‘So what did you make of our visitor?’ Martha asked as the clock on the living room mantelpiece struck five.
‘Apart from the fact that he isn’t suffering from a cold, isn’t a doctor, and isn’t called Doyle?’ Rachel said. ‘He definitely has mischief in mind. Look at the determined way he tried to pump me, in between those hopeless attempts to pretend he had a genuine cough.’
‘He didn’t have any joy questioning you.’
‘Whatever he is, he’s certainly not a barrister. The man couldn’t cross-examine a child with sticky fingers and smears of chocolate all over its mouth. Perhaps he’s more at home with numbers than people. A banker, an actuary. Possibly an accountant.’
‘He looked unhappy when I mentioned Clarion Charlie.’
‘Yes, he’s obviously desperate for peace and quiet, that’s why he’s rented one of the properties furthest from the main resort. The publicity about Jacob’s Mystery Man stunt will bring crowds of people flocking into the resort, and he’s afraid they may interfere with his plans.’
‘Whatever they are.’
‘Yes, he’s still keeping a few cards close to his chest.’
In the hall, the telephone rang and Martha skipped away to answer it.
‘Rachel!’ she called through the open door. ‘Jacob needs to speak to you.’
Rachel got to her feet. ‘Don’t tell me he’s managed to worm out the truth behind the sinister premonition?’
Martha’s expression was bleak. ‘Bellamy has been murdered. Smashed over the head with a crystal ball.’
Hetty said what they were all thinking.
‘None of us predicted this.’
*
Trueman drove Rachel to Hemlock Hall. The Jacksons had bidden her for six thirty. It was a short journey from the bungalow but, as they approached the promontory at the far end of the esplanade, their progress was slowed by a hubbub outside the gates of the amusement park. The gates were closed and an ambulance and police car were stationed nearby. Hundreds of people milled outside, noisy with excited bewilderment. A hapless constable was trying to persuade everyone to disperse, but the crowd kept growing. Nobody wanted to miss the chance of being a bystander at a tragedy. Out of a clear blue sky, death had come to Paradise.
‘I suppose the police are hunting a Mystery Man,’ Rachel said. ‘Let’s hope they don’t arrest Jacob.’
‘I wouldn’t put it past him to finish up in clink.’
Rachel smiled. ‘He swore to me that he’d restrained the urge to pick up the murder weapon. When he rang off, he was about to call Gomersall. There’s nothing he loves more than telling the Clarion to hold the front page.’
Trueman steered the Phantom past the throng and turned into the long, sweeping drive of the Jacksons’ home.
‘This trouble at Hemlock Bay,’ he said. ‘The Hillman boy’s suicide. The weird painting. A meek little man pretending to be a doctor and an inquiry agent with a history of corruption. A premonition of a murder and the killing of a fortune teller. Sir Harold Jackson is supposedly the man who pulls the strings around here. Do you reckon he is behind it all?’
‘I wonder,’ she said. ‘That’s one of the reasons why I was eager to accept his kind invitation. But he’s done very well for himself over the years. Why would he suddenly orchestrate all this mayhem? Isn’t it the last thing someone in his shoes would do? The Jacksons have everything they could wish for. Why court disaster?’
They pulled up outside a gabled porte cochère. The manor house was suitably imposing, brick-built to a late Georgian design, obviously renovated and maintained to the highest standards.
‘Knowing you,’ Trueman said, ‘you’ll soon find out.’
*
‘I’m afraid my husband will be a little late this evening,’ Lady Jackson said in a warm drawl as she escorted Rachel into the sitting room. She was smoking a cigarette in a holder apparently made of solid gold. The furnishings and decor supplied ample evidence that the Jacksons had sophisticated taste and the funds to indulge it. ‘He was called off the golf course to deal with… an unfortunate incident. Can I offer you a cigarette? It’s a Marlboro, my favourite brand. “Red tips to match your pretty lips,” you know?’
‘Thank you, but I don’t smoke.’
‘A shame, but young women are so often indoctrinated into believing it’s a masculine pleasure that should be denied to the fair sex. Personally, I deplore the way so many busybodies discriminate against us.’
Rachel admired her sturdy feminism, although she was tempted to say that she hated the taste or smell of cigarettes. Perhaps because the late Judge Savernake had smoked like a chimney. But this wasn’t the moment to allow herself to be distracted.
‘I saw people swarming outside the gates to Paradise. Nothing is seriously amiss, I hope?’
Her hostess, very dark and very thin, was wearing an evening gown of lace and tulle with a ruffled skirt. Rachel recognised the hallmarks of Chanel. Yet for all her elegance and the sophistication of her make-up, Sadie Jackson looked gaunt.
In a sombre tone she said, ‘I’m afraid it couldn’t be much more serious. A man has been found dead and it looks as if he was murdered.’
