Dangerous Deception (10 page)

“Oh, he's probably just got a flat tyre or something. On the other hand, this afternoon's storm wouldn't have been pleasant in the kind of places he goes to. There probably wasn't much shelter.”

I'd been too overwhelmed by Philip's arrival to register Dick Harvey's absence at lunch-time. I glanced at his empty table and gave a little shiver.

“Is he a climber?” Philip inquired.

“No, an amateur archaeologist. As Clare says, he'll no doubt come breezing in late, as he did last night. But I'm keeping you from your dinner.”

He went on to his own table and Harry approached and handed me the menu. I couldn't concentrate on it. At the next table, the old ladies were twittering like agitated sparrows. Over by the window, the honeymooners sat silently, close together. Even the loud-voiced Miss Norton was subdued this evening.

The sound of approaching footsteps turned every head in the room, but it was Clive and Pauline who entered. In an uneasy silence they walked to their table. Clive made some laughing comment to Elmer Zimmerman as he passed, but it elicited only a faint smile in response.

The general feeling of apprehension increased throughout the meal. People spoke seldom, and then in low voices. And all the time the rain rattled like tiny pellets against the glass and the wind blew gustily down the wide chimney.

It was certainly no time for Philip and me to engage in our prescribed flirting and we tacitly abandoned it, resorting to the same pattern of sporadic conversation as the rest of them.

“Did you and Uncle stay here once, a few years ago?” I asked suddenly.

He looked at me quickly, eyes narrowing. “What makes you ask that?”

“I remembered him talking about that holiday you had, and the name Dryffyd seemed familiar.”

“No, it wasn't here, it was an hotel further down the road.”

“The Plas Dinas?”

“That's right – where we were supposed to meet up yesterday.”

Which confirmed my guess.

I returned to my dinner and after a moment, Philip, too, picked up his fork again.

There was a slight diversion towards the end of the meal, when Emma Mortimer appeared in her nightdress, complaining of a rattling window which was keeping her awake. Pauline shooed her out again, and went up with her to wedge it.

I laid my spoon on my plate, abandoning the last of the Peach Melba.

“Do they serve coffee?” Philip asked.

“Yes, in the lounge.”

As we walked through the hall, the Mortimers and Morgan were standing chatting together.

“I hope you weren't wanting a brandy, Philip,” Morgan said, indicating a notice pinned to the closed door of the cocktail lounge. It read:
Sorry, bar closed from 7–9 p.m.

“Fortunately we're only in search of coffee,” Philip answered, and as we went on into the lounge, they turned and followed us.

Several people were already there, and I seated myself in much the same place as I had the previous evening. This time, though, there was no Dick Harvey talking excitedly about his find. I glanced anxiously at my watch. Eight-thirty; surely even if he'd had a puncture, as Morgan had suggested, he'd have been back by now.

“Coffee, Miss – er – Laurie?” The fluttery Miss Bunting was beside me. Philip immediately stood up.

“Let me do that – you sit down.”

“No, really, it's all right—”

“Please, I insist.”

“Well, in that case—” She smiled uncertainly and seated herself beside me. Until now, I'd not spoken more than a couple of words to her, and as we embarked on a rather stilted conversation, I was able to study her more closely. She seemed nervous, talking in a quick, low voice and blinking rapidly as she did so, but this might be habitual. I reflected that if I spent much time in Miss Norton's company, I might well be nervous myself.

As though my thought had conjured the woman up, she loomed suddenly above me. “I see you've deserted me, Joan!” she announced with mock severity, and Miss Bunting fluttered even more.

Miss Norton held out a large hand and I obediently put mine into it. “We've not met formally, have we? Eunice Norton.”

“Clare Laurie,” I said, “and may I introduce Philip Hardy?”

“Here for the golf, Mr Hardy?” Miss Norton inquired, as she joined us on the sofa.

“I'm afraid I don't play.”

“No time, eh? I know you men! What line of business are you in?”

I held my breath, and after the briefest pause Philip answered, “Insurance.”

“Ah, the triumph of hope over experience, as Dr Johnson remarked in a different context. We teach at a girls' school in Cardiff, for our sins.”

