Mortal Remains (13 page)

‘You are O.K.?’

‘Yes, yes.’ What a fool the woman must think him, falling about like that. He thanked her again, allowed her to shepherd him over the road when the traffic halted, and parted from her only after they had warmly shaken hands.

He had been pushed. There was no doubt in his mind. A hand had definitely been placed on his back and he had been shoved towards the oncoming bus. Only luck had saved him from serious injury.

He walked on very thoughtfully towards the Livingstone Hotel, taking care to keep well away from other pedestrians at the lesser roads he had to cross on the way.

There was no sign of Jeremy or any of his group in the bar or any of the public rooms. They might have gone out for a last look at the city by night; or they might be up on the roof.

He took the lift to the roof garden, and stepped from it on to a concrete floor and the sound of throbbing machinery which he realised was the air-conditioning plant. A smell of cooking came from a vent as he walked past it, on his way towards a group of people standing at the roof edge looking out over the city. He recognised none of them, so he moved on over the large area of roof, past the bar, now closed, until he came to the pool. The surface of the water glittered with an oily sheen; a liberal dilution with sun-tan oil. Two people sat beside it, holding hands and murmuring.

Far away out at sea the lights of the American Sixth Fleet shone brilliantly; a fresh breeze blew up here, and the traffic sounds were muted. Patrick avoided the edge of the roof; his assailant might have followed him up here so, why make things too easy?

He went back to the hotel foyer where he asked the clerk to ring Jeremy’s room. There was no reply, so he left a note asking Jeremy to call him when he got in. Then he went by taxi back to his own hotel; somehow he did not feel like walking around the city any more that night. He took a bottle of the duty-free whisky he had bought at Heathrow out of his cupboard and poured himself a stiff tot. After that he settled down with
Phineas Finn.
He was seldom so slow with a novel, but there had been so many distractions.

Jeremy thumped on his bedroom door at midnight.

‘Women are the devil, aren’t they?’ Jeremy said. ‘What do you do about it?’

He sat in the only chair, a toothglass containing a generous tot of whisky between his hands, staring glumly at the small strip of carpet on the floor. Patrick was perched on the side of the bed. It was not an encouraging setting for a confessional, if that was what was to come, but it would have to do.

‘In what way do you mean?’ asked Patrick, cautiously. He thought of Ellen. My God, I scarcely knew her, he realised in an instant of revelation. What am I doing, all this time afterwards, still carrying a torch for her? He looked more kindly on his former pupil, whose sudden remark had illuminated his own folly.

‘Well,’ Jeremy hesitated, self-conscious but determined. Patrick, after all, had been his tutor. ‘I don’t have much of a problem myself, if you know what I mean. But they get at me.’

Could he really have no sexual drive? Patrick regarded him with interest. It was sad; not a matter for envy. Better the torment.

‘Joyce?’ he prompted.

‘She’s like a limpet—or—or an octopus,’ said Jeremy, and shuddered.

‘What’s happened?’

‘Well— ’ Jeremy seemed unable to say.

‘Start at the beginning,’ Patrick advised. ‘I’ve no idea how the day went. You managed the funeral all right, I suppose?’

‘Yes—oh yes. It went off very well,’ said Jeremy. ‘It seems ages ago, in fact. I’d almost forgotten about it.’

‘Everyone came? Except Celia?’

‘Yes. A few opted out of the graveside bit, thank goodness. It was very hot.’

‘Arthur Winterton was there?’

‘Yes.’ Jeremy looked surprised at the idea that he might not have been present.

‘What happened afterwards?’

‘Most of the group went off for coffee in Constitution Square. Arthur Winterton didn’t, as a matter of fact. He went to the Benaki Museum.’

‘Alone?’

‘Yes—yes, I’m sure he went alone.’

‘And after coffee?’

‘Oh—well, then everyone went back to the hotel, and we had lunch, and then we went to a beach near Vouliagmeni for a swim. We’d hired a coach.’

‘They’re keen swimmers, are they, your troop?’

‘Well – not really. A few, perhaps. Some just paddled. I’m not much of a swimmer myself but I like it when it’s warm.’

Patrick could imagine him standing skinny in the shallows, encouraging the older people. He was good with them, and they liked him. How did he manage with the very young? He had always been rather an odd-man-out among his peers though their inevitable teasing had seldom been malicious.

