Fear in the Sunlight (25 page)

When Bridget opened her eyes, it was just beginning to get light. She lay still, enjoying the warmth of Archie’s body curled around her own while the world came to life outside, and then, as the sun rose above the hills, casting tentative fingers over a new day, she slipped quietly from the sheets, hoping he wouldn’t stir.

His shirt was the first piece of clothing that came to hand; she put it on, knowing that too much movement would bring on a volley of hopeful barking from the sitting room next door and destroy any chance of peace. The sketchbook was on the floor next to the bed and she picked it up, pleased by the way the light flooded in through the window onto his face. Asleep, Archie was entirely at her mercy, with no self-consciousness or shy protestations, no elaborate poses or distracting conversation. She drew freely and quickly, searching out the contours of his body with each line, resisting the temptation to embellish with memory and accepting only what she saw in front of her – the hand resting on the pillow, the graceful curve of the neck and shoulders, the sheet draped across narrow hips. His body was beautiful, more so now that it had lost the artificial perfection of youth, but it was the strength in his face that moved Bridget and filled her with an unexpected longing; for all the fuss she had made about remaining independent, beholden only to her work, it was a strength she would have welcomed during the past twenty years, more often than she cared to acknowledge.

There were things she should have told him about her life, things he had a right to know. Last night, she had convinced herself that there was no need; it was a chance encounter, miraculous in its way but fleeting, and if they were unlikely to meet again, she wanted to part sure of his good opinion. But that was last night. This morning, she was reluctant to let go of the joy they had found in each other but knew that honesty would destroy it. Her past was not something for which Archie would be able to forgive her: he was sensitive and compassionate, but he had an instinct for right and wrong which ran deeper than his job – and what she had done
was
wrong. The longer she stayed silent, the harder it would be to explain. She put the charcoal down before she destroyed the drawing by adding too much, and looked up to find that he had been watching her.

‘The shirt suits you, but not yet.’ He slipped it from her shoulders and looked at her, hoping to find a mirror of his own happiness. Bridget smiled. It wasn’t Archie’s fault that all she really wanted to do was cry for mistakes which, once made, could never be undone.

Josephine sat down to breakfast on the terrace and marvelled at the beauty of the morning. Portmeirion had been restored to its proper state after the aberration of the night before, and the only lingering sign of the storm was a rich, moist air which gave a freshness to everything. There was just enough breeze to move fragile wisps of cloud across a brilliant blue sky, and the village shone with a new lustre, its lines more exuberant, its colours more intense. A flock of oystercatchers rose up from the estuary sands, peeling off erratically into the air like ashes from a bonfire, and, where pools of water had been left behind by the tide, the reflection of the sun was too bright to look at. She smiled, remembering its moonlit counterpart, the rain on Marta’s skin, and wondered how much of the day’s magic was down to the weather and how much to her own happiness.

‘Good God, you look exhausted,’ Ronnie said, joining her at the table. ‘Did the storm keep you awake?’

‘Something like that.’ Josephine beamed at her. ‘And thank you for getting my forty-first year off to such a complimentary start.’

‘It wasn’t meant as a criticism, just an observation.’ She glanced knowingly at her sister, and Josephine could feel the rings around her eyes darkening under their combined scrutiny. Lettice was one of the few people who knew something of her feelings for Marta, but her discretion could be taken as read; Ronnie, on the other hand, could usually be relied upon to back the wrong horse. ‘Isn’t Archie down yet?’ she asked, running true to form.

‘I haven’t seen him,’ Josephine said, reaching for her sunglasses.

A waiter brought toast and coffee, and took their orders for breakfast. ‘We’ll be as quick as we can,’ he promised, ‘but we’re a bit short-staffed this morning.’ He nodded conspiratorially to the Watch House on the cliff. ‘As if we haven’t got enough to worry about.’

‘It’s fine,’ Josephine said. ‘We’re not in any hurry.’

‘Darling, you
are
in a good mood!’

‘So what did you two get up to last night after we’d gone?’ Josephine asked, ignoring Ronnie’s smirk.

‘We had a few drinks with Lydia, as you know, and then a couple of Hitchcock’s people drifted back in, so we got talking to them. The band was fabulous, wasn’t it, Ronnie? There was a bit of a kerfuffle when the singer didn’t turn up for her final set, but they managed beautifully without her.’ She cast a sly glance at her sister. ‘Ronnie was on her feet until the early hours.’

‘And on her back after that?’ Josephine seized her chance to give as good as she got. ‘Which waiter was it this time? No wonder they’re short-staffed.’

‘It wasn’t a waiter.’

Lettice was coy rarely enough to make Josephine genuinely curious. ‘Oh?’

Lydia came out onto the terrace and sat down at their table. ‘You look lovely,’ Lettice said, distracted for a moment from her story. She looked the casual elegance up and down with a professional eye. ‘Isn’t that a Maggy Rouff?’

‘Yes. It’s such a beautiful day that I thought I’d make an effort,’ she said, and the cynic in Josephine couldn’t help wondering if the effort was for Marta or for Hitchcock. ‘First things first: marks out of ten for Mr Franks?’