“What subjects?” I asked, since it seemed to be expected.

“Joan takes music and drama, and I English Literature.”

“Tell Clare about your hobby, Miss Norton,” Clive suggested from across the room. “I'm sure she'd be interested.”

I turned to her inquiringly, and she gave a pleased smile. “Actually, I'm researching the history of fairy tales.”

My heart gave a jerk, though whether because of the hobby itself or Clive's drawing my attention to it, I couldn't be sure.

“My principal aim is conservation, you see,” Miss Norton was continuing. “As I'm sure you're aware, every country has its own collection, and while many of them are known world-wide, others are in danger of being lost. Andrew Lang did a magnificent job on them some forty years ago, but I've been able to unearth quite a few he missed.”

She glanced at me almost coyly. “In fact, the first volume has already been published. I've a copy with me, if you're interested.”

“More power to your elbow!” Clive said jovially. “Speaking on behalf of all parents, anything that would make a change from Snow White or Jack and the Beanstalk would be more than welcome!”

Perhaps I imagined the brief, splintered silence. Certainly I held my own breath. But Miss Norton was still looking at me hopefully, and I forced myself to say, “Thank you, I'd love to see it.”

I glanced at Clive but he was smiling benignly, to all appearances quite unaware of any undercurrents. It was Pauline who changed the subject, and to one no more comfortable.

“I do wish Dick would come,” she exclaimed anxiously. “Something must have happened, for him to be as late as this.”

“Well done, darling; we've been doing our best to keep off that subject.”

“Well, I'm sorry, but I'm really worried.”

There was another silence, unmistakable this time, and in the middle of it Philip stood up, took my empty cup from my hand and replaced it with his on the trolley.

“You were going to look out that book for me, Clare.”

“Yes, of course.” I was glad to leave this suddenly claustrophobic room. “I'll get it now.”

As we went out into the hall, he said in a low voice, “What was all that about? Sinbad playing silly beggars?”

“I've no idea.”

“In any other circumstances, it would have been quite amusing; it's hard to associate Miss Norton with frog princes and sleeping beauties.

“Anyway, to business. I'd like to have a look at that plan.” He glanced at the empty reception desk. “And perhaps we should order a packed lunch for tomorrow.”

The day of reconnaissance. “Yes, let's do it now, while we think of it.”

Philip pressed the bell on the desk, but as he did so, the telephone rang in the office behind and we heard Mr Davies say, “Carreg Coed Hotel.” Then his voice tautened. “Yes? What's the trouble?”

I clutched at Philip's arm.

“Yes, that's right,” Davies was saying. There was a long pause, then he said expressionlessly, “Oh, my God!” And again, “Oh, God. Yes – yes, of course – I suppose you must. There's nothing I can do? Very well.”

There was a click as the phone was replaced. Philip and I waited. Wynne Davies appeared in the doorway, his face white with shock.

“It's Mr Harvey,” he said, his voice shaking. “He's been found at the foot of a cliff, over at Pen-y-Coed. He's dead.”

I made some incoherent exclamation and Philip said quickly, “The man who was late? How terrible – what happened?”

“No one seems to know. I suppose he lost his footing – it's very dangerous there. That was the police; they found an envelope in his pocket, addressed to him here. They want to look through his things to find out who they should notify.”

Philip registered my rigidity. “Clare? Are you all right?”

“Take her to the bar, Mr Hardy – I'll come and open it now. As luck would have it, Dai took the day off for his sister's wedding, and I'm having to stand in for him. Come to that, I could do with a drink myself.”

We crossed the hall together and Wynne Davies pulled up the grill and poured brandy into three glasses. Philip put one into my hand and made me drink it. The fumes went up the back of my nose and I choked.

“That's it,” said Wynne Davies mechanically, and swallowed his own. “He asked for an early breakfast,” he continued, almost to himself. “Never dreamed that was the last time I'd see him.” He pulled himself together with an effort. “Would you mind looking after the bar for me, sir? I shan't be long, but I must go and tell Gwynneth.”

Shoulders bent, he went out of the room. Philip was looking at me curiously.

