Motive for Murder (9 page)

‘Leave her alone, Derek, do you hear me?' Mike's voice was low and vibrant.

‘But my dear chap, we're friends, aren't we? All that I have is yours, and so on. I'm sure Sandra –'

‘Shut up! Are you all right, Emily?'

‘I don't know.' I was fighting down the urge to retch.

‘Of course she's all right, silly little bitch. She hasn't been raped, for God's sake. Calm down, Mike. I was under the impression that we shared
everything
?'

Suddenly the look he shot at Mike was no longer playful, and incredibly, Mike's own furious gaze faltered. I thought, in bewilderment, he can't be
afraid
of Derek? But his unexpected withdrawal from the challenge reflected on me, making me feel cheapened.

When Mike remained silent, Derek laughed softly and straightened his jacket. ‘That's better,' he said pleasantly. ‘Well, I think you'd better take Priscilla Prune home, before we offend her modesty any further. I'll amuse myself with Sandra till you get back. Pity
she
doesn't protest occasionally; it would add a touch of piquancy.'

He sauntered past us and out of the room. Mike and I stood looking at each other. I could taste the blood on my lip.

I said shakily, if my brother had been here, he'd have knocked him down.'

‘I'm not your brother.'

‘Mike, he – he –' I choked to a stop.

‘Yes, I know, but he didn't mean any harm. Derek considers any girl fair game. Most of them like it.'

‘Well, I don't,' I said violently.

‘Emily, I'm sorry, what more can I say? Get your stole and I'll take you home.'

We drove back once more in silence, and I remembered my optimism on the outward journey. Up, down – up, down, like a yoyo.

How could Mike possibly feel friendship for anyone as objectionable as Derek? Yet he'd made only a token protest on my behalf, and withdrawn even that.

He stopped the car at the gate and came with me up the path. At the door he kissed his fingers and laid them very gently on my swollen lips. ‘Goodnight, love. Try to forget it.' Miserably, I went into the house.

* * *

When I came down the next morning, Sarah was standing in the hall in her school uniform. She looked rather forlorn under the large hat, reminding me of my own desolation at the beginning of term.

Matthew came down the stairs behind me. Back to school, eh? Well, the summer's over.'

‘I'd forgotten it was today,' I said, smiling at her. ‘I'll miss you!' The mid-day meal would be bleak without her chatter.

She gave me a tremulous smile and her eyes slid to Matthew for a word of encouragement. But he had already turned away and was leafing through the morning mail. It seemed he could never spare her more than a minute of his time.

On an impulse I bent and kissed her. ‘Tell me all about it this evening.'

Miss Tamworth approached, drawing on her gloves. ‘Ready, Sarah? We must leave now or we'll miss the bus.'

‘Yes, I'm ready.' The child gave another hopeless little glance at her father's back, then walked silently past him following Miss Tamworth out of the front door.

My heart ached for her, but – perhaps fortunately – before I could make any comment, Matthew said brusquely, ‘What happened to your lip?'

The colour washed up my face in an embarrassing flood. Despite my care with my lipstick, the deep cut, I knew, was clearly visible. ‘Nothing,' I muttered with bent head.

He said drily, ‘You always return from your evenings with my cousin somewhat the worse for wear.'

That brought my head up. ‘It was nothing to do with Mike!'

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Forgive me. I was under the impression that if you went out with a man, you stayed with him all evening.'

I twisted my hands helplessly and his voice hardened.

‘Was it that Derek chap?'

Miserably I nodded.

‘I might have guessed. God knows what Mike sees in him. I hope he got what he deserved.'

I made no comment.

Matthew gave a short laugh. ‘Sorry, I'm not trying to embarrass you. Come on, let's get to work.'

He gestured me ahead of him. ‘All the same,' he added, closing the library door behind us, ‘I shouldn't have too much to do with Derek. He's an unsavoury piece of work.'

‘It's not from choice; he just always seems to be there.'

‘Then tell Mike you'd prefer him not to be.' Matthew's voice was brisk. He settled himself at his desk.

‘I tried,' I persisted, wanting, now we had got this far, to put my case. ‘But Mike won't hear anything against him.'

