This Rough Magic (12 page)

‘Only what?’

He looked at me with troubled eyes. ‘One doesn’t expect an epidemic of it in summer weather, that’s all.’

‘Godfrey, what is it? You look as if you thought—’ I, too, checked myself, biting my lip. He watched me bleakly, saying nothing. I finished, rather hoarsely: ‘Are you trying to tell me that this wasn’t an accident?’

‘Good God, no! Just that it poses problems. But none that you need worry about. In any case, they may never arise.’

None that you need worry about
… Heaven knew what he’d have said if he had had even the slightest inkling of the problem it had set me … Why I still said nothing about last night I am not quite sure. I think now that this last incident took its place in a context of violence, felt rather than apprehended, that made it unsurprising, and that forced me, through some instinct of fear, to hold my tongue. It was as if the first shot from that silenced rifle had been the signal for danger and fear to crowd in; as if by my silence I could still detach myself from them, and stay inside my own bubble of security, keep my own enchanted island free
of invaders from the violent world I had come here to escape.

So I said instead: ‘Has he any people?’

‘A wife. They live with his parents. You probably know the house, it’s that pink one at the crossroads.’

‘Yes, I do. It’s very pretty. I remember thinking that the folk in it must be well off.’

‘They were. They’re going to miss him.’

I looked at him, startled, not by the words, which were trite, but by the quite undue dryness of his tone.

‘You
are
getting at something. You
know
something about this, don’t you? Why won’t you tell me?’

He hesitated, then smiled suddenly. ‘I don’t really know why not. It hardly concerns me, and it certainly won’t touch you. It’s only that when the police move in on this something might crop up that could be awkward.’

‘Such as?’

He lifted his shoulders. ‘No plain and simple fisherman lived as well as Yanni and his family. Rumour has it that he was a smuggler, with a regular “milk run” into Albania, and that he made a good bit on the side.’

‘Well, but surely … I’d have imagined that an awful lot of men played around with that sort of thing hereabouts? And Corfu’s very well placed, just next door to the Iron Curtain. I suppose any sort of “luxury goods” would go well there? But how could anyone like Yanni Zoulas get supplies of things like that?’

‘How do I know? He’d have his contacts; someone in Corfu town, perhaps, who has connections with Athens or Italy … But I’m sure that Yanni Zoulas
wouldn’t be in it on his own account. He wasn’t exactly a master mind. He probably did it for a salary.’

I licked my lips. ‘Even so … You wouldn’t suggest that there could be any connection – that he was
killed
because of this? Is that what you’re getting at? That–that would make it murder, Godfrey.’

‘No, no. For goodness sake, I wasn’t suggesting anything like that! Good God, no! Don’t upset yourself. Why, you’re as white as a sheet! Look, the idea’s pure nonsense … I doubt if poor Yanni would ever be important enough to get himself murdered! You can forget that. But it did occur to me to wonder if he could have run into trouble on the other side – coastguard trouble: I believe they’re hot stuff over there, searchlights, machine-guns, the lot. If he did, and was wounded, and then ran for home, that might account for an accident happening on a night that wasn’t particularly rough. He might have fainted and gone overboard.’

‘I see. But even if the police do find out something about it, his family won’t be in trouble, will they?’

‘I doubt it. It isn’t that.’

‘Then what’s worrying
you
?’

‘It might bring them closer to young Spiro than would be quite pleasant,’ said Godfrey frankly. ‘I’ve a strong suspicion that he’d been out with Yanni more than once. It didn’t worry me, and I asked no questions; the boy had a mother and sister to keep, and how he did it was his own affair. But I don’t want them to find out about it now. It would serve no purpose, and might distress his mother. According to her, Spiro was
sans peur et sans reproche
, and a good Christian into the bargain. I’m sure she’d label smuggling as immoral, however lightly you or I might regard it.’

‘I didn’t say I regarded it lightly. I think that if you live under a country’s protection you should obey its laws. I just wasn’t surprised. But, you know, even if the police do find out something discreditable about Spiro, I’m sure they’d never tell Maria. Police are human, when all’s said and done, and the boy’s dead.’

‘You’re probably right. Ah, well …’ He stretched, and sighed. ‘Hell, what a wretched business. We’d better go and get it over. Do you feel as if you’d like to move now?’

‘Oh, yes, I’m fine.’