“Come on, Clare, snap out of it – you hardly knew the man. I know it's a shock, but accidents do happen.”

“It wasn't an accident.”

Philip's hand, reaching for his glass, stopped in mid-air.

“What did you say?”

“I said it wasn't an accident.” I'd been unaware of the thought until I heard myself stating it, but I accepted it without question.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

I took another gulp from my glass. “He was late for dinner last night because he'd found something exciting which he thought was valuable. He said he'd have to contact the authorities.” My voice dwindled away.

I had his full attention now. “
What
did he find?”

“I don't know. He wouldn't tell us any more till he'd been back for another look.”

“Did he say where it was?”

I shook my head.

“Who knew about this?”

“We all did.”

“Not very wise to shout it abroad, but he wasn't to know that.”

“He was such a nice, harmless little man.” My voice rocked.

Philip said slowly, “So you reckon he found more than was good for him?”

“Either that, or someone thought he had.”

“Meaning Sinbad?”

I stared at him. In my distress, I'd forgotten our unknown associate. “I suppose so.”

“You're quite sure you don't know who Sinbad is?”

“Quite. It could be any of the men here: Andrew Dacombe, Clive, Morgan – presumably not Mr Zimmerman?”

“No, definitely not.”

“It could even be Mr Davies,” I said reflectively, but Philip shook his head.

“Not unless he's a bloody good actor.”

“Poor Dick; if he'd gone next week, there'd have been nothing to find and he'd have been all right. How dreadful, to think his life hung on five days.”

“Aren't you rather jumping the gun? What he found might be something altogether different and nothing whatever to do with us.”

“But you don't really believe that.”

He sighed. “I suppose not.”

“Well, whatever it was, his mistake was in talking about it. Because without even being sure what he'd stumbled on, someone couldn't afford to take the risk.”

Philip was gazing thoughtfully into his glass. “Where were all the people you mentioned, this morning?”

I tried to think back. “Morgan had some work to do – probably in his room. I met Clive on the hill. Mr Zimmerman and his wife went to the golf club, though I don't know what time, but you say they're in the clear anyway. Andrew and Cindy were playing tennis when I left, but I don't know for how long. Still, I can't see her being mixed up in this.”

Philip said on a questioning note, “Cindy? Cinderella?”

Briefly, my precarious world rocked again. Then I shook my head. “No, I'm sure that's coincidence.”

“But have you considered that it could be a woman?”

I hadn't. I said incredulously, “Who killed Dick Harvey?”

“It could be, if she was working to Bryn's orders.” He looked at me levelly. “It wasn't you, was it, Clare?”

The breath left my body as if I'd been winded.

He continued, “It wouldn't have taken much to push him over. Those cliffs at Pen-y-Coed are lethal, covered with slippery grass. Matthew and I went there one day. There are warning notices all over the place.”

He added impatiently, “Oh, stop looking like that, for God's sake. I wasn't serious, but I want to bring home to you just what it is you're involved in. And for what it's worth, even if we knew who Sinbad was, there's nothing we could do about it. Whether you like it or not, if he did kill Harvey, it was to protect us as much as himself.”

I closed my eyes on a wave of nausea. “But Dick wasn't a threat to anyone,” I protested faintly.

“He would have been, if he'd unearthed the loot. Just think about it – the whole operation scuppered at the last minute because he happened to bumble along.”

I looked at Philip with something approaching hatred, and his eyes dropped from mine. But before he could speak, Pauline came hurrying into the room, her eyes wide.

“Have you heard? Oh Clare, isn't it terrible? I
knew
something was wrong! That nice little man! He gave Stuart one of his old coins.” Her eyes filled with tears.

Philip moved behind the bar. “What can I get you? Mr Davies left me in charge and I expect a fair bit of medicinal alcohol will be called for tonight.”

Clive and Morgan came in with the Zimmermans, whom I studied with covert suspicion. They looked so ordinary – he slightly rotund, balding, bespectacled; she with permed hair, small round eyes and a tightly corseted figure. Yet they were at least partly responsible for Dick's death, with their eagerness to buy whatever it was that Bryn had procured for them.