Matthew looked at me reflectively. ‘Look, you've only been here a week. Don't be in too much of a hurry to fall for Mike.'

I said curiously, ‘What is it you've got against him?'

He frowned. ‘Nothing really – nothing concrete. It's just that he's changed completely since his mother died. When she was alive they were often round here – after all, we were more or less brought up as brothers. He was always a bit wild but he was good company and we got along fine. When my aunt died, I thought we'd be closer than ever. I'd hoped to help him over the worst of it, as they'd –' he broke off, then went on, ‘as they'd helped me in the past.'

When Kate left, I thought.

But quite suddenly he wouldn't have anything to do with me. For months he was a bag of nerves and would see no one but that confounded Derek.'

He lit a cigarette and tossed the still-smoking match into the waste-paper basket. ‘He's better than he was, but that evening he brought you from the station was the first time I'd seen him in weeks.' He straightened. ‘Anyway, that's enough about Mike. Have you got your notebook?'

We worked steadily through the morning and at about twelve he closed the file of notes. ‘By the way, I'd like you to ring up a Mrs Statton and ask if it would be convenient for us to call and see her sometime this week. The number's here.'

My curiosity must have shown, because he said shortly, ‘She's the housekeeper.'

‘The housekeeper?' My voice was blank. Matthew said impatiently, ‘Yes, the murdered man's.' My eyes widened and he gave a short laugh. ‘My mistake – didn't I explain? The book's loosely based on fact; the murder took place as I was about to start a new novel, and being local it interested me, specially as they still haven't found the culprit. But I used only the bare outline, and of course none of the characters are based on real people. In fact, all I know of the actual case is what I read in the papers or Mrs Statton told me.'

He pulled open a desk drawer, flicked through a folder and handed me a torn piece of newspaper, dated four months previously.

‘Here.'

‘Well-known artist found dead,'
I read.
‘Cameron Menzies, the Royal Academician, was found murdered in his luxury flat this morning. He is believed to have been struck from behind. His housekeeper, Mrs Amy Statton

‘I was intrigued by the apparent lack of motive,' Matthew explained, as I looked up. ‘Nothing was stolen from the flat, and there were plenty of valuable things there. And without a motive, it's extremely difficult to find the murderer. So I selected some of the most common, invented a character that each could apply to, and decided to write the book from several angles and see which was the most convincing.'

I shuddered. ‘It's a bit gruesome, when you think of it like that.'

‘Murder usually is,' Matthew said drily. ‘Well, we'll see if Mrs Statton has anything new to say. In any case, I want to refresh my memory on a couple of points. Let me know at lunch-time what you've been able to arrange.'

* * *

I made an appointment with Mrs Statton for Friday afternoon, then hung around the house for a while. I was half-expecting Mike to ring, but he didn't. Perhaps he preferred not to make a habit of phoning after each date, to apologize for the previous evening. In any event, I had to admit I was disappointed in him after his attitude towards Derek. It was, I felt, carrying friendship a little too far.

Disconsolately I gathered rug and books and made my way down to the cove. But although the sun kept promising to come through it never actually emerged, and a cool little breeze ensured that I kept my jacket round my shoulders. After a while my eyes wandered from the page of my book, and I sat gazing out over the pale water which mirrored the cloud-flecked sky, wondering if Linda had sat here with Matthew the afternoon she died. I was filled with an aching sense of melancholy. I had missed Sarah at lunch. The first phase of my stay at Touchstone had ended. Matthew had said, ‘Summer is over,' but I passionately wanted to hold on to it.

I'd had enough of my broodings by three-thirty and made my way back up the steps. Half way up, a grass track branched off and meandered away round the cliff face. I paused, wondering whether to follow it, but the freshness of the breeze up here was cool through my thin clothes and I decided not to bother.

As I crossed the grass towards the main road, the hourly bus lumbered up the hill from the town and stopped opposite the road leading to Touchstone. Sarah clambered down, clutching her hat and satchel. She saw me and waved and I went to meet her.

‘You
are
lucky, spending the afternoon on the beach!' she greeted me.

I felt better already for seeing her. it wasn't very pleasant as a matter of fact; it was windy and the sand kept blowing in my face.'

