Dangerous Deception (11 page)

Mamie came hurrying over to Pauline and me. “Isn't this horrible?” she exclaimed. “I just can't believe it! I said to Elmer, ‘Not that nice little guy!'”

His universal epitaph, I thought dully.
Here lies Dick Harvey, a nice little guy
.

“Can I get you a drink, Clare?” Morgan was at my side.

“No, thanks, I've just had one.”

“Come and join us, Mr Rees.” Mamie Zimmerman moved farther round the window-seat and Morgan sat down beside me.

“The police are coming,” Pauline said. “What a way to end a holiday! He came here every year, you know. Mrs Davies was telling me the other day that he enjoyed the company. Outside school, I think he was rather lonely; he never mentioned any relatives.”

I felt tears sting my eyes and looked down quickly. Under cover of the table, Morgan's hand closed reassuringly over mine. When I raised my head again, Philip was watching us from behind the bar. Morgan, catching our fused glances, withdrew his hand.

“Am I encroaching?” he asked quietly, as the two women chatted beside us.

“No, of course not.”

“Philip mightn't agree.”

I didn't reply. Whatever my own inclination, I must play by Bryn's rules, or, I thought shudderingly, I might find myself hurtling off a cliff.

“Are you sure you won't have a drink? It might help – Dick's death has shaken us all.”

“No, thanks.” I added sadly, “Now we'll never know what he was so excited about.”

Andrew and Cindy came in and joined the group at the bar. Everyone seemed to be herding together in this small room, seeking comfort from each other. The lounge must have been empty by now except for the old ladies and the school-mistresses.

Wynne Davies returned, thanked Philip for relieving him, and took up his place again. Philip moved round to the front of the bar but made no attempt to join me. I noticed with misgiving that he'd refilled his brandy glass.

“I tried to persuade Gwynneth to go to bed, but she wouldn't,” Mr Davies was saying. “It's hit her pretty hard. Like one of the family was Mr Harvey, coming here every year.”

“It's dreadful.” Cindy Dacombe pressed her fingers to her lips, her eyes wide to keep back the tears. Andrew's arm went comfortingly round her shoulders. “If only he'd let you go with him, Mr Mortimer,” she continued. “You asked him, didn't you?”

I stiffened, striving to hear Clive's reply above the hum of conversation.

“I might have suggested it, last night,” he admitted, his voice a little strained.

I thought: it would have been almost eleven when he joined me on the hill. Suppose after all he'd had access to a car? Would he have had time to drive to Pen-y-Coed and back before coming after me to establish an alibi?

Outside the window, wet darkness pressed against the panes. Was it really only nine hours since I'd sat here with Morgan, waiting for Aladdin?

As though a part of my remembering, there came the sound of a car swishing off the main road. Headlights raked the window behind us, moved on, and the long sleek car drew up at the front door.

The police had arrived.

‘Can it be summed up so,

Quit in a single kiss?'

Bridges:
I will not let thee go

WYNNE DAVIES passed the bar back to Philip and went to meet them, and a minute later Clive Mortimer, making some comment I didn't catch, followed him out of the room. We could hear voices in the hall, heavy feet moving towards the stairs, and studiously avoided each other's eyes.

The minutes went by. Though several attempts at conversation were made, we were all on edge, straining for sounds of the policemen's return.

Someone refilled my glass and I automatically drank from it. To my heightened senses, it seemed that everyone watched everyone else, trying to probe behind the masks we presented to each other. Could they guess that Philip and I were not what we seemed? Or were they equally guilty of duplicity?

I shook my head to clear it. The police were here; I'd wanted to contact them, hadn't I? Would it be possible to seize the chance to tell them what I knew? Or – I shuddered – if Dick's death really was linked with our enterprise, might they charge me with murder? Nothing, in this unreal world, seemed impossible.

After what felt like an eternity, Mr Davies reappeared in the doorway.

“The sergeant here would like to ask a couple of questions,” he said, and a solid, red-faced man came forward.

