Murder on the Clifftops

by Betty Rowlands

  ‘Well, he’s not having any more fun at my expense,’ said Dora flatly. ‘I know where he’s staying and I’m going to tackle him this evening.’

  ‘It’s up to you, of course,’ said Melissa doubtfully. She got up and went to the door. She was on the point of saying that interfering could do more harm than good, but, knowing it would be pointless, she kept silent. She was thinking, as she went on her errand, less of the Rose-Dora-Dieter triangle than of Iris and her hapless devotion to Philippe Bonard.

  Rose, apparently calm and relaxed, greeted her with a smile. ‘Do come in,’ she said.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ asked Melissa.

  ‘Much better, thank you. Where’s Dora?’

  ‘She’s in my room, having a drink. I felt we both needed it.’

  ‘Poor Dora, I’m afraid I’ve been rather beastly to her. Is she very upset?’

  ‘I think she is a bit.’

  ‘I can’t think what got into me. I felt suddenly . . . afraid of her.’ Rose’s face crinkled in bewilderment. ‘When we heard about poor Alain Gebrec being dead, I had a sudden vision of Dora looking furiously angry . . . you know how she sometimes glares at Dieter . . . and I thought for a moment . . . supposing it had been Dieter who’d been killed . . . it might have been Dora who had . . . oh, I know it’s dreadful of me to think these things, but she hates him so much.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it. Shock plays funny tricks on people.’

  ‘We were so looking forward to this trip and it’s been awful,’ Rose whispered, sadly shaking her head. ‘First poor Wolfgang and now Alain. They ought to shut the path up to that terrible cliff for good.’

  ‘Perhaps they will.’

  ‘What will happen now, do you think?’

  ‘Much the same as before, I suppose. A police enquiry, formal identification . . .’ Melissa bit her lip at the thought of the ordeal facing Antoinette Gebrec and wondered who, if anyone, would be there to give comfort and support.

  ‘I mean about us? Will the course go on?’

  ‘Dora thinks not.’ Melissa tried to keep her voice even. ‘She was talking about leaving here first thing tomorrow.’

  ‘But we can’t do that!’ Rose showed signs of renewed agitation. ‘I have to see Dieter . . . we’ve got a lot to talk about.’

  ‘I’m sure he’ll get in touch with you as soon as he can,’ said Melissa, trying not to allow her irritation to get the better of her. ‘The best thing you can do is stay quietly here with Dora for the rest of the evening. Shall I go and fetch her? She’s really very concerned about you.’

  ‘Oh, yes . . . I suppose so,’ said Rose sulkily.

  ‘And do try not to have any more unpleasantness.’

  There was an uncompromising set to Rose’s mouth as she said, ‘That’s up to her.’

  ‘All clear,’ said Melissa when she rejoined Dora. ‘At least she isn’t going to throw another wobbly the second she sets eyes on you . . . but she’s not going to like the idea of leaving tomorrow.’

  ‘You told her?’ Dora’s expression was accusing. ‘Really, Melissa, that would have been better coming directly from me.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but she raised it herself. Do give her the chance of a night’s rest before you have it out with her.’

  ‘I’ll make up my own mind about that, thank you very much,’ Dora snapped and flounced out of the room.

  The telephone rang; Jack was on the line. ‘We’re leaving now,’ he said. ‘Iris is all in and I’m taking her back to the Lion d’Or for dinner. I’ve checked that they do vegetarian dishes. Will you join us?’

  ‘Oh, yes, please!’ said Melissa fervently. ‘What time?’

  ‘Say in half an hour?’

  ‘I’ll be there.’

  ‘Iris says to tell Monsieur Gauthier not to expect you this evening.’

  ‘I’ll do that.’ Melissa smiled fondly as she put down the phone. How typical of Iris to think of such a detail at a time like this.

