Motive for Murder (20 page)

‘I'm sorry; it was thoughtless of me.' He was like a stranger, and I realised miserably how much my withdrawal had hurt him.

‘Please don't be cross,' I pleaded.

‘I'm not cross, Emily.' He started the car, turned it in a wide sweep and we were off the uneven grass and on the road again. In silence we swooped down into Chapelcombe and up out the other side of it. Mike didn't change gear and the car took the hill like a rampaging bull. We skidded round the corner of the road to Touchstone and rocketed up it. I was still wondering how to soothe his wounded pride when I saw that, late though it was, the house was a blaze of light. And, half out of sight round the corner of the house, stood the huge shape of a fire engine.

I tore open the car door and fled up the path, aware of Mike's footsteps running after me. I turned the front door knob with both hands and almost cannoned into Mrs Johnson in the hall. Her hair was braided round her head and she was wearing a blue dressing-gown. Her face was white with shock.

‘Oh Miss Barton –' she quavered.

I said sharply, ‘Where's Matthew?' There was no time to remember that I was speaking of the man Mike and I had cast as a double murderer. I felt Mike's hand catch at my arm, but I shook him off and threw myself across the hall. In the passage two strange men stood talking. I thrust them aside and flung open the library door on a scene of devastation. The carpet, soaking wet under my feet, was littered with charred pieces of furniture, singed material and piles of scorched paper, and where the curtains used to hang, blackened shreds hung in an uneven fringe.

The acrid smell caught at my throat and stung my eyes, half-blinding me, but I could just make out a figure by the window.

‘Matthew?' I gasped. ‘Matthew!'

There was a movement beyond the haze and his voice, raw with smoke, said quickly, ‘Yes, I'm here, Emily. I'm all right.'

I stumbled towards him and his arms came round me.

Mike's voice said from the doorway, ‘Loath as I am to interrupt, might I suggest you move out of here and close this door? The smoke's going all over the house.'

With Matthew's arm still round me, we did as he said. I glanced apprehensively at Mike as we passed him in the doorway; his face was like granite.

Matthew lowered me gently into one of Kate's armchairs. I hadn't sat there since she died.

‘Well,' Mike said, in that new, brittle voice, ‘never a dull moment. What happened this time?'

Matthew stood looking down at me. He was in his shirt sleeves. His forearms and hands were thick with grime and there was a smear down his face.

‘Are you all right, Emily? Mike, pour her a shot of brandy, would you? Make it three while you're there.'

Mike glanced from one of us to the other and went without a word. The two firemen had moved into the main body of the hall. Matthew and I stared at each other.

‘Are you sure you're not burned or anything?' The agonising fear of a minute ago was still fresh in my mind.

‘No, really, I'm fine.'

Silence stretched between us, and I was suddenly, burningly, conscious of the way I'd flung myself into his arms. My eyes dropped away from his as the silence became unbearable. Then, to my relief, it was broken by Mike's returning footsteps.

‘Well,' he demanded, handing round the glasses, ‘what happened?'

Matthew said flatly, ‘I came back earlier than I'd intended. If I hadn't – ‘ He broke off and drained his glass. I knew he was thinking of Sarah, still sleeping upstairs.

‘And?' Mike prompted.

‘There was a smell of burning as soon as I opened the front door. I dashed down here and smoke was curling under the door. So I phoned the fire brigade, then went back to try to fight it myself. I was able to beat back some of the flames but the curtains were burning fiercely and – the desk seems more or less a write-off.'

I looked up, a note in his voice reaching me while it conveyed nothing to Mike. ‘The book?' I asked sharply.

Matthew spread his hands in an eloquent gesture.

‘No!' I exclaimed violently, as though the word could somehow counteract what had happened. ‘Oh, Matthew, no!' All that work, the painstaking research, the brilliant characterisation, gone up in smoke. My heart ached for him.

‘But you'll start again, won't you?' I demanded urgently, for without the book, there was no reason for me to stay here.

Mike was saying, ‘That is tough luck. I know how much work you've put into it.'

Matthew ran a hand through his hair. ‘Yes. Well, as I said, it's lucky the whole house didn't go up. If I hadn't come back earlier than expected, it wouldn't have been discovered in time.'

