Payne had quoted Sherlock Holmes.
Life is commonplace, the papers are sterile; audacity and romance seem to have passed for ever from the criminal world
.
Sybil de Coverley raised the teacup to her lips. ‘It’s Thursday today, isn’t it?’
‘No, it’s Wednesday.’
She sighed. ‘If you live on an island, you tend to lose track of time. Everything seems to happen in limbo. Well, I have reason to believe it will happen on
Saturday evening
. This gives us three whole days, doesn’t it? Saturday evening has been – how shall I put it? –
indicated
.
Sorry, I’ve got a bit of a headache. Nothing like the kind of headaches my brother gets but bad enough. The truth is my nerves are in a terrible state.’ She opened her bag and produced a bejewelled pill box. ‘Neurophen Plus. Have you ever tried it? It’s heaven.’
‘You believe that on Saturday evening an attempt will be made on someone’s life? At your house on Sphinx Island?’ said Antonia.
‘It does sound absurd, put like that. Or maybe it was the way you said it? No, I don’t blame you, Antonia. I don’t mind one little bit, I really don’t. My reaction would have been very much the same. If I were to meet someone who said the kind of things I’d been saying in my kind of voice – well, I’d take against them right away! A friend of mine once described my voice as ‘‘clipped and staccato – simply made for instruction, chastisement or summing up.’’ That is not exactly a compliment, is it? I said a ‘‘friend’’, but she is nothing of the sort, really. Little more than a fifth columnist, as we used to say at school.’
‘Let me get this thing clear. You know who the would-be killer is,’ Payne said slowly, ‘and you also know the identity of his intended victim?’
‘I do know, yes. Actually, I never said it was a man. I never said ‘‘he’’ or ‘‘his’’. You are trying to catch me out, aren’t you?’
‘I can’t help wondering
how
you know. Perhaps the would-be killer talked to his accomplice about the murder and you overheard the conversation? Or else he wrote something which you happened to read? The only other possibility I can think of is that you saw him – or her – look at the victim in a certain way?’
Sybil shook her head resolutely. ‘No, no, I couldn’t possibly tell you what it is, Major Payne. It wouldn’t be right. I am sorry. I have no doubt you think me frightfully irresponsible, playing games with human lives. I must say I did deliberate whether or not to warn the victim – I mean the person who is going to be the victim. I suffered
agonies
of uncertainty! I had the idea of writing an anonymous note and leaving it in their room!’
‘
Beware of X. Don’t let X get anywhere near you
,’ Payne murmured.
‘Something on those lines, yes.’
‘But you didn’t write the note?’
‘I didn’t. In the end I decided that that was one road down which I most definitely must
not
go. I was suddenly riddled with doubt. What if I’d made a mistake? What if I’d got the wrong end of the stick after all? It would be so terribly awkward, wouldn’t it?’
‘I suppose it would be.’
‘More than awkward! It would spell the ruin of somebody’s good name! These things do matter, even in this irresponsible day and age. I’d never forgive myself if that did happen – never. You know how accusations tend to stick? No matter how wild? Pitch, as they say, soils.’ Sybil de Coverley smoothed out her gloves on her knee. ‘Well, when you come to the island on Friday afternoon, you’ll be able to meet everybody and of course I’ll show you the – the thing.’
‘What thing?’ This time Antonia didn’t try to keep the exasperation out of her voice.
‘It’s an object. I found an object,’ Sybil said evasively. ‘What I believe to be proof of someone’s guilt. Your aunt says both of you are astutely analytical, which means you will have no problem seeing the object’s significance at once. I am sure it will come to you in a flash.’
‘How much does my aunt know about your suspicions?’ Payne asked.
‘No more than you do, I assure you. Dear Nellie. She was one of mama’s greatest chums, you know. She’s been on the island since Monday. I think she’s enjoying herself. I have told her exactly what I have told you. Not a word more not a word less.’
‘I don’t suppose you have told your brother about your suspicions, have you?’
‘No, of course not. My brother is the very last person I would ever tell. John would say I was bonkers. He often says that. He once compared me to the woman in the Chekhov play who lived in a cupboard because she believed herself to be a seagull! John has a thing about seagulls.’
‘I think he got Chekhov mixed up with Strindberg,’ said Payne. ‘The woman who lived in a cupboard believed she was a parrot.’
