It was Saturday again, a mild, golden October day. Sarah was spending the day with a school friend. People had rallied round very kindly after her mother’s death, and her time was fully occupied. I was glad for her sake, though I missed her company, and my free afternoons were sometimes unbearably long.
Matthew had already left for the pub and I was sorting through some papers when there was a tapping on the French window and Mike stood smiling at me. I went across and let him in.
‘How’s my girl today?’
‘Not too bad.’
‘Ready for some exercise?’
‘Exercise?’ I repeated cautiously.
‘I thought we might go for a walk this afternoon, along the coast, and if you’re free this evening, we needn’t hurry back.
‘That would be lovely.’
‘Good. I’ve jobs to finish off, so meet me at the gate at half-past three. I’ll ask Mrs Trehearn to pack up a picnic.’
‘I’ll look forward to it.’ I went back to my desk and continued sorting out the top copies from the carbons, knocking them gently on the flat surface to shape them into neat piles. Then I carried them over to Matthew’s desk.
‘The morning’s work?’ Mike enquired, watching me.
‘Yes; he likes to read them through before we start on the next lot.’
I opened the lower right-hand desk drawer where the completed pages lay, and dropped the new ones neatly on top.
‘Fait accompli!’ I said.
He put his hands on my shoulders and studied my face. I looked steadily back at him. His eyes were more blue than grey today, reflecting his sports shirt. What had Kate said? ‘He’s too good-looking by half. It ensures that he always gets his own way.’
‘A penny for your thoughts!’
I moved under his hands and he dropped them. ‘I was just thinking,’ I replied with a touch of asperity, ‘that you’re the answer to a maiden’s prayer!’ And wondering, my mind added, why all your gentle, practised love-making doesn’t move me half as much as Matthew’s single passionate and irritable kiss. The tail end of the thought caught me by surprise – I was schooling myself not to think about Matthew – and the colour rushed to my face as though I’d spoken aloud.
Mike laughed, naturally attributing the blush to my comment. ‘Any maiden in particular?’ he asked.
‘All of them, I’ve no doubt.’
‘Well, this is the one I have my sights on!’ He flicked thumb and finger gently against my cheek and the gong sounded for lunch. ‘See you later, sweetheart.’
We set off as planned at three-thirty, down the path towards the sea and across the road on to the springy turf. Directly opposite we could see the ‘Danger’ notice barring the usual way down to the bay. We turned left and walked more slowly, the salt-encrusted wind in our faces, our hands linked. My mind was still on the morning’s work. The book was coming along well now and today, at last, Matthew had seemed to be more in the swing of it than at any time since Kate’s arrival at Touchstone.
‘Mike,’ I said idly, ‘what would make you murder someone?’
As I spoke he stumbled at my side and swore, bending down to rub his ankle.
‘Have you sprained it?’ I asked anxiously.
‘I don’t think so. Some goddamned rabbit hole.’ His face had whitened.
‘Sit down for a while and rest it,’ I urged. ‘We’re not in any hurry.’ Cautiously he lowered himself to the grass and I began to rub his ankle with gentle fingers.
‘What were you saying before I tripped?’
I smiled apologetically. ‘I asked what would make you commit murder.’
‘Does that pass nowadays for small talk?’
‘Suppose there’s a wealthy old man living alone. You decide to murder him. You go along to his flat and hit him over the head with an ornament. Now, the million dollar question is, why? He reached down suddenly, pushing his hand off his ankle, and looking up in surprise, I saw his face was livid. ‘Oh, I’m sorry!’ I exclaimed. ‘Am I making it worse? Wait here while I run back and phone for a taxi to take you home.’
’I’m all right. You pressed on a tender spot, that’s all.’
‘But it might be badly sprained. We’ll have to abandon the walk.’
‘Nonsense, it will ease in a minute or two. It’ll only stiffen if I don’t use it.’ He gave me a crooked smile. ‘You were asking why I murdered someone.’
‘Oh yes. Was it love, fear, jealousy – but hardly, an old man! – greed, or revenge?’
‘You said he was wealthy; surely it would be for gain?’
‘You’d think so,’ I agreed, frowning, ‘but he wasn’t robbed.’
‘So this isn’t a hypothetical case?’
‘Oh no, it really happened.’