‘Matthew!' I caught at his hand and his fingers closed round mine. I saw Mike's eyes glint, but I was past being responsible for my actions. ‘You will start again, won't you? You can't let it all go to waste.'

‘And rob posterity of a priceless gem? It wasn't that good!'

‘But it was! I'll help you – I can remember whole passages!'

Matthew said wearily, ‘Two deaths and a fire in the course of one novel tend to give one the impression it was never meant to be written.'

‘That's nonsense!' I declared roundly. ‘You'll feel differently in the morning.'

‘Such faith!' said Mike lightly, and something in his face made me disengage my hand from Matthew's. He made no effort to retain it.

Mike turned to him. ‘Is there anything I can do?'

‘No thanks, the excitement's over now. Forensics will be round tomorrow to try to find out how it started.'

‘Well, if you're sure, I'll be on my way. Good-night Emily.' He gave me a little mock bow.

‘I'll come with you to the door.'

‘Don't bother. I know you're tired.' It was, I recognised, a reference to my refusal to kiss him in the car, and I felt a twinge of guilt. For despite the tumult of my feelings for Matthew, I was genuinely fond of Mike, and sorry that I had hurt him.

He had turned and started for the door, but I caught up with him and slipped my hand into his. There was no response.

‘Thank you for a lovely day.'

He gave a short laugh. ‘I get you thoroughly on edge with my ramblings, then I make unwelcome advances. It pours with rain and we get back to find the house on fire. A lovely day indeed!'

We were standing just outside the front door in the deep stone embrasure, sheltered from the wind and rain. He looked down at me.

‘I should have believed you,' he said quietly, ‘when you said there was someone else. I thought you were just stalling for time, but I see I was wrong.'

I touched his arm in a kind of apology and he patted my hand.

‘Good-night, Emily.' He turned up his collar and hurried to the gate, where, in our headlong rush, we had left the car. Last night we'd stood on the beach in a magic world. Even this evening he had asked me, albeit jokingly, to marry him. And how had I repaid him? By refusing to kiss him and running straight into Matthew's arms. No wonder he was hurt.

I went back into the hall, where Matthew was talking to the firemen. I was about to go upstairs but Mrs Johnson beckoned to me from the kitchen.

‘I've made some hot soup for the men, miss. Would you like a cup?'

‘Oh I would, Mrs Johnson!' I moved into the kitchen, and saw that a door which I'd thought belonged to a cupboard stood open, revealing Mrs Johnson's bedroom. I could see the bed with its with covers flung hastily back.

She ladled me out some soup and I carried it to the kitchen table. It seemed in another world that Matthew and I had sat there the night before. The soup scalded my throat and brought tears to my eyes.

‘Could have been burned in our beds!' Mrs Johnson was exclaiming, bustling about in her blue dressing-gown. ‘Sound asleep, I was, till I head the master rushing down the passage.'

She set the bowls on a tray, put a plate of bread beside them and moved to the door. I opened it for her. In a moment she was back and sitting down opposite me with her own bowl.

‘Such a fuss as you never did see! Not only the burning but
water
! Water everywhere! Lord knows how we'll ever get that room straight again. And poor Mr Haig's book, all gone up in smoke!'

‘It's terrible,' I said, my teeth rattling against the spoon. There were muddy footsteps all over the usually shining floor, where the men had been tramping in and out. A bucket stood by the sink, a reminder of Matthew's own efforts before the arrival of the Brigade.

‘How did it start?' I wondered aloud.

‘That's for them to find out.' She jerked her head towards the door. ‘They seem to think something was smouldering in the waste-paper basket. I'm always telling Mr Haig to use his ash-tray and not fling them matches among all that paper.'

Only this morning I'd seen him do just that. If only we'd known – if only I'd made sure the match was out. It must have smouldered slowly for hours. Then perhaps an extra strong gust of wind would make an additional draught from the window. And the desk was so near.

‘You'd best be off to bed, Miss Emily, 'tis past one o'clock. It's a mercy Miss Tamworth and the liddle lass didn't waken – they being upstairs and away from it all.'