Rachel put her hand to her mouth, but resisted the temptation to overindulge in histrionics. Gushing might lure someone as eccentric as Virginia Penrhos or as naïve as Dr Doyle into lowering their guard, but the Jacksons would be shrewd enough to see through an excess of blather.
‘My goodness, how shocking. Not one of the holidaymakers?’
A shake of the head. ‘The victim worked at the park. A man called Bellamy.’
‘How sad. Did you know him?’
‘I only met him once.’ Sadie Jackson compressed her lips. ‘The man was a fortune teller. He plied his trade as The Great Hallemby.’
‘Fascinating!’
‘That was my reaction when he arrived in Hemlock Bay. I thought it would be amusing to have my palm read.’
Rachel studied the older woman’s expression. ‘Do I gather the reading wasn’t a success?’
‘The man was a fraud.’ Sadie Jackson frowned, as if dismayed by her own credulity. ‘Sorry, I don’t mean to be unkind. At the time, paying him a visit seemed like harmless fun. He assured me and my family of a long and healthy life.’
Rachel waited.
‘A week later, I went for a routine medical examination. Doctor Sowden said I was as sound as a bell, but I was worried by a persistent cough and so I persuaded him to seek a second opinion. He referred me to a Harley Street specialist, who found a tumour had reached an advanced stage,’ Sadie Jackson said. ‘I spent my forty-fifth birthday undergoing an operation to remove one of my lungs.’
‘I’m so sorry to hear that.’
A wan smile. ‘I should thank my lucky stars that I survived. The same disease killed my mother. In those days it was rare and seldom diagnosed until it was too late.’
‘How dreadful.’
Sadie Jackson’s eyes were misty, as if she’d drifted far away. ‘Birthdays are bad news in my family. Mom died on my sixteenth. As if that wasn’t enough, a fortnight after my operation, our older son – both our boys are away at school – was seriously injured. A freak accident, while Bobby was playing rugby. A sport he loves, just like his father. For weeks it looked as though he’d never walk again. He’s recovering, thank heaven, but he’ll limp like an old man for the rest of his life. And would you believe it, the accident happened on Bobby’s thirteenth birthday. Unlucky, huh?’
On a large mahogany sideboard stood half a dozen family photographs in silver frames. Several showed two young boys, strongly built for their age, laughing for the camera. In one shot, the older son, wearing a striped rugby shirt and shorts, stood next to his proud father. The likeness was unmistakable.
Rachel bowed her head. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Wrong of me to blame the fortune teller, isn’t it? Unfair. The cancer, the accident, they came out of the blue. But I was angry with him. It was as if by misleading me, somehow he’d tempted fate and ruined my life. The good news he invented meant I had to be taught a lesson.’
‘Human nature,’ Rachel said softly.
‘Foolish, though. I’m not proud of myself, believe me. I like to think I’m strong, but for ages I was terrified about what would happen next. Disasters so often come in threes, don’t they? Or is that just another piece of nonsense, like reading palms?’
‘It’s so hard to see what lies ahead for any of us,’ Rachel said.
‘Maybe Bellamy’s own murder is the third calamity. A sensational crime can ruin a thriving tourist trade. Adverse publicity deters holidaymakers, especially when money is tight. I only hope the police soon solve the crime.’
During their conversation, Sadie Jackson had seemed almost to be speaking to herself, as if Bellamy’s death had knocked her sideways. Suddenly, she pulled herself together.
‘I’m sorry, Miss Savernake, you must forgive me. You’ve caught me at a bad time, but that’s no excuse for neglecting my duties as a hostess. I shouldn’t be burdening you with our personal misfortunes.’
‘Please don’t dream of apologising, Lady Jackson. You’ve had a harrowing time, and I’d have understood if you’d cancelled my invitation after this latest appalling tragedy.’
‘Not at all, I’m delighted to meet you. Dinner with a charming guest is the best possible way to put aside this wretched business for an hour or two. We love offering hospitality to people who take summer tenancies of the properties over at Hemlock Heights. We want them to feel welcome. In fact, we invited one of your neighbours to join us this evening, but unfortunately he sent word that he is indisposed.’
‘Oh really?’
‘He’s a doctor, and he lives in Shepherd’s Cottage.’
‘Dr Doyle? Yes, we’ve met.’ Rachel smiled. ‘He did have a bad cough, poor soul.’
‘Glad to hear he wasn’t simply avoiding our company. I did wonder. His reply was brusque, rather rude. At least he should know what medicine to take for a cure.’ There was a touch of mockery in her voice. ‘May I take you on a tour of the house while we wait for my husband?’
‘That would be lovely.’
