Virginia’s expression gave nothing away. This was rather like playing poker with an expert card sharp, Rachel thought. A duel of wits. A seagull circled overhead, as if keeping a watchful eye on proceedings.
‘Welsh isn’t an easy language to learn. Outside Wales, I can’t recall ever having heard anyone conversing in Welsh. So I suppose if two people are Welsh speakers, and they don’t want anyone to know what they are discussing, using Welsh must seem quite safe.’
‘There’s still a risk, surely,’ Virginia objected.
‘Not in England. Not if it seems that nobody is listening.’
Virginia’s eyes narrowed. ‘What exactly are you suggesting?’
‘There was a small antechamber outside the room where Bellamy was killed. He kept people waiting deliberately, so that he could listen to anything said, and make use of it when he pretended to read palms or gaze into the crystal. His methods weren’t elaborate. He’d set up an air pipe, rather like the speaking tube in my motor car, and even if he couldn’t hear everything said, especially if his customers were whispering, he’d learn enough to make it seem that his skills were genuine.’
‘I’m still not clear what you’re getting at.’
Rachel leaned forward. ‘The outlines of what happened are clear to me, even if the precise details are obscure. It’s like seeing a building through a veil of mist.’
Virginia shrugged. ‘You have a vivid imagination.’
‘I take that as a compliment, Ginny, thank you. If you want to mark my homework, I’d say that Ffion fell in love with your cousin Nerys and while they were holidaying in Brighton they had the misfortune to encounter Louis Carson.’
‘Louis Carson?’
Rachel jerked a thumb towards the lane. ‘Yes, the same fellow who lives in the house opposite mine. Carson is a ruthless blackmailer. He demanded money in return for his silence about Ffion’s relationship with Nerys. When she told him to go to hell, he retaliated by making sure that puritanical old Aunt Bronwen found out about what her niece was getting up to. Ffion was ruined and left in a state of deep distress. Might falling victim to a vicious blackmailer have contributed to Nerys’s death, I wonder?’
‘My cousin was beautiful, but as fragile as Ffion,’ Virginia said quietly. ‘Carson’s actions were tantamount to murder. He caused her to take her own life.’
‘I see. You found Ffion attractive, and after Nerys’s death, you offered her solace and financial security. But it wasn’t a love match on quite the same scale.’
Virginia gave a thin smile. ‘I’m made of sterner stuff than Nerys. And I wasn’t so besotted that I was willing to put up endlessly with Ffion’s constant swings of mood.’
‘She became obsessed with Carson, I presume. Determined to take revenge on the man she blamed for ruining her life.’
‘Impossible not to sympathise,’ Virginia said quietly. ‘I was extremely fond of Nerys. What that man did was vile.’
‘Ffion hatched a plan to kill him,’ Rachel said. ‘When she discovered that he’d moved to Hemlock Bay, she dreamed of pushing him off the cliffs. Am I right?’
Virginia said, ‘Much as I like you, my dear girl, I’m not about to swoon at your feet. You wouldn’t expect me to make an incriminating statement, would you?’
Rachel looked this way and that. There was no sign of anyone else hunting Clarion Charlie, or wandering up to take a closer look at the lighthouse or Mermaid’s Grave.
‘Nobody is listening to us. Not a speaking tube in sight.’
‘Once bitten, twice shy.’ Virginia shook her head. ‘You’re a talented storyteller and your voice is melodious, a pleasure to listen to. If you wish to keep spinning your yarn, that is a matter for you. I am willing to hear out your narrative, but don’t expect me to offer any embellishments.’
Rachel smiled. She’d never doubted that Virginia Penrhos was a formidable woman.
‘Your sketch of Ffion, The Vow, suggests to me that you indulged her fantasy. I suppose the vow in question involved murdering the man who caused so much harm.’
She looked at Virginia, who shrugged but said nothing.
‘The two of you visited this place and when you found out that a tenancy of the lighthouse was available, you snapped it up. Handy for the cliffs, and also for Carson’s home. From an artist’s point of view, too, this place was perfect.’
She gestured towards the sea. ‘You exorcised your loathing of Carson by painting Hemlock Bay. I suppose you found it therapeutic, hence the quality of the finished work. That is his body stretched out on the rocks, isn’t it?’
