Smile and be a Villain (27 page)

He was a small man with sparse grey hair and a kindly face. I imagined I could feel the wave of love passing between him and his congregation. He spoke simply, without preliminary.

‘You have been having a difficult time, and I'm sorry it happened while I was away. I'm sure Mr Lewison did not anticipate such troubles when he agreed to serve as locum, and I, personally, owe him a great debt of gratitude, as I know you do, as well. I want to speak to you for a few minutes this morning about one of the most crucial doctrines of our faith, the concept of forgiveness.

‘When Peter asked our Lord how many times he should forgive, Jesus replied “Seventy times seven.” He wasn't saying that the four-hundred-and-ninety-first time we were allowed to bear a grudge.'

Small chuckles rippled through the church.

‘He meant that forgiveness must be extended over and over, endlessly. He made it clear that our own sins would be forgiven only as we forgave those who sinned against us. Again and again, Jesus stressed forgiveness. And then, on the cross, he gave us his own example when he forgave those who put him there and tortured him.

‘That wasn't easy for him, and forgiveness is never easy for us – but it is necessary. Necessary for our relationship with God, and with each other.

‘Many of you have been deeply hurt by a man whom I mistakenly welcomed into our midst. I hope you can find it in your hearts to forgive me for that terrible mistake, but it is essential that you forgive him.
Why?
you ask. He'll never know or care. Well, I'm not at all sure you're right about that. We do say we believe in eternal life. But even if it were true that he will not know, you cannot and must not let bitterness and hatred remain in your heart.

‘Some of you will remember the phrase in the Litany where we pray to be delivered from envy, hatred, malice and all uncharitableness, and from all assaults of the devil. You know, God is an excellent psychologist. He knows all about the damage hatred can cause in your soul, and he commands you to root it out – with his help, of course.

‘I hope you will feel free to come to me when your struggles to do this seem impossible, and I'll try to help.'

He sat down, and Mr Lewison stood and continued the service with the Nicene Creed. I looked over at Alice and saw the tears trickling down her cheeks. I rummaged in my purse and handed her a tissue.

When the service was over, Alan and I were minded to leave promptly, avoiding the usual gathering for conversation, but Alice put a hand on my arm. ‘We were wondering if you would like to join us at my house for Sunday lunch? It won't be anything very elaborate, but we'd like you to come if you can.'

‘We'd like that,' I found myself saying, not at all sure that we would. ‘I hope it won't be too much trouble for you.'

‘I can hobble about, and Phil's an excellent cook. He's done most of the work. In about an hour, if that's convenient?' She left, assisted by the devoted Phil.

‘What did I just let us in for?' I asked Alan in an undertone as we threaded our way through little groups in the churchyard. ‘I mean, I had to say yes – there was no way I could compare notes with you.'

Alan shrugged. ‘We had no other plans for this afternoon. At any rate, I don't think we'll be bored.'

‘I think that a little boredom would make a nice change!'

We read yesterday's papers in the lounge, as the Sunday papers wouldn't be delivered until tomorrow, and fidgeted. I thought about starting to pack, decided there wasn't really enough time and had a sudden unpleasant thought. ‘Oh, Alan, we forgot to ship our books back home, and they weigh a ton! We can't possibly take them with us, and we're leaving tomorrow before the post office opens.'

‘Why don't you put them all back in the bag, and we'll take them with us to Alice's. Perhaps Phil would be willing to take care of that little chore for us.'

‘If he's over his snit. He wasn't very happy with us there for a while.'

‘He heard that sermon on forgiveness this morning, don't forget.' Alan grinned.

I went upstairs to gather our scattered books.

We walked to Alice's house. It wasn't far, and of course there was very little parking space. Today the house looked very different. Curtains blew gently in the breeze. The front door was set hospitably wide open, and a large black-and-white cat sat on the stoop licking a paw. He paused in his grooming long enough to give us a thoughtful look and then began to wash thoroughly behind one ear, ignoring us completely.

‘Well, and hello to you, too, Sammy,' I said.