‘I couldn’t shake Joyce off,’ he sighed. She’d kept touching him. At first he thought it accidental, but it happened too often for that, and in the bus she’d sat next to him, her thin leg tight against his thigh. ‘She’s not even pretty,’ he burst out.

‘She couldn’t have got up to much in Vouliagmeni, with everybody there,’ Patrick said, mildly.

‘Well, to be fair, she was a help in some ways,’ Jeremy calmed down enough to swallow some whisky. ‘She ran around seeing everyone was all right, getting refreshments – the quantity of lemonade and tea we’ve consumed this trip would fill a lake. One’s always thirsty in this heat. And this evening we did a tour of Athens by Night. It wasn’t bad – most of them enjoyed it. Bouzouki music and all that. It was a good thing, really, after such a sad morning.’

‘That can’t be what upset you, Jeremy,’ said Patrick. ‘What else happened? Did Joyce try to seduce you when you got back?’

‘How did you know?’Jeremy gaped at him.

‘My lightning intuition,’ Patrick said.

Jeremy saw he meant it as a joke, so he smiled, but doubtfully.

‘That’s better. Cheer up. I’m sure you didn’t fall,’ said Patrick. It might have been better if he had.

‘It was awful. Most embarrassing,’ said Jeremy.

‘How did she get you alone?’

‘I’ve got a room to myself. I was sharing with Murcott, you see. Most of us are in doubles, it’s much cheaper. She followed me in after we got back from our tour of the city. First we talked. I really thought she wanted my advice. I must be very stupid.’

Patrick thought that he was, on the contrary, one of life’s few genuine innocents. But was he, in fact, quite adult? Wasn’t loss of innocence a necessary step in attaining maturity? He slotted the question away in his mind for future thought and turned his attention towards the earnest young man.

‘She was so wet and slobbery,’ Jeremy burst out. Joyce had sprung at him, fastened tentacle arms around his neck and pressed hot moist lips against his mouth. Then her tongue. Jeremy shuddered again at the memory.

‘She can’t have raped you. What did you do?’

‘I didn’t want to hurt her feelings,’ said Jeremy. It had been physically extremely difficult to disentangle himself from Joyce’s clinging limbs; she seemed to be all over him and she was just as strong as he was. After a while, when he thought he must soon suffocate, she had removed her avid mouth from his unresponsive lips and burst into verbal praise of his patience and goodness. This had given him a chance to break free; he had thrust her away and grabbed a chair to put between them.

‘Then I ran away. For all I know she’s still there,’ said Jeremy. ‘I daren’t go back.’

Patrick poured them both some more whisky.

‘Where was Celia during all this?’

‘Goodness knows. She keeps a sharp eye on Joyce as a rule, but of course she wasn’t at Vouliagmeni. She was with you.’

‘But she came on your trip round the night spots?’

‘Yes.’ She’d sat with Gareth Hodgson on the coach and sent dagger looks at Joyce throughout the evening. ‘She had a good day with you,’ Jeremy added. ‘She said that it was wonderful.’ She’d shown off her bracelet proudly. ‘You were kind to her.’

‘I was making use of her,’ said Patrick, bluntly. ‘I wanted to see where Murcott’s accident happened. And I was sorry for her. She was crucifying herself with jealousy over Joyce.’

Jeremy tried to look broad-minded.

‘She can’t help being what she is,’ he said, but he primmed his lips.

‘I’m not convinced that she is what you think she is,’ said Patrick. ‘She hasn’t a chance of a relationship with a man; she’d probably be terrified if she had. So her emotions have never passed the schoolgirl stage. Even hideous people have sexual desires.’

‘Oh, I know,’ Jeremy acknowledged it in the same way as he would have acknowledged the existence of any biological function; you did not have to understand it to accept that it was there.

‘It can be tragic,’ Patrick added.

‘What’s the answer?’

‘You’re the parson. You tell me.’

‘I don’t understand these things,’ Jeremy admitted. ‘I suppose I lack something or other.’ Perhaps he did; some hormone, possibly. ‘I like girls, you know, if they’re good sports.’ He had kissed one or two, chastely, to see what it was like. It had made him tingle slightly, nothing more; perhaps he did not go about it in the right way. But he had thought that Joyce was about to devour him.

‘You manage. And women like you,’ Jeremy continued, this time in accusing tones. He had often seen Patrick, in Oxford, with various females, usually rather attractive ones. ‘But you’re not married.’