  The dining-room at the Lion d’Or had a modern, glass-walled extension which, like the terrace, overlooked the Mauzère. On this warm, sunny evening the sliding doors were pushed back and the scent of broom drifted in, along with the cooling freshness of a sprinkler turning merrily in the centre of the geranium-filled garden. Music played softly in the background, haunting melodies of old Charles Trenet songs that soothed the senses, softening the harshness of chattering voices and the clinking of glass and crockery, insinuating themselves into the mind as stealthily as an incoming tide seeps into crevices between rocks.

  Melissa recalled the words of one: Je tire ma révérence – I take my leave of you. A few hours ago, Alain Gebrec had taken his leave of everything and everyone. The thought made her skin prickle.

  ‘It’s very good of you to include me,’ she said when she, Iris and Jack were installed at a table, sipping apéritifs and making a show of studying the menu. ‘I was dreading getting caught in the fall-out from this evening’s episode of the Rose-and-Dora show.’

  ‘Iris insisted she wouldn’t leave you on your own,’ said Jack.

  Melissa cocked an eyebrow. ‘Meaning, if you wanted Iris’s company you had to put up with me as well?’

  Jack looked disconcerted for a moment, then laughed. ‘That could have been put more tactfully, couldn’t it? I didn’t mean to imply . . .’

  ‘It’s all right, we’re not normally inseparable,’ said Melissa reassuringly. She glanced at Iris, who appeared absorbed in the menu. ‘What happened after we left?’

  ‘Much the same as last time. They sent a chopper and an ambulance to recover the body and there was the usual swarm of gendarmes rushing around.’

  ‘Banana Split was in charge,’ said Iris, without a trace of a smile. ‘Very subdued, very low key.’

  ‘Banana Split?’ Jack looked from one to the other with a blank expression.

  ‘Ask her. She coined the name.’ Iris jerked her menu in Melissa’s direction.

  ‘He wasn’t doing much smiling this afternoon,’ said Jack when Melissa had explained. ‘He seemed almost as shaken as everyone else.’

  ‘Last time I spoke to him, after Wolfgang Klein’s death, he almost prophesied that something else would happen.’

  ‘You mean he was expecting another accident?’

  ‘I’m not sure what he was expecting and I don’t think he was either. He was very mysterious . . . and rather ridiculous.’ Melissa smiled faintly at the recollection. ‘He said, if I remember correctly, something like, “We haven’t heard the last of this” while beating his nose black and blue with his Biro.’

  ‘Whatever could he have meant by that?’

  ‘At the time, he thought – no, it was almost as if he was hoping – that someone had pushed Klein off the cliff. He was chuntering on very grandly about an “investigation” and “interrogating the personnel”. He seemed quite miffed when it was established that it was an accident and his commandant called him off.’

  ‘He wanted it to be a murder? That’s a bit sick, isn’t it?’ said Jack, frowning.

  Melissa shrugged. ‘I imagine his very own murder enquiry is every newly promoted police inspector’s dream.’

  Jack shook his head, evidently finding such cynicism distasteful. Iris lowered her menu and said, ‘At least, he didn’t hassle Philippe. Saw what a state he was in. Left his “interrogation” till tomorrow.’

  ‘Yes, how is poor old Philippe? Is anyone with him?’

  ‘Only the servants. Wouldn’t let anyone else stay. Said he wanted to be left alone.’ Iris’s expression gave nothing away and Melissa could only guess how she was feeling.

  The waiter was hovering by their table. ‘Perhaps we’d better order,’ said Jack.

  The food was excellent, but none of them was hungry. When they had finished, they went out on to the terrace to drink their coffee. Already several other groups and couples were out there, the penetrating French voices and cheerful laughter sounding sharp and clear in the still air, untouched by any hint of tragedy
or death.

  ‘So, what’s the state of play between Rose and Dora?’ asked Jack.

  ‘By the time I left, they were both huffy with me,’ said Melissa ruefully. ‘I seem to have said all the wrong things.’

  ‘Were they on speaking terms?’