’And you’re playing detective? Well, the only other thing I can think of is that one was blackmailing the other.’
‘That’s a possibility, I suppose.’
He looked at me with a quizzical smile. Are you going to explain this extraordinary conversation?’
‘Oh I’m sorry – didn’t I say? It’s Matthew’s novel.’
‘Matthew’s – novel!’ He started to laugh, and I looked at him in surprise. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘that’s a relief! I was beginning to think you had me on a murder rap!’
I smiled. ‘No wonder you were looking worried!’
‘Just a minute, though; you said this really happened?’
‘The old man was actually killed, yes, but that’s only the starting point. Matthew’s invented a cast of characters and given them all different motives, to try to work out who might have done it.’
‘But who did in real life?’
‘We don’t know; the murderer hasn’t been found.’
‘Well, without being obtuse, how will Matthew know when he hits on the right motive?’
I considered for a moment. ‘I don’t suppose he will.’
‘Then it strikes me as rather a pointless exercise.’
‘But it’s a novel, Mike; he’s not interested in who did it so much as why. He’s not a policeman, after all,’ I added, remembering Matthew’s comment to Mrs Statton.
Mike made a move to get up, and I put my hand under his arm to help him. Gingerly he stood, putting all his weight on the uninjured foot. Then he lowered the other, testing it. After a moment he straightened and smiled at me.
‘There you are, what did I tell you? As good as new.’
‘But you mustn’t walk on it – not today.’
‘Nonsense. Come on, now, we’ve wasted enough time.’ He took my arm and, not wanting to keep protesting, I fell into step beside him. He was limping slightly, but his colour had come back and I began to accept he’d made the right decision.
A little farther on we came to some steps, and went down them on to the hard, wet sand, ribbed in brown and gold from the receding tide.
On our left the cliffs towered, jagged against the bright sky and haloed by wheeling gulls, while under their skirts lay the twisting caves which bored back into the rock, harbouring cool shaded pools where horny shrimps and angular starfish, stranded by the tide, floated in the shallow water.
Instinctively I moved away from their dank, resounding tunnels to the openness of the beach. The ridges in the sand hurt the soles of my feet and to Mike’s amusement I walked cat-like between them. Pebbles and shells rimed the sand where the tide had reached, their jagged uneven line glinting like a broken necklace. I had been collecting pebbles when Matthew had dragged me, protesting, out of the water. Matthew, who had been with Linda the afternoon she drowned: Linda, who could swim.
I shivered and suddenly the deserted beach was no longer a friendly place. Mike glanced at me. ‘A cup of hot tea will warm you up. Let’s go back on to the soft sand.’
‘Not too near the cliff, thank you.’
‘It’s safe enough here.’
We sat side by side, our backs against a sandhill, eating Mrs Trehearn’s ham sandwiches and dropped scones. Mike said, ‘This may be the last time; Summer Time ends soon.’
Already the sun was low on the horizon. I looked back the way we had come. The first touch of red was in the sky. The sand had become darker and the cliffs seemed to huddle closer.
‘It’s the Chapelcombe Show at the end of the month,’ Mike said, breaking into my sombre thoughts.
‘Oh?’ I turned back to him. ‘What does that involve?’
‘It’s mainly agricultural – sheep, pigs and cattle. But there are flower and vegetable entries and cages of rabbits and pigeons and so on. It’s later than usual this year because the chairman was taken ill and everything was put back.’
‘Are you exhibiting?’
‘Certainly; we usually do quite well.’
I held my steaming mug in both hands to warm them. Around us the air thickened perceptibly. He put an arm round me and the warmth of it was comforting to my cold back.
‘Do you wish you’d never come to Cornwall, Emily?’
‘In some ways.’
‘Funny to think if you hadn’t applied for the job we’d never have met. I might have been sitting here with my arm round some redhead!’
I smiled with him, but my thoughts had gone back to that day in London when Matthew had first sat scowling at me across a table.
‘Since you don’t have to rush back, how about walking on to Mevacombe and having a pub meal?’
‘We’ve only just finished tea!’
‘That was just a snack, and we won’t get there before dark. Are you warm enough?’
‘I shall be, walking, but what about your ankle?’