‘Well, no. It hasn’t worked out, one way and the other,’ said Patrick drily. ‘It’s all very difficult. Marriage is so permanent.’ And involved such a commitment. But sometimes he hungered for a mutually renewing relationship; it could mean an end to restlessness. ‘I’m not as high-minded as you are, Jeremy,’ he added lightly. ‘I give in to temptation quite easily.’

‘You wouldn’t have given in to Joyce.’

‘Well, no. I doubt if I’d have found it tempting,’ said Patrick gravely. But he must not be flippant; Jeremy required practical guidance. ‘Don’t get yourself into corners alone with predatory females, Jeremy. Some women go for men just because they’re parsons, you know. It’s an occupational hazard that goes with the cloth. I suspect you have a gift for celibacy, but even so you’ll be a prey for these ladies. You’ll have to acquire a defensive technique. Be ready for them. Never sit on a sofa with a girl unless you want to start something.’

Jeremy listened to this advice in amazement.

‘You may meet some nice girl, one day, that you’ll fall for,’ Patrick said, more gently. He might; some quiet, domesticated girl who would not frighten him: he would be so lonely otherwise.

‘But what am I to do now?’ wailed Jeremy. ‘I can’t go back to the hotel. She may still be there.

‘I’ll ring up Celia,’ said Patrick, and reached out for the telephone.

‘What – at this hour?’

‘Yes. If Joyce has gone back to their room, they’ll be having a row; and if she hasn’t, Celia will be awake like the mother of a wayward child. Do you know the number of their room?’

Jeremy did.

In a few minutes, Patrick was talking to Celia. Joyce was not in their room and she was frantic, but she knew where she was.

‘Jeremy’s here, with me,’ said Patrick, and heard the distraught breathing at the other end of the line grow quieter.

‘Can you get her out?’

‘Yes,’ said Celia. ‘It’s happened before.’ Her voice was calmer. ‘They don’t always run away,’ she added.

Probably not.

‘You’ll soon be safe, Jeremy,’ said Patrick. ‘Now, give Celia ten minutes or so to cope, and then it will be clear for you to go back. Tell me about Arthur Winterton meanwhile.’

But Jeremy knew very little about him.

‘He’s very deaf – wears a hearing-aid – hadn’t you noticed? He’s retired – a widower, I think. He didn’t come with us to Vouliagmeni this afternoon, by the way. I don’t know anything else about him. Why do you ask?’

‘No reason. I’m just incurably nosy,’ said Patrick cheerfully. ‘Does he smoke?’

‘Yes,’ said Jeremy.

Sunday and Monday

Delphi and Athens

Early next morning, George Loukas telephoned to discuss when they would leave for Delphi. Elsie was tired, he said, and wanted to lie-in for a while. Would eleven o’clock suit Patrick?

This was what happened when you contracted to do things with other people. Patrick sighed inwardly; he wanted to get on with the day. But he agreed with fair grace, and dawdled about packing the few things he would need for a night or two in the mountains, trying not to feel irritable.

At half past eight Jeremy rang to apologise for his conduct the night before.

‘I ought to have coped without bothering you,’ he said.

‘My dear chap, don’t give it a thought,’ said Patrick. ‘Was everything all right?’

‘Yes. Joyce had gone when I got back. And she didn’t appear at breakfast. Celia said she had it in bed.’

‘Very wise. Well, after today you need never see her again.’

Feeling himself to be the ultimate in hypocrites, Patrick wished Jeremy a good trip back. Colin had cabled saying:

STEPS WILL BE TAKEN.

A nice reception would, therefore, be waiting for the party when they reached Gatwick. As for himself, perhaps it was as well he was leaving Athens for a time; he did not want to be the victim of another accident. He was still unsure of his own propriety: instead of cabling Colin, perhaps he ought to have told the Greek police about Arthur Winterton; the smuggling of narcotics was one of the most serious crimes in the book, and how better to do it than in the baggage of a seemingly inoffensive elderly tourist? Pounds of the stuff could get in that way, dispersed through various groups. But the matter might have a totally innocent explanation; Arthur Winterton might have been collecting a book or some other harmless object that night.

Celia telephoned next. She wanted to thank him for everything, she said, sounding tearful.

Patrick demurred; he needed no thanks.

‘Oh, but I had such a lovely day yesterday. And the bracelet. And then last night; you were so kind.’

‘You managed.’