“Sorry to intrude, ladies and gentlemen,” he began in his lilting voice. “A nasty business, this. I wanted to ask if the deceased ever mentioned any relatives to you? It's a forlorn hope, like, since Mr and Mrs Davies here knew him better than you did, and they never heard him speak of anyone.”

“There was only the school,” Morgan said.

“Yes, sir, we have that address. Do any of you know where he was making for when he set off this morning, or what he'd discovered that excited him so much?”

“Not what he'd found, he was keeping it to himself.” That was Elmer Zimmerman. “But as to where he was headed, surely it would have been where he was found? Wasn't his car there?”

“Yes; it was because it was still unclaimed at closing time that the alarm was raised. But, see, it's hard to think what there could have been at Pen-y-Coed to interest a man like Mr Harvey. Views and that, yes, and a lovely beach, but nothing else. And no one remembers seeing him there.”

“He wasn't the sort people remember,” Pauline said.

Another sad epitaph. I wished now that I'd studied Philip's map in the car; how near Cefn Fawr Castle was Pen-y-Coed?

There were a few more general questions, then the policeman took his leave. “I'll give you a receipt for his possessions, sir,” he was saying, as he and Mr Davies went back through the hall.

The reflection of the brightly-lit room hung suspended in the darkness beyond the window, and I watched the people behind me mirrored in this looking-glass world, where things were the opposite of what they seemed, turning with relief as Mrs Davies came in with a tray. She was pale and red-eyed, but was quite composed.

“I've made some fresh coffee; I thought you might feel in need of it. And let's shut out this depressing darkness.”

We cleared a space for the tray, and Morgan leaned over to pull the heavy curtains across the bay. The room became smaller still, but cosier.

“I'll pour,” I volunteered, standing up. My hand was not quite steady, but at least I didn't spill any. When everyone was served there was a cup left over, and I realised Clive Mortimer hadn't returned. I'd poured black for myself, hoping to clear my head from the lingering effects of the brandy.

Mr Davies came in, and from behind the curtained window we heard the police car drive away.

Pauline stood up. “I'll just go and make sure the children have settled. The gale was keeping them awake.”

She went out. Morgan said in a low voice, “I don't suppose any of us will get much sleep tonight.”

His eyes slid past me, and I turned to see Philip at my side.

“May I have a word with you, Clare? Privately?”

I hesitated, but his eyes held mine steadily.

“Excuse me a moment,” I murmured to Morgan, and he rose as I left my seat. The hall felt cool after the heat in the cocktail lounge, and I shivered a little.

“What is it?”

“I've still not seen that plan. I'll come up with you now.”

“If you want to look at it,” I said carefully, “I'll bring it down. You're not coming to my room at this time of night. What would the old ladies think?”

He smiled unpleasantly. “Still the same, arm's length Clare? That's not what I hear from Bryn.”

I said icily, “Do you want to see the plan or don't you? Can't it wait till morning?”

“No, it can't. And where
can
I look at it, then? Hardly in there.”

He nodded towards the glass wall of the lounge. The old ladies must have retired to bed, but Miss Norton and Miss Bunting had pulled out a table and were engaged in some card game.

“The TV room will probably be empty.”

“In here?” Philip pushed the door open. The set was switched on, but the occupants of the room were not watching it. At the sound of the door there was a flurry of arms and legs on the sofa, and little Mair, the chambermaid, her fingers fumbling at her blouse, scrambled to her feet. More slowly, the tall figure of Clive Mortimer uncoiled and rose to his.

Mair's horrified eyes went to our faces, then dropped to her feet. She said in a small, choked voice, “I'll get your coffee, sir,” and slipped past us, cheeks scarlet and eyes still downcast.

Clive said amiably to Philip, “You might try knocking, old man.”

He winked at me and went past us into the hall as Pauline came down the stairs. I held my breath; had she seen Mair? She paused fractionally, then came on towards us.

“Oh, there you are, Clive. Come and have your coffee.”

They went together into the bar and Philip said, “So that's who you went walking with! You're certainly playing the field.”