Alice appeared in the doorway with her walker. ‘He's the Cat That Walks by Himself,' she said. ‘If he decides he likes you, you won't be able to fend him off, but he prefers to take his own sweet time about making a decision.'

‘Like any proper cat,' said Alan, stepping carefully around Sammy.

‘Did you give Grace the day off?' I asked, looking around for her.

‘Yes, until this evening. I'm needing less and less assistance as I learn how to cope, so it's just … personal care … that I need her to help me with.' She looked a little embarrassed and changed the subject. ‘Phil did all the cooking for our meal. He roasted a chicken and made potato salad and a green salad, and a trifle that looks quite perfect. And there's a bottle of white wine on ice, and more in the fridge. You didn't drive, did you?'

‘No,' I said. ‘So yes, thank you, we will have some wine.'

‘Then do come and sit down, and we'll eat.'

When we had expressed our admiration of her house, which was bright and airy, with clean lines and no clutter, and had complimented Phil on his cooking, conversation petered out. I tried desperately to think of some more small talk, but nothing came. I took another sip of wine.

Alice cleared her throat. ‘You're wondering why we wanted you to come.'

‘We were, rather,' said Alan calmly. ‘You have some reason to associate us with unpleasantness.'

‘Yes,' said Alice, ‘but it was none of your doing. And you saved my life. I wasn't at all sure I was happy about that at the time, but as I said earlier, I've come to be grateful. You and Mr Lewison helped me see that I had a great deal to live for.' She glanced quickly at Phil and then turned back to us.

‘You see, my sister's suicide made me desperately unhappy. I was barely stumbling through life for a few months. But gradually I began to heal. It was partly Sammy, who is a perfect love when he wants to be, and my flowers – I do love flowers – and my friends. Alderney is a friendly place, and everyone was very kind. And maybe it was something about the very air of this place. It does feel like home to me, even though I wasn't born here.

‘I was learning to live again. The sun seemed bright and warm; food tasted good; music sounded sweet. And then That Man came.' Her voice had become ragged. She stopped.

Phil was sitting next to her, the better to assist her. He put his hand over hers and took up the story.

‘It was as if she'd been turned to stone, that first time she saw him. I don't know if you're familiar with the legend of the Medusa?'

‘Vaguely. We don't study the classics in America as you do here.'

‘As we used to do; not so much anymore. So you know she could turn to stone anyone who looked into her eyes. It didn't even take that for Alice. When she came to church that morning and the vicar introduced him to the congregation, she actually went rigid in her seat. I was sitting next to her, and I could feel every muscle tense.

‘She and I had been seeing a good deal of each other. We have a lot in common – both widowed with grown children, both lovers of flowers and good music and cats. We … well, nothing had been said, but we were both … at least
I
had a notion … but then he came, and it was as if Alice … simply wasn't there anymore. I had driven her to church that day, but she walked out before Communion, even, and disappeared, without a word to me. Of course when I got home I tried to talk to her, but it was like talking to Sammy. No, worse. You always get some response from Sammy, even if he just yawns and walks away.'

Alice looked at Phil, a look full of love and apology. ‘You had it right. I had been turned to stone. All the grief, all the bitterness, all the hatred had come back, with such force that … I think I nearly had a stroke, or a heart attack. Well, in a way it was a heart attack; it attacked my heart. You said, Mrs Martin, and Mr Lewison said, that hatred is corrosive. You're quite right. It was eating away at me. I was becoming nothing but a walking lump of bitterness. I wanted nothing in life except revenge. I turned my back on everything and everyone, even Phil.'

‘You still came to church,' I observed.

‘Only because it gave me the chance to see him in action, to feed my misery. I wanted to keep the flame burning at white heat, because I intended to do something about it, though I didn't know what.'

I put down my wine glass and came to full alert. Were we about to hear a confession?

A
lice interpreted my look and smiled. ‘No, I'm not going to confess to murder. Although I murdered him over and over in my heart. That's supposed to be just as bad, isn't it?'

‘Not in the eyes of the law,' said Alan. He sounded grim. I can sometimes read Alan's thoughts, though not as often as he reads mine (I'm told I have an expressive face and should never, never play poker). I knew now that he was wondering if Alice was being completely candid.

