Motive for Murder Page 4

  I glanced down at the intent little face, its usual pallor made rosy by the fire, which also woke red lights in her long, pale brown hair. For no real reason I felt tears prick my eyes. Poor, self-sufficient little Sarah. Perhaps her pathetic attempt at independence was a heritage from her mother, but she certainly had need of it.

  She turned another page. ‘Here’s one of Uncle Mike and Auntie Laura. She was my great-aunt really.’

  ‘Just a minute!’ I held her hand as she was about to turn over again and bent to look more closely. The woman with Mike was not old, as I’d somehow expected. She was perhaps in her late forties, with a gentle, softly pretty face. Mike was standing behind her chair in an open-necked shirt. He looked much the same as he did now, so it must have been a fairly recent photograph.

  ‘These snaps aren’t in order, are they, Sarah? I mean, this wasn’t taken long ago, was it?’

  ‘I don’t know, really. Mummy gave me a pile of old snaps and said I could stick them in my album. I put them in the way I wanted them.’

  ‘Your mother gave them to you? When?’

  ‘I don’t remember.’

  ‘But when did she go away?’

  ‘When I was six, but she still comes to see us.’

  And in between times lives it up in London, I thought, with surprising bitterness.

  ‘What’s her name, Sarah? I mean, what name does she use for her writing? Do you know?’

  ‘Yes, Tammy told me.’ She looked up, pushing her hair back, ‘Kate – and the name she had before she met Daddy – Hardacre.’

  ‘Kate Hardacre!’ I stared at her. Kate Hardacre, Sarah’s mother – and Matthew’s wife! I had frequently read her witty, cynical column in the Sunday papers. ‘Tammy was right – she’s certainly clever.’

  ‘Do you know her?’ Sarah demanded excitedly.

  ‘I’ve read some of her work, and it’s very good.’

  She nodded, satisfied, and went on turning the pages. The snaps were nearly all of Matthew and Kate, with occasionally one of Mike. ‘There aren’t many of you, are there?’ I remarked.

  ‘No, they were mostly taken when Mummy and Daddy were on holiday.’

  ‘And you weren’t with them?’ I shouldn’t have felt surprise.

  ‘Oh no, I was too young – I’d have been in the way,’ Sarah said seriously.

  My throat prickled again at this acceptance that she was nothing more than a nuisance. ‘Sometime,’ I said impulsively, ‘you must come for a holiday with my family. We’d love to have you – we haven’t any little girls.’

  ‘Really?’ She looked up, delighted.

  ‘Really – I’ll speak to Daddy about it,’ I added grimly. She bent back to the book.

  ‘Oh, here’s one of Linda!’

  We’d come to the last completed page of the album, and the child jumped as I snatched it up for a close look at last at the elusive Linda Harvey. The snap showed a tall, slender girl in a bikini, her blonde hair soft on her shoulders, her lips parted in a smile. She was posed on a rock, for all the world like a railway poster advertising a holiday resort. ‘That’s a good picture,’ I said tentatively.

  ‘Derek took it.’ Her tone was dismissive.

  ‘Who’s Derek?’

  ‘A friend of Uncle Mike’s. I don’t like him very much, but Linda did.’

  Perhaps Derek wasn’t as patient as Mike with a little girl wanting to tag along.

  Sarah sat up on her heels. ‘Miss Barton, did you really mean it about the holiday?’

  ‘Of course I did. And since you called Miss Harvey Linda, don’t you think you could call me Emily?’

  She considered, her head on one side. All right, if you’d like me to.’

  ‘Sarah –’ I leaned forward urgently. ‘Why did Linda –’

  The sound of the opening door drowned my voice and Miss Tamworth’s sharp voice said, ‘Sarah, you really mustn’t commandeer Miss Barton like this – she has other things to do.’

  ‘No, really, Miss Tamworth, I was only too glad –’

  ‘Miss Barton says I can call her “Emily”,’ Sarah interrupted.

  ‘How nice,’ said Miss Tamworth coldly. But there was real affection on the stern face as she looked down at the child. ‘Now run along downstairs, dear. You haven’t written to Mummy today, have you?’

  She bent and pointedly turned off the gas fire. Then she moved across to the window and opened it wide. I stood awkwardly watching her. ‘The rain’s off at last,’ she said, her back still to me.

  I braced myself. ‘Sarah showed me a photo of Linda Harvey ...’

  Her back stiffened. She said severely, ‘Miss Harvey was no better than she should be!’ and walked past me out of the room.