“I'll get the brochure.” I ran across the hall and up the stairs. My mind was still on Clive –
could
he be Sinbad? – and I was into the bedroom before I realised firstly that the door hadn't been latched and secondly that I was not alone. The boy Evan, whose shifty eyes I'd distrusted on my arrival, turned swiftly from the bed. I had the distinct impression that his hand had been groping under the mattress.

“What are you doing?” I demanded, shrill with fright. “Why are you in my room?”

“Turning down the bed, miss. Mair's helping out downstairs this evening.”

Which was one way of putting it, I thought acidly.

“Well, will you go now, please.”

Only too willingly he sidled past me and out of the room. As the door closed behind him, I ran to the stool and, climbing on it, felt anxiously for the envelope, weak with relief to find it was still there. I glanced round the room, wondering where else Evan's searching fingers had intruded. The few valuables I had with me – a gold chain and bracelet – I was wearing, and a quick check showed nothing appeared to be missing. Perhaps I'd disturbed him just in time. I resolved to lock everything away in my suitcase in future.

When I returned downstairs, Philip was standing in the television lounge, staring at the set.

“Close the door,” he said without turning round. I did so.

“Evan was in my room,” I told him unevenly. “I think he was feeling under the mattress.”

Philip turned then, his eyes going to the brochure in my hand. “He didn't find it.”

“No. You think that's what he was looking for?”

Philip shrugged. “Search me. Now, sit down.” He gestured towards the sofa, but I made my way over to a chair. He stopped me, none too gently.

“Don't be a bloody fool, Clare, I'm not going to molest you. We have to look at the thing together, for God's sake!”

Stiffly I seated myself at one end of the sofa. The cushions were still warm and dented from the previous occupants. Philip sat down beside me, took the plan out of my hands and spread it over both our laps.

“I thought you said it was marked?”

“I rubbed it out, as instructed. It was there.” I laid my finger on the spot.

“Looks like a long stone passage. What's the description of the castle?” He ran his finger quickly down the printed lines.

“
Site might have been occupied by the Romans … Rhys ab Tewdwr
– Where are we? Ah –
set round a small courtyard – solar at the west end of the hall
. Here we are …
a long corridor formed by a natural fissure in the rock. This extends almost two hundred feet and is lit by spy holes cut in the rock
.”

I bent forward to look more closely, and, as my hair brushed against his face, heard his indrawn breath. “Still wearing
Cabochard
, I notice.”

“You've got the final directions, haven't you?”

He laughed shortly. “Down, Fido! Yes, I have them: four paces from the ninth spy hole, on the wall opposite. The stone with a chip out of it is loose and, surprise, surprise, it pulls out.”

“And it – they fit in there?”

“Easily. They're in cardboard tubes.”

Drugs, diamonds, in cardboard tubes?

I said, “How deep is the cavity?”

“Oh, the walls are eight feet thick in places – never less than four. They knew how to build in those days. Well, we'll find out tomorrow how the land lies. We need to establish what security measures are taken at night, how close in we can take the car, and so on. Then, all systems go for Beanstalk.”

But tomorrow Goldilocks would come. In all the tumult of the day, I kept forgetting that. What would happen when there were two of us? And for her part, if no one approached her, she'd lose no time contacting Bryn. How could I have imagined I would get away with this?

I gazed unseeingly at the flickering screen, thinking of the red-faced sergeant who'd just left. Had Dick's death really barred me from going to the police? And what would happen to Philip – and, through him, to Matthew – if I did?

Yet if I didn't, I myself could be in danger. Even if I helped Philip retrieve whatever it was, sooner or later they'd discover I wasn't Goldilocks. Then what? If they
had
killed Dick Harvey, it was an indication of how highly they valued their operation. I wondered detachedly if Philip would let them kill me.

Turning my head, I found him watching me. As our eyes met, he said briskly, “Well, that's all. You'd better go.”

Still bewildered by my musings, I said blankly, “Go where?”

“Out of this room – anywhere.” He stood up. “Your admirers will be waiting impatiently in the bar.”

I flushed. “There's no need to be offensive.”