He bent down and prodded it. ‘It’s bearing up quite well. I must be tougher than I thought.’
We repacked what remained of the picnic in Mike’s haversack and started to walk again. The sky had deepened to tangerine and there was a still, breathless beauty about it that was somehow melancholy.
‘Have you ever been in love, Emily?’ Mike asked me. ‘Really in love, I mean?’
‘I – think so. Once.’
‘I’ve never let myself. I’ve seen too much unhappiness, and it’s been my motto to love lightly and not too well. Until now,’ he added quietly. ‘I rather think I’ve fallen for you, Emily. Much harder than I meant to. Do you think you could ever love me?’
The sunset blurred and sparkled like a prism, and I blinked rapidly. ‘Oh Mike, I wish I could!’
He stopped and pulled me to him. ‘There’s no hurry, darling,’ he murmured. ‘Just let it come.’
‘That – other time,’ I whispered. ‘It’s still there.’
‘I can wait.’
If only I could relax and be happy with Mike, instead of always looking over my shoulder for Matthew’s dark, restless shadow!
He took my hand and we went on again. A golden wash now suffused our world. High above us a lonely gull dipped and called, swerving down suddenly to the gilt waves and itself becoming stained with the sun’s last splendour, a golden bird on a motionless golden sea. The long, twisting pools left by the tide mirrored the sky like golden snakes on the dark sand. It could have been the birth of time. Mike was holding my hand very tightly. There was a waiting hush in the air. Then swiftly, the glory faded, the gold cooled to pale turquoise and the first stars pricked through. A yellow sickle moon swung in the sky. It was a night made for lovers, I thought, and my heart ached.
It seemed a long way to Mevacombe, but at last we could see the lights of its pier twinkling ahead of us, and the cliffs lowered and evened out into a promenade. The town was larger and more tourist-minded than Chapelcombe. It had fish and chip shops, a dance hall – and swimming baths.
We came up from the dark beach into the lights of the town like shipwrecked mariners, blinking in the brightness. Mike was filled with a buoyant gaiety and we swung our hands and laughed along the streets. My ears were nipping now in the evening air but I was still touched with the magic of the sunset.
We turned into one of the old pubs and moved gratefully to a table by the fire. Horse brasses gleamed on the walls and against the bar leaned tanned, blue-eyed men in thick jerseys.
’I’ll try the cider,’ said Mike. ‘How about you?’
‘That sounds delicious.’ I held out my hands to the blaze.
Mike came back and put the tankards on the table. Sitting down, he raised his to me.
‘To us!’ he said. ‘Don’t change, Emily. Ever.’
Later, we feasted on enormous Cornish pasties, which, despite the picnic tea, I managed to finish.
Since we had not brought the car, we travelled home on the local bus. Mike led me to the top deck and we sat trying to peer past our own reflections to where the sea lay in darkness. The bus stopped opposite the road up to Touchstone. It was now very dark; the slim young moon had retreated behind some clouds and there were no street lights up here. I would have stumbled on the rough path but for the security of Mike’s hand at my elbow.
‘Tomorrow?’ he said at the gate.
‘Tomorrow,’ I replied. I started to walk up the drive, but he called after me.
‘Emily –’
‘Yes?’ I turned back, my fingers already searching for my key.
‘Take care.’
‘I will.’
The hall light spilled on to the drive. I let myself in and locked the door behind me. The savoury pasty had made me thirsty, and, deciding to take a glass of milk up with me, I pushed open the kitchen door and halted in surprise. Matthew was standing at the sink, and turned when he heard my footsteps.
‘Oh, you’re back. Did you enjoy yourself?’
‘Very much, thank you. What are you doing in here?’
‘Trying to repair the damage I’ve done to this saucepan. I warmed up some baked beans and the light was too high.’
‘Where’s Tammy?’
‘It’s her evening off.’
And Mrs Johnson was at her daughter’s. Surely one of them could have left him something. ‘Have you had anything to eat?’
He grimaced. ‘Some dried-up beans. It’s my own fault. I’m not usually so moronic, I just wasn’t concentrating.’
‘I’ll do you some eggs,’ I said, opening the fridge.
He shook his head. ‘Nonsense, that’s the last thing you need after an evening out. Anyway, I’m not really hungry any more.’
