’

Ella drew on her cigarette tetchily. ‘I’m not so sure. Portman Cay seems to tie in somehow with the deaths of Morrell and Sir Harry.’

‘Really? I would be careful, Ella. That could be a dangerous thing to say.’

‘What can you tell me about the place? What’s so special?’

‘Nothing much, to be honest. It’s just a bay like any other but bigger – the usual sand, sea and a small forest of pine trees. Very pretty actually.’

Ella sighed. ‘Another brick wall, it seems. Yet there is definitely a connection somewhere and I intend to find it.’ Abruptly she stubbed out her cigarette and stood up. ‘I think I’ll drive out there and take a look myself.’

Hector rose to his feet and smiled fondly. ‘That sounds like a good idea. But look at you, my dear Ella. You look as if you’d blow away in the first wind. I can’t have you dashing around to strange places on your own. Let me drive you.’

‘Hector, you are an angel.’

As soon as the key turned in the lock, Flynn knew it was her.

Dodie entered the cell half a step behind his lawyer, Parfury, and brought a lightness with her. It changed the way the air hung, drab and sour, between the four stark walls. She was wearing her little black Arcadia dress, the one he loved on her with the white cuffs at the elbows, and her hair tied back demurely with a white ribbon. She strode towards him in the cell with a smile that said there was no place on earth she would rather be.

‘Hello, Flynn.’

He didn’t respond, but neither did he stop looking at her.

‘Good morning, Mr Hudson,’ the lawyer said.

‘Morning, Parfury.’

‘Miss Wyatt requested a visit.’

‘I told you I didn’t want any more visits from Miss Wyatt.’

‘She said it was urgent.’

‘Do lawyers in Nassau take no note of their clients’ wishes?’

‘Of course, but…⁠’ The lawyer laughed self-consciously. ‘That young lady is hard to say no to, when she sets her mind to something.’

Flynn had not taken his eyes from Dodie’s face. ‘What is it, Dodie? What’s wrong?’

She sat down on the edge of the bed and patted the spot beside her, inviting him to join her. He almost didn’t. He tried not to. But his legs took him over to her and his body elbowed out the air next to her and claimed the space as its own.

‘What’s happened?’ he asked quickly.

‘I’ve spoken to Ella Sanford.’ She glanced at Parfury, who was still standing by the door, regarding her with professional interest, clearly intending to listen to her every word. She swivelled round on the bed so that her back was turned to the lawyer, blocking him out. ‘She told me things.’

‘What things?’

‘The investigation into Sir Harry’s murder,’ she spoke softly, ‘is being deliberately sabotaged, evidence destroyed, and this could only come from the top.’

‘That’s one hell of an accusation.’ He checked whether Parfury had heard. Hard to tell. Flynn was eager to ask for details but thought better of it, and hid his frustration with a shrug. ‘And the fall-guys are me and Marigny.’

‘I had a few minutes with Christie. He looks terrible. Going to pieces. Threatening me with lawyers.’

‘Better lawyers than goons.’

She smiled. He wanted to take hold of her shoulders and shake her till she recognised the danger she was in, till she was a nervous young woman again, the way she had been when he first watched her patrolling the shallows of her beach before…

Before this. Before him.

She saw something of his thoughts, because her eyes grew fierce and she leaned her face towards him, daring him. But she continued speaking as if nothing else was going on.

‘We don’t know whether they’re protecting themselves or protecting the island. And no one is mentioning anything about gold.’

‘I bet they’re not. They are all wondering which one has it.’

‘I’ve been thinking about those gold coins found in your jacket.’ She glanced over her shoulder at Parfury, unaware that her tied-back hair flew so close to Flynn’s mouth as she did so, that he could have caught it between his teeth. He smelled the scent of the sea on it. ‘Mr Parfury,’ she said briskly, ‘have you come up with any information? What are the police saying about them?’

‘They are Napoleons. French coins from years ago.’

‘You see,’ she said as she swung back to Flynn. ‘They match. Where did they come from?’

Flynn refused to discuss it. He wanted her to forget all about gold and wallets.

When he didn’t respond, she said, ‘It’s obvious that Morrell must have had more gold coins on him which the killer stole and then used them to frame you.’ She put out a hand and tentatively touched his sleeve. ‘Do you agree?’

He looked down at her pale pink fingernails on his arm but said nothing.

‘Also,’ she said, undaunted by his silence, ‘I went to your landlord again.’

‘No, Dodie. Stay away from him.’

‘I went with Mama Keel this time.’

Oh, she was clever. If anyone was going to loosen their tongues, it would be Mama Keel.

‘So?’ he asked.

‘They’re thinking about it.’ She rolled her eyes with impatience. ‘So don’t give up hope.’

‘Stop it, Dodie.’

Her fingers curled around his cuff.

‘I can’t,’ she whispered.

‘You must.’

‘No.’

‘I don’t want you hurt.’