She slipped her hand into mine and my fingers closed round it. ‘How was school?'

‘Oh, stuffy! We've got three new girls in our class.'

‘But you do enjoy it, don't you?'

‘I suppose so. Yes, it's good fun really, and the summer holidays
are
rather long, when you've no one to play with.'

‘Don't any of your schoolfriends come over?'

‘Not often. We can't play in the garden because we disturb Daddy, and we're not allowed on the beach unless Tammy goes with us, and she hates it.' She skipped a few steps. ‘Do you like working for Daddy?'

I was taken aback. ‘Well, yes – it's very interesting.'

‘He laughs more, since you came,' she said surprisingly.

‘I can't say I've noticed,' I replied as we turned into the gateway. Miss Tamworth was standing at the door.

‘Hello, dear. Change out of your uniform and you may play for half an hour before tea.'

‘Get a ball and I'll play with you,' I said impulsively. ‘We shan't disturb your father because he won't be working until five.'

‘Oh, goodie!' Sarah ran upstairs, unfastening her blouse as she went. Without comment Miss Tamworth followed her. I dropped my rug and book on the hall chair and went outside again.

I really enjoyed the next half hour. Under Sarah's instructions I recalled the games I had played at her age – French skipping, a primitive hop-scotch with sticks laid on the grass, and a multitude of ball games. We were both laughing and out of breath when Miss Tamworth called Sarah in to tea.

‘That was super, Emily!' She tucked her warm, dirty little hand in mine. ‘Can we play again tomorrow?'

‘I don't see why not.'

We went into the hall just as Matthew appeared from the library passage.

‘Daddy, Emily's been playing with me in the garden!'

‘So I saw.'

‘I hope we didn't disturb you,' I faltered, ‘I thought you were out.'

‘Daddy, we've three new girls in – ‘

‘Not now, Sarah. Have you no homework to do?'

The light went out of her face and instinctively my arm went round her. ‘Not tonight,' she replied with bent head.

I glared at Matthew but he turned away. ‘Very well. I believe Miss Tamworth said your tea was ready.'

‘Yes.' She looked up at me with a little smile. ‘Thanks for the game, Emily.' And she walked slowly and unchildishly to the cloakroom to wash her hands.

I took a deep breath. The hall clock chimed the quarter short of five. Matthew's eyes rested on it meditatively. I took the hint. Gathering up my rug and book from the chair where I'd thrown them, I walked up the stairs with as much dignity as my short beach dress would allow.

When we set out after an early lunch on Friday, there had still been no word from Mike. Matthew had not mentioned him again, though I'd caught him watching me speculatively once or twice as I involuntarily raised my head when the phone rang. Perhaps he was afraid I'd go the same way as Linda, I thought with grim humour, and then remembered where Linda's way had led her.

It was a wet, depressing day. A windy night had loosened the leaves, which drifted disconsolately down on to the sodden grass. I settled myself back in the seat and prepared to make the most of the few hours away from my desk. Matthew's car was very different from Mike's. Smooth red leather upholstery and a radio ensured that the journey, despite the weather, would be as pleasant as possible.

‘Comfortable?' he enquired, as we swooped down the hill into Chapelcombe.

‘Very, thank you.' The lighted shop windows threw pools of gold on to the glistening pavements and shoppers scurried from one doorway to the next under large umbrellas, for all the world like a race of animated mushrooms. The wet tyres keened pleasantly on the surface of the road. I sat contentedly watching Matthew's strong hands resting on the wheel and the rhythmic arc of the windscreen wipers.

‘Are you happy at Touchstone, Emily?'

The question, no less than the Christian name, took me by surprise, breaking in on my reverie. I glanced at him, but his eyes were on the road. ‘Yes, thank you,' I stammered, and wondered, even as I spoke, if it were the truth. My emotions since reaching Cornwall had been more violent and more diverse than I had ever known them. One moment I was supremely happy, the next in the depths of despair. I tried to analyze them: I was uncertain of Mike, detested Derek, enjoyed my work. In addition, the story of Linda's death had upset me, and I was worried about Sarah's loneliness; conflicting emotions which did not add up to unclouded joy.