Ignoring him, I laid the eggs on the counter. ‘Scrambled or fried?’
He hesitated, then grinned, and again I was struck by his youthfulness when his face relaxed, as it so seldom did. ‘Well, if you insist, scrambled. You’ll join me, won’t you?’
‘I couldn’t – I’m full of Cornish pasty.’
He perched on the edge of the table, watching me break eggs into a basin. ‘Where have you been?’
‘We walked along the beach to Mevacombe.’
‘It was a lovely sunset,’ he commented.
‘Yes.’
I cooked the eggs, made some toast, and laid it out as appetisingly as I could on the kitchen table.
‘At least stay and keep me company. It’s not very late.’
I sat down, elbows on the table, and watched him.
‘This is delicious – it seems I was hungry, after all.’
‘What do you usually do at weekends?’
‘Open a tin, I’m ashamed to say. When Linda was here – she used to fill me up with spaghetti. It was a speciality of hers – we had a different sauce every time.’
So he and Linda had sat here eating spaghetti. She’d had a ‘soft spot’ for Matthew, Mike had said. And Kate had wondered if there was anything between them. Perhaps they were both right.
I stood up and Matthew looked at me in surprise.
‘If you’ll excuse me I’ll make a start on the dishes. I don’t want to leave them for Tammy in the morning.’
‘I’ll help you.’ He took the last forkful, stood up and brought his plate to the sink.
‘There’s no need,’ I said tightly, and added before I could stop myself, ‘Or did you always help Linda?’
He frowned. ‘Have I said something to offend you?’
I shook my head, splashing water into the bowl.
‘I didn’t mean the spaghetti was any better than the eggs.’
When I still didn’t speak, he said, ‘Emily, you’re not still upset about Linda’s death?’
‘Shouldn’t I be?’ I snapped. ‘First Linda, then Kate. I might be next.’
‘What do you mean?’ His tone had sharpened.
‘Only that this doesn’t seem to be a very lucky house.’
‘No.’ He lifted a glass and began to dry it. After a moment he said, ‘You don’t really believe that, do you?’
‘What?’
‘That something might happen to you, too.’
I paused, my hands still in the soapy water. ‘I don’t know. I don’t drive, so at least I won’t go over the cliff.’
‘And you can swim, so you won’t drown.’
I pressed my hands down flat in the bowl until my fingers ached. ‘Linda could swim too,’ I said unsteadily, ‘but it didn’t help her.’
At my side Matthew became still. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the tweed of his jacket and his hand still holding the glass.
‘What did you say?’
I turned my head towards him. ‘I said Linda could swim. She was doing a life-saving course at Mevacombe Baths.’
His face was frozen. ‘That’s not possible. Everyone knew –’
‘It was because you all teased her that she had lessons. They discovered she was a natural. She swam like a fish.’ I was quoting Jane.
Matthew moistened his lips. ‘Then how – ?’
‘Exactly. How could she drown on a calm day?’ I wrenched my eyes from his shocked face. ‘So you see I could drown, after all. And a boulder can fall on anyone, can’t it?’
His hand gripped my arm. ‘I told you – that was an accident.’
‘Three accidents,’ I said hoarsely, ‘and two of them fatal.’
His fingers were like steel on my arm. ‘For God’s sake –’
The clock on the shelf whirred and stuttered and settled back into its even ticking.
‘Who told you about Linda?’ he demanded.
‘I met a girl in the town – she knew Linda at the Baths.’
‘But why –’
‘I don’t know. She was going to have a baby, wasn’t she? Perhaps that was – inconvenient.’
‘You mean she drowned herself deliberately?’
I paused. ‘Perhaps.’ But my hesitation had been too long and the alternative was in my silence.
Matthew said harshly, ‘You’re mad! You don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Then, sharply, ‘Have you mentioned this to anyone else?’
‘Only Mike,’ I said.
‘Oh of course, Mike.’ His voice was vicious. ‘And what did he say?’
Don’t go swimming with Matthew. Be careful. Take care.
Too late, discretion blundered to my aid. ‘That it was all nonsense.’
‘So I should bloody well think. You’d be well advised not to speak of it again, to anyone.’
He flung the tea-towel on the draining-board and left the room. With tears pouring down my face, I finished washing the dishes.