He took my arm, and helped me up the rough bank to the path.

‘I’m going to take you up to my house now, to telephone,’ he said. ‘It’s nearer, and there’s no need to alarm your sister till you’re feeling a bit more the thing yourself. The police will want to see you, and you can see them at my place if you like, then I’ll take you home by road, in the car … Now, did you have some clothes with you, or some sort of wrap and shoes? If you wait here a moment, I’ll get them.’

‘They’re back in the bay, but I’m afraid Phyl’s there, too. I left her asleep on the beach. She’s probably awake by now, and wondering where I am.’

‘Oh.’ He looked uncertain. ‘Well, that alters things, doesn’t it? We’ll have to tell her. I don’t know much about these things, but will it – well, upset her, or anything?’

‘I think she’ll be okay as long as she doesn’t see the body. She’ll have to know soon enough … Wait a minute, someone’s coming. That’ll be her.’

A second later she appeared on the path, round the point of the cliff. She must have been awake for some time, for all traces of the sea had been removed; she was freshly made up, her hair was shining and immaculate, she had clipped a pretty beach skirt on over her bathing costume, and she wore her gay beach coat. As usual, the sight of her brought my own shortcomings immediately to mind. I was conscious for the first time of what I must look like, with the salt dried on my skin, my hair damp, and my face – I imagined – still sallow with shock.

She said gaily: ‘I thought I heard voices! Hullo, Godfrey! Were you on your way over to us, or did you just come down to swim?’

‘Neither. I was down at the boat-house giving the boat a once-over, when I saw Lucy.’

I said: ‘Are those my shoes you’ve brought? Thanks very much. How did you guess I’d be wanting them?’

‘Well, dearie, knowing you,’ said Phyllida, ‘when I woke up and found you’d vanished, I knew you’d be straying along here poking around in the rock-pools, and heaven knew how far you’d get.’ She laughed up at Godfrey. ‘It wouldn’t surprise me in the least to find her with a jam-jar full of assorted shrimps and things to take home. I remember once—’ She stopped. There was a pause, in which she looked from one to the other of us. Then her voice sharpened. ‘Lucy. Godfrey. Something’s wrong. What is it?’

He hesitated just that second too long. ‘Your sister was feeling the heat a bit, and I offered to take her up to my house and give her a drink. She told me you were on the beach, so I was just coming across for you. I hope you’ll come up too?’

His tone was perfect, easy and natural, but my sister was never anybody’s fool. She had seen all she needed to see in my face, and in the fact that Godfrey’s hand still supported my arm.

She said, more sharply still: ‘Something
is
wrong. Lucy, you look awful … And it’s not the heat, either; don’t give me that; you never felt the heat in your life. What’s happened? Have you hurt yourself, or something?’

‘No, no. There’s nothing the matter with me, honestly.’ I disengaged myself gently, and looked up at Godfrey. It struck me suddenly, irrelevantly, that he was better-looking than I had thought. The sunlight showed up the deep tan of his skin, and the crisp hair bleached fair at the front. Against the tan his eyes looked a very clear grey.

I said: ‘You may as well tell her straight away.’

‘Very well. Phyl, I’m afraid a beastly thing’s happened. One of the local fishermen’s been drowned, and washed ashore over there, and Lucy found the body.’

‘Oh, my God, how ghastly! Lucy, my dear … you poor kid! I suppose it looked—’ Then her eyes widened, and a hand went up to her face. ‘Did you
see
? Could you tell? I mean … after a week …’

‘It’s not Spiro.’ Godfrey spoke quickly, almost harshly.

‘
It’s not?
’ The hand dropped, and she let out a long breath of relief. ‘Oh, I was so sure … But does that mean
two
, in just a few days? Have you any idea who it is?’

‘It’s a local man called Yanni Zoulas. I doubt if you know him. Look, we were just going up to telephone. Will you come with us? If I just go back now to the bay for the rest of—’

He stopped abruptly, and turned. A shadow fell across me where I sat pulling on my sandals. Max Gale’s voice said, just behind me:

‘Is anything the matter?’

I know I jumped as if he had hit me. The other two were caught gaping, as if in some guilty act. He must be stones heavier than Phyllida, but we had none of us heard a sound. I thought: he must move like a cat.