  So! I pursed my lips in a soundless whistle. Was that why Linda had left? ‘No better than she should be!’ The old-fashioned phrase amused me till I started to wonder who she’d been misbehaving with. Mike? Matthew said he’d been irresponsible and got away with it – that he had plenty of girlfriends. Then, thankfully, I remembered the unknown Derek, whom Linda had liked. So that was all it was! I’d built up quite a mystery round Linda, and it was only Victorian prudery which made them keep changing the subject!

  My heart lightened so suddenly that I was surprised to realize how the matter must have been weighing on me, and as I stood there on the landing, the telephone shrilled in the hall below. A moment later Mrs Johnson’s voice called up the stairs. ‘For you, Miss Barton!’

  On a wave of anticipation I sped down the curving staircase. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Emily – Mike here. I wondered if you’re free this evening?’

  I felt a spurt of pleasure, ‘I’ll have to check, but I think it’ll be all right.’

  ‘Great, I thought we’d make up a foursome with a couple of friends – go out for a meal and perhaps some dancing.’

  ‘It sounds lovely,’ I said, but I was disappointed. I didn’t want to share Mike on our first date,

  ‘I’ll pick you up about seven-thirty. OK?’

  ‘Fine – thank you.’

  ‘Bye for now.’

  ‘Goodbye.’ As I replaced the receiver, the front door swung open with a wet, breezy rush and Matthew strode into the hall. The wet afternoon had stung colour into his face, and as he pulled off his cap, ruffling his hair in the process, he looked suddenly like the happy young man in the snapshot.

  ‘Hello!’ he said. ‘You look pleased with yourself!’

  ‘I – would it be all right if I went out this evening?’

  ‘Ah – hah!’ He paused in the unbuttoning of his jacket. ‘Yes, of course. But remember what I said!’

  ‘I will,’ I replied with dignity, and went back up the stairs to survey my wardrobe.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  By seven-thirty the mist had returned, deepening with the coming darkness. It pressed thickly against the pane of my window as I stood anxiously watching for Mike’s car. Small rivulets coursed down the glass and merged with the dampness of the outside sill. It was like being imprisoned in a lighthouse, surrounded by a cold white sea.

  I glanced at my watch impatiently. The mist must be holding him up. I strained my ears. Surely, above the tick of my bedside clock and the persistent drip of a tap, surely that was the sound of a car? Yes – and it had turned up off the main road – it could only be Mike.

  As I watched, the mist by the gate starred into two yellow globes, and the blunt nose of the car materialized. I turned and ran out of the room and down the stairs, reaching the hall just as the front door bell pealed.

  Mike stood on the step, shrouded in dampness, a scarf twisted round his neck. ‘Hello, Beautiful,’ he said, and before I found my voice, reached past me to close the door, took my arm, and hurried me over to the car.

  ‘This is Emily,’ he announced to two shapes in the back seat. ‘Emily, meet Derek and Sandra.’

  I turned obediently to look over my shoulder but could make out no features. ‘Hello,’ I said tentatively.

  ‘Greetin
gs!’ responded a light male voice.

  And a girl’s added, ‘Hi!’ and giggled.

  Derek! So this was Linda’s old flame. He had apparently not wasted much time in seeking a replacement.

  Mike climbed in beside me and slammed the door. ‘Phew, what a night! At least the car’s warm.’

  It was the second time the car had received me in out of the fog, and the remembered smell of leather, petrol and cigarette smoke was now overlaid with the sickly sweetness of Sandra’s perfume. I settled back against the seat, determined to enjoy the evening.

  Are we going to the Flamingo?’ Derek enquired.

  ‘Yes, it’s as good as anywhere, isn’t it? I booked a table for eight-thirty.’

  Sandra said, ‘I wonder if that Italian waiter is still there?’ and giggled again.

  Suddenly I felt left out, not one of the party. The three of them had so obviously been out together before. Who had Mike partnered then? Perhaps after all I was wrong about Derek, and it was Mike who had been with Linda.

  ‘How’s our resident author these days, Emily?’ Derek asked. ‘As uproariously amusing as ever?’

  Mike said with a grin, ‘Matthew doesn’t approve of Derek, either.’

  I could understand that; although I’d not even seen his face, I knew instinctively that I disliked him.

  Since they seemed to be waiting for my reply, I said awkwardly, ‘He’s very well – and very busy, of course.’

  ‘But not too busy to go boozing at lunch­time and play golf all afternoon, eh?’ said Derek with an unpleasant laugh.

  Unwillingly I thought – so that’s where he goes when we stop work at twelve. Then, defensively: And why shouldn’t he? A bit of male companionship must be very refreshing, when he lived in a house full of women.

  Mike shot a sideways look at me, and, noting my embarrassment, said, ‘Leave her alone, Derek, it’s not fair to criticize Matthew in front of her.’