‘My brother has a thing about seagulls,’ Sybil repeated. ‘I am afraid relations between me and my brother have been strained for some time. I think he suspects I intend to sell the island, you see.’
‘The island belongs to you?’
‘Indeed it does.’ Her father had left Sphinx Island to her. Sphinx had been her albatross. She got a sense of floating melancholy each time she thought about it. ‘Well, it took me quite a while to make up my mind, but then I decided that enough was enough. It’s
my
island, so I can do with the damned thing as I jolly well please. John can’t really prevent me from selling it. He’s got no legal right. I’ll sell it and then I’ll buy myself a nice little flat in South Kensington, so there.’
‘Would your brother be very upset?’ Antonia asked.
‘He wouldn’t be “very upset”. He would be terribly upset. He’d kick up a hideous rumpus. There would be ugly scenes. He would try to stop me in some way. John said once he would rather cut his throat than live in South Kensington.’ Sybil heaved an exasperated sigh. ‘Would
you
live on a small island, Major Payne? If given the choice?’
‘I am not sure. I don’t think I would.’
‘Antonia?’
‘No. Not on a small island.’
‘What if someone left you an island in their will?’
Payne said he would sell it. He put a match to his pipe.
‘That’s
exactly
what I intend to do. I am so glad we are singing from the same hymn book. If my lease of life were suddenly to run out, the island would go to John. I have made a will to that effect, though of course I have no intention of kicking the bucket. Not in the foreseeable future at any rate,’ Sybil said brightly.
Payne looked at her. ‘Does your brother know that you’ve left him the island in your will?’
‘I have an idea I told him. I believe I said, “If I were to snuff it before you, dear boy, Sphinx is yours for life,” or words to that effect. I do try to be fair.’
Sybil went on to say that she hated the sea as much as she hated the island and of course you couldn’t have one without the other.
The cruel alien sea
. Either layered in purple and blue or muddy green or gun-metal grey. She’d got to know the sea so well, she could write a paper on its changing colour. The island used to bear their name – De Coverley Island – but it was popularly known as Sphinx Island. Crackpots seemed to be drawn to it as bees are to honey. There were pictures of the island on the internet, if they wanted to look at them before they came. Aerial photos and so on.
‘You can read about the island’s history, it’s on Wikipedia, all about the secret military experiments during the Second World War, the UFO landing in the fifties and so on and so forth.’
‘Where is Sphinx Island exactly?’ Antonia asked.
‘It is situated three miles off the Devon coast. From some angles, it does bring to mind a crouching, smiling kind of Sphinx. It looks absolutely hideous. We’ve got our very own launch,
Cutwater
, so you won’t have to hire a boat or anything like that. Oswald said he would collect you himself. Oswald is terribly keen on sailing. Mad about it. He said he would be at Wanmouth to meet the
4
.
50
from Paddington. I’m talking about Friday afternoon … Unless you decided to drive?’
Payne smiled pleasantly. ‘We haven’t yet said that we are coming.’
‘You’d recognise Oswald right away by his rather superior-looking yachting cap. Thank God for Oswald Ramskritt! He is an American. He is the man who’s going to take the island off my hands. He is awfully zealous and territorial. The frontier spirit, wouldn’t you say? Apparently, at one time,
before
the Crunch, he was so frightfully rich; he seriously considered the idea of buying Venice and turning the Grand Canal into a six-lane expressway.’
‘Can one buy Venice?’
‘Perhaps not in the normal course of things, but he said there was a way round it. Oswald has the smiling self-assurance of a man who has achieved success early and easily. I believe he is a self-made man, but then aren’t all Americans? He and his entourage are already on Sphinx. He’s got a yacht. Not a particularly vast one, but it’s terribly smart. Are you a sailing man, Major Payne?’
‘I’m afraid I am not.’
‘Poor John used to do a lot of sailing himself, when he was younger, before the attack, but he is a virtual recluse these days. He never goes anywhere and he tends to keep to his room when we have visitors. Expecting him to come down and say how-do-you-do would be futile, like waiting for a badger to start tap-dancing. Nobody seems to mind. Oswald says he loves English eccentricity in every shape or form. I am sure he means it. Mrs Garrison-Gore of course is too busy to notice anything. I must admit I find Mrs Garrison-Gore’s kinetic intensity a little exhausting.’ Sybil bit her lip. ‘Oswald’s secretary –
not
Ella, the new young one – seems to
like
John. Her name is Maisie, I think. The other day I saw her standing outside John’s door, talking to him through the keyhole.’