For seconds, nobody replied. It was a queer, hair-pricking little pause, during which the men eyed each other like unfriendly dogs circling one another, and I sat with a sandal half on, watching them.

‘The matter?’ said Godfrey.

I knew then that he didn’t want to tell Gale what had happened. The knowledge, somehow not surprising, came like a cold breath along my skin. Mr Gale glanced from Godfrey to Phyl, then down at me, and I bent my head quickly, pulled the sandal on, and began to fasten the strap.

He said impatiently: ‘It’s obvious there’s something. I was watching the bay with glasses, and I thought I saw something odd – some debris or other floating, away out; I couldn’t make it out. Then Miss Waring came
this way, and I saw her on the rocks that run out from the point. She stopped and looked into one of the pools, and her reactions made it pretty obvious that there was something very wrong indeed. Then you went over and made it rather plainer. What is it? Or shall I go and see for myself?’

It was Phyllida who answered him. She must not have felt the overtones that had chilled me – but then she didn’t know what I knew. She said, in a sort of rush: ‘It’s a dead body. Drowned. In that pool, there. We were just going up to phone the police.’

There was a moment in which I seemed to hear the cliffswallows, very loud and shrill, just overhead. Then Max Gale said: ‘Who is it? Do you know?’

Godfrey still said nothing. He had not taken his eyes off the other man’s face. It was Phyllida who answered.

‘I forget the name. Godfrey says he’s from the village. Yanni something.’

‘Yanni Zoulas,’ I said.

He looked down at me as if he was aware fully for the first time that I was there. I got the strong impression that he wasn’t seeing me even now. He didn’t speak.

‘Did you know him?’ I asked.

The dark eyes focused on me for a moment, then he looked away again, over towards the pool. ‘Why, yes, slightly.’

Godfrey said: ‘You say you were watching something floating, some debris. You couldn’t say what sort of thing? Could it have been flotsam from a sunk boat?’

‘Eh? Well, I told you I couldn’t see at that distance, but it could have been … My God, yes, I suppose it
could!’ All of a sudden Gale was fully with us; his gaze sharpened, and he spoke abruptly. ‘I wonder what time he went out last night? I thought I heard a boat soon after midnight, bearing north-east.’ He looked at Godfrey. ‘Did you hear it?’

‘No.’

‘Last night?’ said Phyllida. ‘Did it happen as recently as that? Could you tell, Godfrey?’

‘I’m not an expert. I don’t know. I don’t think he’s been there long. However, it shouldn’t be hard to find out when he was last seen.’

I had been watching Max Gale’s face. He was looking thoughtful now, grave – anything but the way I knew he ought to be looking. ‘It must have happened within the last forty-eight hours. I saw his boat myself on Saturday. It went past the bay at about three in the afternoon.’

If I hadn’t known what I did, I’d never have known that he was lying – or rather, implying a lie. For a moment I even wondered if perhaps Yanni had not been on his way to the Castello last night, then I remembered that Mr Gale had, in the last few minutes, given me another reason for doubting his good faith. He looked down suddenly, and caught me watching him. I bent my head again, and fiddled with the second sandal.

‘Well,’ said Godfrey, ‘it’ll be easy enough to check with his family, and the sooner we let the experts get on the job, the better. Shall we go? One thing, nobody need stay with the body. There’s no tide to shift it … Where are you going?’

Max Gale didn’t trouble to answer; he was already swinging himself down to the rocks below us. Godfrey made a quick, involuntary movement as if to stop him, then he shrugged, said softly to us: ‘Do you mind? We won’t be long,’ and slithered in his turn down through the bushes.

Gale was bending over the pool. Like Godfrey, he stood looking down at the body for some time in silence, then he did what neither Godfrey nor I had done: he lay flat at the edge of the rock, and reached down through the water as if to touch the dead man. I saw Godfrey make another of those sharp involuntary movements, but he must have decided that what evidence there was could hardly be damaged further by a touch, for he said nothing, merely stooping down himself to watch with close attention.

‘What in the world are they doing?’ asked Phyl, rather petulantly.

I was clasping my knees, hugging myself together closely. In spite of the sun, I had begun to feel cold. ‘I don’t know and I don’t care. I hope they hurry, that’s all. I want to get some clothes on and get the police over and done with.’

‘You poor lamb, are you cold? Here, have my coat.’ She took it off and dropped it over my shoulders, and I hugged it gratefully round me.