I thought she was. I didn't know her well, and that always makes it harder to assess a person's words, but she was being remarkably open about her deepest feelings. I nodded encouragingly.

‘And then he really did die, and I went to pieces. I had wished for his death, had even tried to pray for it, knowing all the time that I was wicked and no one would listen, or care. I thought maybe I'd somehow made it happen, and I was glad and miserable at the same time, and – well, you know most of the rest. I just wanted to stop the pain, and I never thought that if I … that there might be people who would be unhappy if I died.'

‘Idiot,' said Phil in an affectionate growl.

‘That's all, really. I just wanted you to know the whole story. I haven't forgiven him yet. I don't know if I'll ever be able to. He did so much harm to so many people. But I'm trying to understand that he was a sick man, who cared only for money and power. He could have done so much good, but that devil in him kept pressing on for more, and more, until …' She had to stop again.

Phil sighed, not happy, but resigned.

‘And I wanted to tell you both,' she went on, having regained control of her voice, ‘that in the end I'm grateful to you. And I–I think if someone did kill that man, then I'd rather he weren't found. It might be wrong of me, but I know how I'd be feeling now if I had done that, and I do believe that he's suffering enough.' She looked directly at Alan. ‘You're a policeman. I don't expect you to agree with me. I do know that it's a terrible thing to take a life. That Man took Aleta's life, as surely as if he'd handed her the bottle of pills, and now he's paying for it. If I'm sure of anything, I'm sure of that. And I don't see how more suffering, suffering imposed by law, could balance the scales of justice. Am I making any sense at all?'

‘I think so,' I said. ‘You believe that, if someone did push Abercrombie down that hill, he or she is suffering now from guilt, and needs no further punishment.'

‘Yes.'

‘You do realize,' said Alan, ‘that any punishment he might receive would be merciful, when all the circumstances were understood.'

‘It might be. It might not.'

I looked at Alan. There was something in her voice …

‘Alice,' he said gravely, ‘do you know who that person might be?'

‘No!' she and Phil said together. Loudly. Definitely. And then they closed their mouths firmly.

Phil stood up and said, ‘There's trifle for pudding. And would you like coffee?'

Discussion closed. Silence. Then Phil stood and helped Alice with her walker, and we adjourned to the sitting room for our trifle.

‘Now we've got that over, there was actually another reason we wanted to see you,' said Alice when we were comfortably seated. She smiled at Phil, who became very busy pouring coffee.

‘I think I can guess,' I said. ‘May we offer our congratulations?'

‘Nobody knows yet,' she went on. ‘It's too soon. But you … well …'

‘We're leaving the island tomorrow and won't tell anybody, so we're safe.' I kissed them both, and Alan shook hands all round, and when we'd had our coffee and left our books, which they agreed to post for us, we took our leave.

‘They know,' I said as we walked back to Belle Isle.

‘Or they have a strong suspicion,' said Alan. ‘And they're not going to tell us or anyone else who he is.'

‘Certainly “he”, don't you think?'

‘I do. And there isn't a thing we can do about it.'

‘No.'

We spent the rest of the day packing and wishing we hadn't left all our books with Alice and Phil.

The alarm went off at seven. I hadn't slept well; I never do when I have to travel. I showered and dressed and opened the curtains.

The fog was so thick I could barely see across the street.

‘Alan, look at this!'

Alan's phone rang. He said ‘yes' and ‘no' and ‘yes' again and clicked off. ‘Our flight has been cancelled. Nothing is landing or taking off. There's another around noon, if the fog clears, and one more at four or so. We'll just have to wait and see.'

There are few things that irritate me more than getting all ready to do something and then not being able to do it. We now had an unknown number of hours to fill and no productive way to fill them. We couldn't even read, as the newspapers hadn't reached Belle Isle yet. I suppose they came by the plane that couldn't land. We couldn't go for a walk, even if we'd wanted to in the dense fog, because we didn't dare get too far from the car; we didn't know when we might get a call to go to the airport. It was too early to call Jane and tell her to expect us when she saw us.