The Guilty Secret (16 page)

‘Very exciting for all of you,' I said dryly.

‘I knew Phil was exaggerating and that you wouldn't be taking it so bad. After all, you only knew the guy a week, and …' he put his glass down. ‘At least it means you're free to other offers.'

‘No,' I said forcefully. ‘ I'm not. Come on, we're going to be late for dinner.'

One thing I was finding out about Miles, he had a very short memory.

‘I just thought you might need a shoulder to cry on.'

‘No. I've done all the crying I'm going to do.' I switched off the lights and closed the villa door behind me.

He fell into step beside me his handsome face sulky. We walked over the sandy track towards the bright lights of Rozalinda's villa.

He said suddenly. ‘Let's leave tomorrow together. We could go south to the Algarve. Forget Crown. Enjoy life a bit.'

‘I'd love to,' I said bleakly. ‘But not with you.'

His face tightened. ‘Okay, if that's the way you want it.' And we continued the rest of the way in silence. I was scarcely aware of him. In another few minutes I would see Jonathan again … for the last time.

Aunt Harriet opened the door to us. I tried to keep my eyes on her face and not in the far corner of the room where Jonathan's sun-gold hair and broad shoulders drew my eyes like a magnet.

‘All right, darling?'

‘Yes,' I lied. ‘I'm fine Aunt Harriet. Please don't worry.'

Mary was sat by the windows staring out towards the dark glitter of the Atlantic. I went over and sat next to her. Her eyes were full of unshed tears.

‘Mary …' I reached out to her, but before I could say any more Harold was blustering into the room, his face flushed.

‘Can't get a reply from Rozalinda's room …' Aunt Harriet and Tom immediately stiffened, recalling the last time Rozalinda's door had been locked. The rest unaware of what it could mean, continued to make desultory conversation. Mary's hand gripped mine and she sucked in her breath.

‘Don't panic so, Harold,' Aunt Harriet said. ‘I'm not surprised she's overslept after the day we've had.'

With Harold at her heels she hurried up the stairs. We could hear her rapping at the door, and as she received no answer, Tom, his face white, hurried after them, ignoring Mary's cry for him to stay.

‘Rozalinda! Open this door at once!' Aunt Harriet commanded. There was no reply. By now even Phil and Miles were beginning to take a slight interest. Jonathan was too busy studiously avoiding me.

‘Rozalinda! If you don't open the door immediately I shall ask Harold and Phil to break it down!'

‘Can't we just get on with dinner and let her sulk?' Phil asked bad temperedly.

‘Phil!' Aunt Harriet called, her voice beginning to rise hysterically. ‘Phil, come here and help Harold with this door.' Without urgency he loped up the stairs followed by Mary and myself, our hands still clasped. The two men put their shoulders to the door, the hinges creaking. Then Jonathan pushed past me to help them and under their combined weight the door broke open, the three of them falling into the room.

It was Aunt Harriet who screamed first, clutching wild eyed at the door jamb.

‘For Christ's sake!' Tom whispered.

‘Rozalinda!
Rozalinda!
' Harold gasped, seizing the lifeless hand and clutching it to his face.

No-one suggested calling an ambulance. Rozalinda's chest was a mass of blood, her head hanging over the edge of the bed, mouth lolling open, eyes wide with a mixture of horror and surprise. The gun on the floor.

‘Take the girls downstairs,' Jonathan was saying to Phil. ‘For God's sake man, move!'

Dazedly Phil propelled us down the stairs. Mary was in a state of shock, allowing herself to be seated and obediently drinking the brandy Phil pushed into her hand. From upstairs came the wracked sound of Harold's sobs and then Jonathan and Tom came down, half carrying him.

‘Look after him, Jenny. I'm telephoning for the police.'

He sat on the settee clutching his chest and for a frightening moment I thought that he had had a heart attack. His face was grey, his breath coming in harsh gasps. I put a coat round his shoulders, turning as Aunt Harriet came slowly down the stairs.

She had always been bursting with energy now she looked every one of seventy-two years. Her cheeks were hollow, her eyes sunk deep. ‘Silly, silly girl,' she whispered. ‘Oh, the silly, silly girl.'