‘Eight, but I’m holding the other two in reserve.’

Josephine looked at Ronnie in astonishment. ‘You spent the night with Hitchcock’s sidekick?’

‘I most certainly did not. David was the perfect gentleman.’ She grinned at Lydia. ‘We’re just trying to establish if the same can be said about Archie. He seems to have kept the birthday girl up
very
late.’

‘Really? I thought I saw him out walking with his Irish eyes, but I must have made a mistake.’ She smiled at Josephine. ‘It was difficult to tell who was who in that rain last night, with umbrellas and blankets everywhere.’

The waiter made a timely arrival with three full Welsh breakfasts and looked enquiringly at Lydia. ‘Same for you, madam?’

‘Yes please, and will you bring a smoked haddock as well? And plenty of coffee. Marta’s joining us in a minute,’ she explained, buttering some toast. ‘She’s just getting dressed. No sign of the Hitchcocks yet?’

‘Perhaps they’ve packed up and gone,’ Josephine suggested hopefully.

‘I doubt it. Round two is supposed to be taking place on the terrace. Jack Spence said they’d all been summoned after breakfast. We should have a ringside seat.’

‘Not if I can help it.’ Over Lydia’s shoulder, she saw Archie strolling along the coastal path from White Horses. ‘Nice walk?’ she asked mischievously as he kissed her and sat down.

‘Lovely, thanks. It’s done me the world of good. How are you?’

‘I couldn’t be better.’ She poured him a cup of coffee and smiled. ‘You were absolutely right.’

Ronnie had eagle eyes but her ability to add two and two left a lot to be desired. She drew a deep breath, ready to launch into a lengthy interrogation of Archie’s whereabouts, but Lettice jumped in before she could start. ‘Is that a parrot?’ she asked, peering towards the village.

Josephine was grateful for the effort but would have preferred a more credible change of subject. Then she saw a bright green bird swooping down from the Bell Tower and circling over the estuary before settling on the balustrade further down the terrace. ‘That’s Agatha, madam,’ the waiter said. ‘She belongs to the hotel’s general manager. They’ve both been with us for years.’

‘She reminds me of Hephzibah,’ Ronnie said thoughtfully.

Lydia laughed. ‘In what way exactly?’

‘Didn’t you hear what happened at Regent’s Park this year? She’s only just had the stitches out.’

They were so engrossed in Ronnie’s story that they almost missed Hitchcock’s arrival. He walked across the lawn with his cameraman and, as he passed their table, raised his voice: ‘Don’t worry about the blood. I’ll wash off what’s left and get rid of the knife.’ He pretended to notice Archie for the first time and faked a look of horror. ‘Ah, Chief Inspector. I didn’t see you there.’

Archie laughed. ‘A word of advice,’ he said. ‘It’s virtually impossible to wash it off completely. You should
always
worry about the blood.’

‘I’ll bear it in mind.’ Spence moved on to another table, but Hitchcock drew up a chair to form a triangle with Josephine and Archie, effectively forming a separate party. ‘A famous crime novelist and a chief inspector of Scotland Yard should be able to answer a question that has always puzzled me,’ he said with relish. ‘Why are the English so fascinated with murder?’

‘I can’t speak for the English,’ Josephine said, with a mild exaggeration of her accent. ‘I just hope it lasts.’

‘But seriously – do you think it’s because our crimes are more exciting?’

‘The papers try to make them seem that way,’ Archie said, ‘but only a small percentage have anything shocking about them. Most crimes, even murders, are drab domestic affairs or sordid squabbles about money, and there’s nothing intriguing about that – it’s all depressingly inevitable.’ He smiled at his own cynicism. ‘Having said that, murders are rare. Your industry and Josephine’s thrive on distorting the numbers: you’d have us believe that there’s a corpse round every corner, but compared to somewhere like America we’re extremely lazy when it comes to homicide. Perhaps that’s why we take more notice when it happens.’

‘Is that true, David? You’ll have to speak for our American friends.’ Josephine had noticed that, like his wife, Hitchcock rarely missed a thing, but he would have needed eyes in the back of his head to see Franks coming across the terrace without turning round; then she realised that they were seated outside the Mirror Room, and the director had deliberately positioned himself at the right angle to watch everything. Not for the first time, she acknowledged a grudging respect for his shrewdness. ‘The Chief Inspector tells me we value our murderers for their novelty value.’

‘Don’t you think it’s more a sort of shameful admiration?’ Franks suggested. He winked at Ronnie‚ and to Josephine’s astonishment she blushed like a virgin. ‘A murder here is worth so much more than in America. Kill someone in California and you have miles of desert to get rid of the body in; try it in London, and your best options are a cellar or the left-luggage department of a railway station. No wonder we idolise anyone who has the courage to risk it.’ He smiled and drifted off to join Spence; Ronnie stared after him, reverting to her usual indifference only when she noticed Josephine watching her.