I levered myself to my feet. Every bone in my body ached with exhaustion but my brain was unobligingly alert. ‘Thanks for the soup, Mrs Johnson – it was just what I needed.'

I went up the stairs like an old woman, pulling myself along by the banisters. I would have liked a bath, but was afraid of disturbing someone. I lit the gas-fire and huddled over it to undress.

Two deaths and a fire in the course of one book, Matthew had said. And my friends in London had been concerned that I would find Cornwall dull! I was ready for bed but too restless to climb in, and went instead to the window. At last the rain was easing. Beneath me the front door opened and shut, there was the sound of voices. Then the firemen moved into the path and walked round the corner to the engine. It spluttered into life, reversed into the wide driveway, and moved slowly down the path and out of the gate. The lights from below which were illuminating the garden went out one by one. I heard Matthew's dragging footsteps come up the stairs and go along the landing to his room.

I drew the curtains and tidied away the things that lay on the dressing-table, picking up the completed notebook I'd put there that morning, and dropping it into the drawer on top of the others. Then I stiffened, staring down at the eight or nine notebooks which lay there. I had it – almost the complete book – safe and unharmed! I'd kept the pads as souvenirs of my months as Matthew's secretary.

Without pausing to consider the propriety of it, I rushed out of the room and down the corridor to Matthew. I knocked on the door, trembling with excitement. There was a pause in the movements inside the room. I knocked again. The door opened and Matthew stood looking at me.

‘Matthew – I've got the notebooks! I'd forgotten all about them! My shorthand notes! Almost the whole novel!'

I'm not sure that he heard me. He said something – probably my name – and then, though neither of us seemed to move, I was in his arms and he was kissing me with fiercely controlled violence, yet this time not at all as though he would rather have been hitting me. It was all I had longed for, dreamed about, and thought impossible.

I clung to him as though I were drowning – and beneath the urgency of his kisses, Mike's voice whispered in my head:
Then she saw his face, watching, waiting for her to drown!

He must have sensed my withdrawal, because he raised his head, looking questioning down at me – as he'd looked at Linda?

I had
to know! I couldn't go on wondering about him any longer.

‘Mike said –' I began involuntarily, and then, aware of the enormity of the question I was about to ask, could go no further.

His eyes changed and his arms dropped away. ‘What did Mike say?'

For another long minute our gaze held.

Then mine fell, and I helplessly shook my head.

‘Go to bed, Emily,' he said.

I nodded and crept back along the corridor, clutching my dressing-gown round me. As I reached my room I heard his door close.

‘You little fool!' I said aloud. ‘You stupid little fool!' And I knew then that whatever he'd done, I wanted to be with him for the rest of my life. Which was hardly the impression I'd just given him.

Tomorrow, I thought wearily as I climbed into bed. It'll be all right tomorrow.

I awoke to find Mrs Johnson standing over me with a breakfast tray. ‘Wake up, miss, 'tis half­past ten!'

I sat up hastily. ‘But –'

‘Mr Haig gave orders you be left to sleep. There'll be no writing done today.'

‘Oh, of course.' Slowly memory returned. ‘Is – is he up?'

‘Lord love you, yes, miss. Up with the lark this morning, he was – hardly worth going to bed at all, as I did tell him. Said he's trying to sort out how much can be salvaged.'

And how much, I wondered, could be salvaged of last night's intimacy?

‘I'll be down to help as soon as I'm dressed.'

‘Very good, miss.'

I sat back against the bedhead drinking my coffee, and the memory of Matthew's kisses washed over me with hot sweetness. Damn Mike, and the doubts he had sown in my mind.

When I went downstairs, I found that the library had been closed off while a team of forensic scientists sifted painstakingly through the most damaged articles to find the cause of the fire.

Matthew was in the sitting-room, and the room looked like a rehabilitation centre. He'd spread a layer of newspaper over the carpet, and on this were laid various piles of singed papers. There was an overpowering smell of carbon. My own desk, virtually unscathed, had been carried through, and now stood against the side window. Matthew was leaning over it as I came in, sorting through a sheaf of blackened papers.