‘Tea will be better than that,' I said as Phil shakily poured more brandy, spilling it over the carpet. He sat down beside Aunt Harriet cradling her in his arms and I occupied myself with the mechanics of making tea, of caring for Mary and Aunt Harriet and Harold, of doing anything but think of Rozalinda's shattered body and of why she had done it.

‘What are the police like here?' It was Miles. No longer self assured and sophisticated, but looking sick and frightened.

‘The Policia Judiciaria,' Jonathan said. ‘PJ for short and when it comes to traffic offences pretty fair. When it comes to murder I wouldn't like to guess.'

‘
Murder!
' I dropped the cup of tea I was carrying, hardly noticing the scalding heat as it seeped through my dress.

‘Don't talk rot, Crown.' Phil's face was still ashen by the sight he had seen upstairs.

‘I'm not. You can't shoot yourself through the chest and then throw the gun a gentle three yards away afterwards.'

Harold was crying like a child, his head buried in his hands, scarcely taking any notice of the conversation. Rozalinda was dead and that was all that was penetrating Harold's brain at the moment. Tom and Mary were sat, hands clasped, watching Jonathan with growing horror. Only Aunt Harriet seemed to have recovered some calm. Or perhaps it was simply that she was in a state of shock.

I said:- ‘You don't understand Jonathan. Rozalinda made a suicide attempt before coming out here. She took an overdose and had to be admitted to hospital …'

‘She didn't try to kill herself this time,' Jonathan insisted grimly. ‘Someone did it for her.'

Miles had been the first to recover. He sat in a chair, a large brandy nursed in his hand, his eyes narrowed on Jonathan.

‘Do I take it you have one of us in mind?'

‘I don't have anyone in mind. I just think I should warn you what's going to happen when the police get here. There's going to be a murder enquiry.'

‘Murder?' Harold said, gazing across the room with befuddled eyes. ‘Murder?'

‘It's all right, Harold.' Aunt Harriet grasped his hand. ‘It's just that we have to take everything into account.'

His head sank back onto his hands, his shoulders beginning to heave once more. ‘Why did Rozalinda make a suicide attempt?' It was Jonathan asking Aunt Harriet.

‘There's no reason not to tell you now. She'd been receiving poison pen letters for quite some time. The pressure mounted up on her and …'

‘The police,' Tom interrupted. ‘ Shouldn't someone ring the police?'

Jonathan nodded and went across to the telephone. There was nothing to do but sit. Mary's face was stricken. Like Harold I don't think she had taken in what Jonathan had said.

We had all been at the room door. We had all seen the gun on the floor. There was something else as well. Something I couldn't bring to the fore-front of my mind.

Jonathan said:– ‘Try explaining a murder in Spanish to a Portuguese.'

‘I thought they spoke Spanish,' Tom said naively.

‘Portuguese,' Jonathan said, pouring himself a drink and sitting down. Whether by accident or design he chose the chair the furthest away from mine.

Miles said to him. ‘If you insist on having a murder. You have to have a motive. I don't see one.'

‘What was in the letters?' Jonathan was again asking Aunt Harriet. Harold was lost to the world.

‘I don't know. Neither does Harold. She burnt them all. Didn't tell us about them till she took the overdose.'

‘She must have given you some inkling.'

‘No …'

I looked across at her. I had known her all my life and I knew that she was lying. She might not know what had been in the letters but she had come to her own conclusions and she wasn't going to tell. Even now.

For the first time I began to believe that what Jonathan had said was the truth. I tried to catch her eye and failed. She seemed to be avoiding looking at me as studiously as Jonathan was.

‘But they'd stopped,' Tom said bewildered. ‘That's why she came here. So that the sender wouldn't know where she was and would be unable to send any more.'

‘I don't think it would take a master mind to find out where she was,' Jonathan said dryly.

‘Perhaps not, but no letters addressed to Rozalinda have been given to her without Harold and Aunt Harriet vetting them first.'

There was a short silence and then Aunt Harriet said:- ‘There was a letter upstairs. An anonymous one.'

I remembered that Aunt Harriet had been the last one out of the bedroom.

‘Let me have a look at it,' Jonathan reached out his hand.

She shook her head. ‘I didn't touch it. I left it where it was for the police to examine.'

Miles said tensely:- ‘Well, what did it say? Under the circumstances we've a right to know. Christ, another ten minutes and the whole lot of us could be arrested for murder.'