Antonia had the impression Sybil regretted mentioning Mrs Garrison-Gore’s name.
‘I wonder if she’s been attempting to nudge him into a more enlightened direction? That’s the sort of thing an American girl
would
do. She is terribly well-meaning and of course she is pretty as a picture. So refreshingly innocent and unspoilt, a
tabula rasa
, as papa would have put it – unless she turns out to be an accomplished little actress who’s after Oswald’s millions. I find American girls incomprehensible, don’t you? Apparently John told her that he liked fried chicken best, he whispered it through the keyhole, which suggests some kind of a bond might have been forged between them. He also told her she mustn’t think he
enjoyed
chewing blotting paper.’
‘Does your brother chew blotting paper?’ Antonia asked. I want to see these people, she thought.
‘He does. As it happens, there’s a perfectly rational explanation for it. I bet you’ll never guess what it is.’
Payne cleared his throat. ‘Old-fashioned remedy for headaches that develop as a result of shooting?’
‘You
are
clever. I don’t believe I’ve ever said that to a Major before. That’s the reason he does it, yes. John is a shooting nut. He is the proud owner of several guns. He shoots at seagulls, mainly. He is tormented by blinding headaches, which he insists on explaining with the fact that he is left-handed. He is, to use an awful phrase – please, you must forgive me –
in denial
.’
‘Who else is on the island?’ Payne asked.
‘Well, there is Ella. Ella Gales. She works for Oswald. General dogsbody and so on. Ella’s got the patience of a saint, though she is too clever for straightforward virtue. I believe she was born a Swede. “Stoic and isolate”. Quite distinguished-looking, a former beauty queen, apparently. The epitome of style and sheer
chic
. Ella and Doctor Klein are thick as thieves, which I find intriguing. If you could imagine Beauty and the Beast … Shall I tell you who they remind me of? Those two hunted outcasts, Hagar and Ishmael, abandoned and wandering in a psychic wilderness of their own creation. Whenever I happen to walk in on them I get a palpable sense of having interrupted some cabal in its scheming.’
‘Who is Doctor Klein?’
‘He is Oswald’s doctor. Doctor Klein is what papa would have called an “Americanised Kraut”. Papa used to refer to America as a “land of sanctimony and barbarism”. Papa would have detested that awful senator with the vests, what was his name? Why would anyone in their right mind want to be the President of America, I simply can’t imagine. Papa was one of the most zealously xenophobic people you are ever likely to meet, yet when he was confronted with
real
aliens, he didn’t turn a hair.’
‘What real aliens?’
‘There was an incident in the early
1950
s. A landing of sorts. All part of the Sphinx Island mythology. I keep getting letters from madmen asking questions about it. They call themselves “ufologists”, or something like that.’ Sybil waved a dismissive hand. ‘Doctor Klein is enormous – and I mean enormous. It’s odd since he eats next to nothing and invariably declines pudding.’
‘Why does Oswald Ramskritt need a doctor?’ Antonia asked. It occurred to her that she had heard Mrs Garrison-Gore’s name before, only where?
‘I am not sure. All I know is that Doctor Klein holds reflexology sessions with him, if that’s what they are called. Rich Americans appear to suffer from all kinds of peculiar conditions, have you noticed, or perhaps they only imagine they do? Oswald is surrounded by nice and helpful people. It makes me green with envy. You wouldn’t believe this, but the moment they realised there were no servants on the island, Ella and Maisie offered their services!’
‘No servants?’ Payne’s left eyebrow went up.
‘Not a single one. Mod cons are in somewhat short supply on Sphinx. Remember the old Punch cartoon? Oh dear that was so
funny
. “Good night, Mrs Jones, you must forgive our primitive ways.” Well, Ella alone is worth ten servants. Ella makes sure the flowers are right, she organises the menu and she actually cooks for us. She is efficiency personified. I have an idea she was once involved with Oswald. I don’t think she is awfully happy, but then who is? Maisie, as I said, is Oswald’s brand-new amanuensis, if that indeed is the word I want, though what exactly she
does
is anybody’s guess.’