  Not fair to Matthew, or to me? Had Linda joined in their sneering remarks? I’d never expected to feel sorry for Matthew Haig but I did now, fleetingly – until I thought how little he would care what any of them – any of us – might say about him.

  ‘Beg pardon I’m sure, miss,’ Derek said. ‘Didn’t wish to offend, I’m sure.’ And Sandra giggled again. I began to wish I had gone to the cinema after all.

  The car ride seemed interminable, especially since I’d no idea where we were going. Mike gripped the wheel, eyes narrowed against the glare of the fog. Behind us, Derek and Sandra whispered and laughed softly. I sat stiff and straight, bitterly disappointed with the start of the evening to which I’d looked forward so much, while the thick whiteness enveloped us like a creeping blindness. The smell of it, cold and acrid, stung my throat and made my eyes ache.

  ‘Well, we’ve made it!’ Mike said at last. Ahead of us, orange lights blossomed indistinctly like sea anemonies.

  ‘Well done, lad.’ Derek removed his arm from Sandra’s shoulders and got out of the car, stretching. Mike came round and opened my door. A building loomed in front of us, and Sandra and Derek, arm in arm, were hurrying towards it. He squeezed my arm reassuringly and we set off in their wake.

  Pushing through the door, we emerged from the foggy darkness into a small, crowded bar.

  ‘I’ll take the coats,’ Mike said, ‘then fight my way to the bar. Derek, you and the girls see if you can find a table.’

  ‘Willingly!’ Derek took each of us by the arm and steered us across the room to a corner table which a couple was just leaving. His hand was hot, and gripped my bare flesh unnecessarily tightly. We sat down and he leant back in his chair and, much to my discomfort, openly studied me.

  Mike inched his way over to us and set the glasses down. Derek, his eyes still on me, licked his lips with a quick, nervous movement. ‘Well, well!’ he said softly. ‘So this is the new secretary. I must say Matthew can pick them. A pity he doesn’t know what to do with them when he’s got them!’ He gave his light laugh. Embarrassed, I picked up my glass and twirled it in my fingers, my eyes fixed on the pale gold liquid.

  I’d been right in knowing I should dislike Derek. He was good-looking in an obvious, blatantly male way, with a high colour and tight, wavy black hair. His eyes, which should also have been dark, were instead a curious yellow-hazel – like a cat’s – while his lips were disturbingly sensuous, the more so from his habit of constantly licking them. The overall impression was, strangely, one of greed – a grasping, hot-breathed greed. As he turned back to Sandra I gave an involuntary shudder.

  Mike’s hand was warm on my arm. ‘Someone walk over your grave?’ he asked smilingly. I smiled back, shaking my head. ‘Well now, tell me how it’s going. Are you settling down all right? You mustn’t let Matthew bully you, you know.’

  ‘Everything’s fine; we’ve established a routine now.’

  He grinned at me. ‘I was hoping you’d be over to see the piglets.’

  I said demurely, ‘Nobody invited me.’

  ‘Well, I’m inviting you now. Any time you’re free, walk over the moor to the farm. If you go on up the hill past Touchstone and follow the track you’ll come to it eventually.’

  ‘I know.’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘You know?’

  ‘I think I saw your car pass one afternoon.’

  ‘And you didn’t call? I’m hurt!’

  ‘There wasn’t time,’ I murmured, remembering how I’d wanted to see him.

  He frowned suddenly. ‘There never is. We must make time, Emily.’

  I looked at him in surprise, and he gave a short laugh. ‘Time should be our servant, my sweet, not our master. Bend it to your bidding. It’s later than you think, and all that jazz.’ He laughed again. ‘Don’t look so puzzled, love, you’re too serious by half!’ He flicked his fingers gently against my cheek. ‘Come on, drink up, it’s time we went in for dinner.’

  The dining-room was as crowded and hot as the bar. Our table was beside one of the long windows, curtained now against the depressing night.

  ‘It’s lovely here in summer,’ Sandra said. ‘The restaurant’s built right out over the sea. There are tables on the balcony and you can see all the lights along the coast.’

  In summer, she had said. Yes, summer was all but over; if I wanted to get in some swimming, I couldn’t afford to waste time. Following on the thought, I said, if it’s fine tomorrow, I think I’ll go down to the beach. Where’s the best place to bathe?’

  Sandra, who had been fiddling with a fork, dropped it with a small clatter on the table. Below the general clamour, the silence which suddenly enveloped our table was electric. I looked up, startled, and caught the warning look which flashed between the three of them. What had I said? I faltered, is something wrong?’

  ‘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 s
ure. 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.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  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?