Virginia shrugged. ‘You’re a student of surrealism. You understand what we strive for. To reinterpret human experience. To supply a vision of the rational world while asserting the power of dreams and the uncanny. To challenge the standards imposed by ordinary society. To champion the freedom of the individual.’
‘Quite a manifesto,’ Rachel said. ‘I’m not surprised the two of you were tempted to have a little innocent fun by having your fortunes told. The psychic world seems so much more attractive than the drabness of the conventional moral universe.’
‘You understand, don’t you?’
‘I think I do. But I’m jumping the gun. My guess is that once you’d finished the painting, you lost the urge to turn the fantasy of murder into reality. So many dangerous traps lurk for the unwary, even when one contemplates something as straightforward as pushing a man off a cliff. What if someone sees you? What if he survives?’
‘Quite. And I need hardly remind you, the swine is still walking the streets of Hemlock Bay. He has never paid the price for his crimes.’
‘My theory is that you wanted Ffion to give up on the idea of killing Carson. You regretted indulging her lust for revenge. But things had gone too far, too fast. She is a stubborn young woman and you found it impossible to reason with her.’
‘Go on.’
‘I wonder if one of your reasons for consulting the fortune teller was the hope that you’d be told something encouraging about your shared futures that would discourage Ffion from taking a risk. You were clutching at straws, casting around for anything that might make Ffion think twice about persisting with her half-baked ideas about committing murder.’
‘You’re perceptive, my dear, I’ll give you that.’
‘The difficulty is that she proved implacable. The murder fantasy had given her a goal. Something to live for. I presume you were arguing in the antechamber, speaking loudly enough for Bellamy to hear. Like you, he came from a Welsh language stronghold. I suppose he could hardly believe his luck. Ffion’s interest in Celtic culture caused her to propose committing the crime on the summer solstice, and he latched on to that. It’s possible that neither of you even mentioned your intended victim by name. Even if you did, he had no interest in warning Carson that his life was in danger. On the contrary. His priority was to burnish his reputation. What could be better than reporting a carefully garbled version of what he’d heard to a disbelieving world? When, in several crucial respects, his prediction came true, he’d be in clover. The man who foresaw a killing and couldn’t persuade anyone to take him seriously. Sensational stuff for the popular press. Jacob Flint’s competitors would take great pleasure in recording his failure to save Carson’s life.’
Virginia shrugged. ‘This is all speculation.’
‘Founded on some hard evidence. And it explains one or two things that are otherwise inexplicable. Bellamy needed proof that he’d behaved like a responsible citizen. So he told the police, who were predictably unimpressed. That wasn’t enough, so he took the precaution of writing to Jacob – no doubt taking care to keep a copy of his carefully worded letter, so that he could produce it later to substantiate his story about the premonition. Next, he called on his chosen newspaperman in Fleet Street. His plan went swimmingly, and he got hold of Jacob’s business card as further evidence of their encounter, but Jacob was prepared to take the story to his editor, and Bellamy didn’t want that. It would risk alerting Carson – or the two of you. He was also strangely evasive when Jacob asked him about the accents of the people he’d overheard. That makes sense. He didn’t want anyone to realise he’d heard someone talking in his own native tongue.’
‘Interesting,’ Virginia said slowly. ‘Your story, for all its strangeness, has explained one or two things that had puzzled me.’
‘About Bellamy’s behaviour? There’s something else. Martha went to have her fortune told, but she let slip that she knew that The Great Hallemby was really Gareth Bellamy. Something that not even you or Ffion were aware of, I presume?’
Virginia inclined her head.
‘I suspect that Bellamy panicked,’ Rachel said. ‘His original scheme was based on the hope that Ffion would actually kill a man – or attempt to kill him – by pushing him over the cliffs on or around the summer solstice. That was what he’d heard you discussing, and he was confident that the plan was serious, since otherwise why would you talk in Welsh and quarrel about it while waiting to have your fortune told? Perhaps he began to worry that you’d succeed in talking Ffion out of it. So he took a leaf out of Louis Carson’s book.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You and Ffion gave him enough ammunition to try his hand at blackmail. I think he contacted you, probably by telephone, and made clear that he knew what you were up to. Cross his palm with silver, and he’d keep his mouth shut. He told Winnie Lescott that he expected to come into money, though she didn’t believe him.’