‘My pleasure. We’re so proud of the place. It’s very precious to me. As a callow American, I can’t get over the fact that I’m living in a house that’s three hundred years old. Not that it’s recognisable from the ruin we bought at the end of the war.’
‘You’ve transformed the whole town, not just the Hall.’
Sadie laughed. ‘Hemlock Bay was a collection of scattered cottages and a couple of beaches when we arrived.’
‘What brought you here?’
‘Harold and I were desperate to get away from it all. We were luckier than most, because he’d got through the war without a scratch and we had plenty of money to invest. Harold dreamed of creating somewhere special for people of discernment.’ She gave an apologetic laugh. ‘Forgive me, I sound like an advertising brochure.’
‘Please go on. I’m fascinated.’
‘We drove over here one day. A diversion while we were touring in the Yorkshire Dales. The new bridge had been built and Harold spotted an opportunity. He felt the place had potential as a seaside resort, but it would take all our capital to make it a big success. Thank the Lord, I trusted his judgment. Land was dirt cheap and so was labour. So we took the plunge and we’ve never had a moment’s regret since. Watching a dream become reality. Building the hotel, converting the lighthouse, developing Paradise…’
Her voice trailed away, and Rachel guessed that she’d remembered the death of Gareth Bellamy.
‘Was the Sun and Air Garden part of your dream?’
Sadie Jackson looked her in the eye. ‘Can you keep a secret?’
Rachel’s expression was demure. ‘Cross my heart and hope to die.’
‘I trust my instinct, as well as Harold’s. I feel I can rely on your discretion, Miss Savernake.’
‘Please call me Rachel.’
‘And I’m Sadie.’ The older woman laughed. ‘I’ve never got used to British formality. Or the title. Lady Sadie! Sounds like something from a nursery rhyme or a bawdy song you hear in pubs.’
Rachel giggled. There was something wry and self-deprecating about her hostess that she found attractive. Despite the woman’s wealth and social standing, she hadn’t lost her humanity.
‘Here goes.’ Sadie took a breath. ‘Harold and I are nudists. We were one of the first couples to spend a weekend at Spielplatz in Hertfordshire when it opened two years ago. The idea that nudism is somehow immoral or uncivilised is repugnant to both of us. We always dreamed of creating our own private place to enjoy nature, that’s why Harold never developed the land between Hemlock Head and this house. The Sun and Air Garden embodies our beliefs.’
‘Weather permitting, of course?’
Sadie’s face creased with amusement. ‘We’re not so fanatical that we’re happy to suffer frostbite. Lancashire isn’t San Diego. We created a place to enjoy simple pleasures, not to suffer cruel and unusual punishment.’
‘I’d no idea the Sun and Air Garden represented some form of crusade.’
‘We’re giving more people the chance to live as nature intended. To realise that we’re not cranks or cultists, as some newspapers like to suggest. That’s why we haven’t broadcast our personal views. Bear in mind, most of our money is still tied up in Hemlock Bay. Harold’s knighthood binds us even more closely to the establishment. Over the years, the press has been good to us and given the resort some wonderful publicity. But they can turn against you in a flash. The popular prints are the worst. They’d betray their nearest and dearest to sell a few more newspapers. I wouldn’t trust some of them an inch.’
‘You’re thinking of the Clarion?’ Rachel suggested mischievously.
‘Dreadful, aren’t they? Though we’re delighted by their latest initiative. Clarion Charlie, a sort of Lobby Lud character, is coming to Hemlock Bay.’
‘That should draw the crowds.’
Sadie Jackson’s smile faded. ‘This murder will drown out everything else. I only hope the police don’t upset innocent holidaymakers.’
‘I shall have my alibi ready for inspection,’ Rachel said lightly. ‘Fortunately, I’ve been at Bay View most of the day, and the servants can vouch for me.’
‘I spent this afternoon resting in the garden, sipping lemonade and then having tea. Doctor Sowden assured me I’ll live to be a hundred, but I still lack energy.’
‘It’s very good of you to take the trouble to invite me here. Are you sure it’s not too much…?’
Her hostess raised a hand. ‘Please don’t worry. I never meant to suggest I was too tired to entertain you. Your visit is very welcome and the staff do all the hard work. Before I take you on a tour, may I tempt you with a glass of sherry? Harold recently acquired a cask of amontillado. I’m no expert, but I must say it’s exquisitely smooth to taste.’
‘I find it impossible to resist temptation,’ Rachel said gaily. ‘Even though I’ve read my Edgar Allan Poe.’
Sadie Jackson hesitated before bursting into laughter. For the first time since Rachel’s arrival, she seemed entirely at ease.
‘Me too. But your teeth can stop chattering, Rachel, there’s nothing to fear. We don’t have catacombs and I’ve no intention of walling you up in the cellar.’