‘I think the police here are a little more subtle than that. One murderer will be enough for them.' It was Phil, and there was no hiding the dislike in his voice.

‘It said only that the writer knew what was in the other letters.'

Miles swore crudely. ‘You mean you've put us through all that for that superb piece of non-information?'

‘I don't find it non-information at all. I'd say it brings a second person into it, wouldn't you?' and as Jonathan looked around at us all I felt indescribably cold.

Mary had begun to moan softly, her arms wrapped around her body, rocking herself gently to and fro. Tom had his arm around her, pulling her head onto his chest.

‘Then it could have been suicide,' I said. ‘If she knew someone had found out what has held her in fear for so long …'

‘That's what's so interesting. What did hold her in fear for so long? Who was it that was blackmailing her?'

‘No-one was
blackmailing
her!' Phil protested. ‘She was receiving poison pen letters. It doesn't mean she was being blackmailed.'

‘I'd lay you a good bet on it,' Jonathan said sombrely.

Aunt Harriet raised her head. ‘Jonathan is perfectly right. It had to be blackmail. I knew that a long time ago. But for what I don't know.'

‘Don't you, Aunt Harriet?' I asked, leaning forward beseechingly. ‘Don't you even have a suspicion?'

Her jaw was clenched, her eyes refusing to meet mine.

‘No.'

Phil looked for the hundredth time at his watch. ‘The police are taking their time. Are you sure you made them understand what had happened?'

‘Positively,' Jonathan said. ‘This isn't London. Things will take a little longer.'

‘I've to be in Barbados in three days,' Miles said defiantly.

‘I shouldn't bank on making it,' Jonathan said crushingly. ‘Not unless we get a sudden confession.'

‘Confessions …' I stared round the room. ‘Are you saying
one of us
killed Rozalinda?'

‘You must have been top of the form at school,' Miles said sarcastically.

‘Keep your ill timed witticisms to yourself Sullivan,' Phil said, his lean body tensed as if he would spring at Miles if he spoke another word.

‘A white charger and your outfit would be complete,' Miles sneered.

Phil leapt forward and Jonathan, even quicker, sprang between them.

‘Let's just cut out all the bad feeling for the time being. It won't do any of us any good.'

Sulkily, Phil went back to his stance by the window, tapping the face of his watch impatiently.

‘Jonathan, are you saying
one of us
was blackmailing her?'

‘I don't know who was blackmailing her,' he said without looking at me. ‘ But I don't think she killed herself. I don't think whoever killed her was some passing maniac who just happened to look in. And the letter Harriet saw upstairs would seem to have certainly originated in the enclave. There wasn't an envelope with it, was there Harriet?'

‘I don't know. I was too shocked to think … to look …'

We sat in the softly lit room, the dinner table next door still spread, the food untouched, the wine uncorked. Staring at each other and all wondering. The suspicion breeding in the room was palpable.

I closed my eyes. Rozalinda was, had, been my cousin. I had grown up with her and knew her as well as anybody. What would frighten her as the letters had frightened her? What hold could a blackmailer have over her? Not her extramarital affairs. They wouldn't disturb her to the point of attempted suicide. So what? I could find no answer to the question so I mentally went on to the next one. If the blackmailing letters had been sent by one of the persons present who was the likeliest suspect?

Instinctively I thought of Miles. Not because he had a reason, but because he wasn't friend or family. And without helping it I remembered Tom saying gaily that he was thinking of buying a villa in Portugal himself and Aunt Harriet saying how well he was doing and that he was now driving an E-type Jaguar around Templar's Way. And there was Mary. From what Aunt Harriet had said she had been anxious for some time. Ageing prematurely. Had she known of the affair between her beloved husband and Rozalinda and fought it the only way she knew how? There was Phil. His remarks about Rozalinda had grown more scathing of late. And there was Aunt Harriet. She wasn't telling all she knew. I wondered if she had confronted Rozalinda as to what she had seen in the car the other night. If Rozalinda had lost control and grabbed the gun dramatically threatening to shoot herself and if Aunt Harriet had tried to wrest it off her and failed … The idea was too horrible to contemplate. That left Jonathan, but it couldn't possibly be Jonathan. And myself.