Virginia said, ‘This is an entertaining yarn. Nothing more.’
‘Let me tell you how the story ends. Ffion has a violent streak. She wasn’t prepared to submit to Louis Carson’s blackmail, let alone Bellamy’s. No doubt she realises that once you give in to a blackmailer, he’ll never let you out of his clutches. Besides, if Bellamy knew that she wanted to shove Carson off Hemlock Heights, it was impossible for her to commit that crime while Bellamy was alive. She was left in a state of extreme desperation. In her eyes, there was only one possible solution.’
There was a short silence. The inquisitive seagull had flown away. The heat from the sun was less intense and a breath of breeze was coming in from the water.
‘I’m listening,’ Virginia said.
‘I’ve no idea what the two of you discussed,’ Rachel said frankly. ‘Or how much collusion there was between you. Ffion may have murdered Bellamy on the spur of the moment, but my bet is that there was some advance planning, even if only on her part and done in great haste. Both Martha and Jacob noticed the gap in the hedge on Hemlock Head, giving access to the Sun and Air Garden. I presume Ffion made use of it in committing her crime.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘I think you do. She needed an escape route and an alibi. I’ve never battered anyone over the head with a crystal ball, but it must be almost impossible to avoid having your clothes spattered with blood. Probably a lot of it.’
Virginia shrugged.
‘The way I’ve imagined it is this,’ Rachel said. ‘You and Ffion go to the Sun and Air Garden together. Once you’ve made friends with the watchman’s Alsatian, she hurries off to Bellamy’s hut. She puts on some clothes, perhaps just a macintosh, and crawls through the gap in the hedge, carrying a bag with a change of clothes in some kind of wrapping. I suppose she told Bellamy she was bringing the money he’d asked for. If she was shrewd, she’d have booked an appointment with him, so that he wouldn’t be occupied with other customers when she came along.’
‘Oh yes?’
‘Catching him unawares, she picks up the crystal ball and hits him with it. Then she hurries out through the back of the hut and makes her escape through the hedge. She strips off her bloodstained clothing and shoves it in the bag. Then she rejoins you on the terrace of the Sun and Air Garden. Ten minutes is all it would take.’
‘Ffion never left my side that afternoon,’ Virginia said steadily.
‘Please don’t lie to me, Ginny. It’s an exercise in futility. I’m not like Bellamy. I haven’t threatened you, have I?’
‘What exactly do you have in mind?’
Rachel considered. ‘A difficult question and I don’t have an easy answer. You see, I’m concerned about Ffion’s state of mind.’
‘Thank you. So am I.’
‘She’s a troubled soul, Ginny. Angry about her failure to make something of her life, angry that her plan to kill Carson has been thwarted. I imagine she’s afraid, too. Afraid that sooner or later, the police investigating Bellamy’s death will come knocking at the lighthouse door. My guess is, she feels now she has nothing left to lose. That makes her dangerous, Ginny. To herself and also to you.’
‘To me?’
‘Yes, you know the truth. She murdered Bellamy in cold blood. Which makes you a threat to her.’
‘She cares for me. Despite everything.’
‘There’s something else.’ Rachel was inexorable. ‘You’ve made her bitterly jealous.’
‘Jealous?’
‘Yes, Ginny, you provoked her deliberately by flirting with me, but that’s a risky game with a woman whose temperament is so volatile. Someone with no money of her own, someone who is dependent on you and fears she can’t rely on you any more. You changed your mind about helping her to kill Carson and now you’ve tired of her moodiness and clingy nature.’
‘I’m only human,’ Virginia said in a small voice.
‘And so you’ve erred.’ Rachel shook her head. ‘As it happens, Ffion has been on the balcony outside the lantern room for the past five minutes. Watching the pair of us, engrossed in conversation. As if this modelling session is a romantic prelude to our becoming the most intimate friends.’
Virginia looked over her shoulder. Ffion Morris was staring down from the balcony, her slender frame immobile.
Stifling a gasp of dismay, Virginia managed to steady herself enough to give a friendly wave.
‘Why don’t you come and join us?’ she called.
Rachel held her breath as she waited for a reply.
Ffion said nothing.
Instead, she hauled herself up by the balcony railing.
‘No!’ Virginia screamed. ‘Please God! No!’
But Ffion jumped anyway.