‘I think there’s something in that,’ Archie said. ‘The attention they get puts murderers on a warped pedestal. It’s invariably
their
names we remember, not the victims’.’ He paused to pour more coffee. ‘And the wheels of justice turn more quickly here. Sentence to execution in three clear Sundays: even the British can’t lose interest in that time. America’s appeal system would bore us to death. Our sense of justice never burns that brightly.’

‘A sceptic as well as a policeman,’ Hitchcock said approvingly. ‘I knew Edith Thompson’s family, you know. They lived round the corner from us in Leytonstone. Her father taught me ballroom dancing. I imagine
his
sense of justice would have stayed the course if it could have saved his daughter from the noose.’

Archie nodded. ‘Yes, I imagine it would.’

‘I still think there’s something inherently dramatic about the famous English reserve, though,’ the director insisted. ‘We have a tendency to bottle our emotions up, so when they emerge, they’re liable to do so in a more extreme fashion.’

‘That’s a stereotype, surely?’ Josephine argued. ‘It certainly doesn’t account for Lizzie Borden. Or Belle Gunness. Or Amy Gilligan.’

‘So what do
you
think keeps people glued to the trial reports, Miss Tey?’

‘Apart from a natural inclination to revel in the misery of those less fortunate, you mean?’

He smiled. ‘Apart from that, yes. Why do we love a good murder?’

‘Because we’re all capable of it,’ Josephine said, thinking of Marta and how they had met. For her, there was no inherent contradiction in knowing that the woman who knew her more intimately than anyone else had once wanted to destroy her; Marta’s was a grief of which she had no experience, but she knew what darkness was and understood the temporary insanity of hatred. ‘Things get out of hand very easily. We fall in love with the wrong person, make a mistake and then another one to cover it up, feel so much pain that there’s nothing left to lose and rail at the injustice of it all. From there, violence isn’t such a very big step. So when we read about those crimes in the papers, it isn’t admiration we feel; it’s relief – relief that it wasn’t us.’ She smiled. ‘This time, anyway.’ Hitchcock nodded thoughtfully, and Josephine decided that she liked him much better away from his audience. ‘What fresh hell have you planned for everyone today?’ she asked. ‘It’s too beautiful a morning to carry on where you left off, surely?’

The director laughed. ‘On the contrary,’ he said. ‘Fear of the dark is natural, we all have it, but fear in the sunlight, perhaps fear in this very restaurant, where it is so unexpected –
that
is interesting.’ He gestured to the hotel and added with a wink‚ ‘Being somewhere like this takes the sting out of any unpleasantness, don’t you think? Murder can be much more charming and enjoyable – even for the victim – if the surroundings are pleasant and the people involved are ladies and gentlemen.’

A young man had been hovering at the French windows for some time; at last, he managed to pluck up the courage to approach Hitchcock for an autograph, and the director welcomed him with a genuine warmth which surprised Josephine. ‘Doesn’t that sort of attention bother you?’ she asked, as the fan disappeared back into the hotel with a broad smile on his face.

‘Not at all,’ he said. ‘I couldn’t do what I do without it. Ah – here comes my wife.’

Alma’s progress down the hill was hastened by an overexcited terrier, who seemed to resent the confines of his lead on a day that promised such adventure. Marta was with her, looking relaxed in a sleeveless white cotton blouse and red linen trousers, and the two were deep in conversation. ‘Are you sure it’s not too much trouble?’ Alma asked as they walked across the terrace, and Marta shook her head.

Hitchcock kissed his wife and led her off to a table for two, and Marta sat down next to Lydia. ‘We’ve got a friend for the morning, I’m afraid,’ she said. ‘I’ve promised Alma we’ll look after Jenky while she makes some calls in peace.’

‘I hope he’s got his sea legs,’ Lydia said. ‘The girls and I were thinking about taking a boat out and rowing over to the island.’

‘I’d rather tire him out with a walk first,’ Marta said, looking doubtfully across at the terrier. ‘She adores that dog. If he goes overboard, I’ll never work again. Couldn’t we get a boat after lunch instead?’

‘The tide will be out by then,’ Lettice said, and Marta’s smile would have been subtle had she not been wearing a lipstick to match her trousers.

‘Why don’t you take the boat along the shoreline instead?’ Josephine suggested. ‘We can walk up to the headland and meet you there. If you think you can row that far,’ she added provocatively, looking at the Motleys.

‘Bloody cheek,’ Ronnie said. ‘Lettice was the most popular girl in the Saltash rowers when she was young. They were devastated when we moved to London. We’ll be there before you two have changed your shoes.’

‘That sounds like a challenge,’ Lydia said with relish. ‘What’s it to be, Archie? Land or water?’

‘Neither,’ Archie said. ‘It’s all far too energetic for me. I think I’ll just sit in the sun and read the papers.’ He glanced over to the Hitchcocks’ table. ‘I doubt there’ll be a shortage of entertainment. Apart from anything else, I want to know what happened to the nun.’

‘Perfect,’ Lettice said, getting up. ‘You can bring us up to date over lunch.’