  ‘Just about, but there’s probably blood on the walls by now. Dora’s talking about leaving tomorrow.’

  Iris reacted sharply. ‘Can’t do that, the course isn’t finished. It’d upset Philippe no end.’

  ‘You mean, he’s prepared to carry on, after what’s happened?’

  ‘Determined to. Told him people would understand if he didn’t, but he said, “They’ve paid their money, they’re entitled”.’

  ‘Brave man, Philippe,’ said Jack warmly, earning a look of gratitude from Iris.

  ‘If he feels up to it, it’s probably the best thing for him,’ said Melissa. ‘It’ll help to take his mind off the tragedy.’ She turned to Iris. ‘Does he agree it might have been suicide, by the way?’

  Iris stared into her empty coffee cup. ‘No idea what he thinks. Hardly said a word to me.’ She was working hard to conceal her distress, but the tremor in her voice was unmistakable.

  ‘Would you like to go back to the auberge?’ said Melissa gently. ‘You look very tired.’

  Without a word, Iris got to her feet. She stumbled over her chair and would have fallen, but Jack caught her arm and steadied her. ‘Would you like a lift back?’ he offered.

  ‘It’s all right, thanks, I brought my car,’ said Melissa.

  They settled Iris in the passenger seat of the Golf, where she sat with closed eyes. Jack hurried round to hold open the driver’s door. Before getting in, Melissa put out a hand and he took it in a firm clasp.

  ‘You’ll excuse us, running off like this, won’t you?’ she said. ‘This business has knocked her for six.’ She hesitated for a moment before adding in a lowered voice, ‘She’s known Philippe for quite a while, but I don’t think she ever realised . . .’

  ‘I understand,’ he said quickly. ‘It’s hit her pretty hard.’

  ‘She’ll get over it, but she’ll need a lot of support.’

  He gave her hand an extra squeeze before releasing it. ‘You can count on me.’

  Iris held up until they were back in their room. The minute the door was closed she sat on the edge of her bed, covered her face with her hands and wept.

  ‘How could I? How could I have been such a fool?’ she wailed through her tears. ‘I really thought . . . I hoped . . . he was always so charming to me . . . so nice.’

  ‘But he is nice. Gay people often are,’ said Melissa. ‘More often than not, they’re kind and gentle to everyone.’

  ‘Know that. Met lots of them before. Just didn’t like to think that Philippe . . .’

  ‘It isn’t that obvious. I don’t think I’d have spotted it myself if I hadn’t seen the way he reacted the day we found Wolfgang Klein, when Gebrec got so upset.’

  ‘Saw that too. Suppose I’d already guessed, but didn’t want to know.’ Iris had stopped crying and was sitting with hunched shoulders, tear-stained and dejected, but calm. She shot a glance at Melissa. ‘You never said anything.’

  ‘You were in enough of a state as it was over doing your course. I didn’t want to upset you.’

  Iris managed a tremulous smile. ‘You’re a good friend, Mel. Glad you’re here.’

  ‘Me too. Now you’d better get some rest. I imagine it’s business as usual for you tomorrow as well?’

  ‘Of course. If Philippe can go on, I can.’

  ‘Good for you.’

  ‘What about Gebrec’s mother? Hope someone’s with her.’

  ‘Her friend, Madame Delon, is. I checked before coming out. Oh, Lord!’ Melissa put a hand to her mouth. ‘I’ve just remembered. She invited us – you and me – to see some pictures tomorrow evening.’

  ‘Forget that. Poor creature won’t be in the mood for social visits.’ Iris picked up her pyjamas and headed for the bathroom. Compassion for Antoinette Gebrec had for the time being taken her mind off her own disillusionment.

  Twelve

  The following morning Melissa drove Iris as usual to Les Châtaigniers, where they found a state of confusion. All the students – even Rose and Dora, whom they had glimpsed sitting silently over their breakfast and deliberately avoiding everyone’s eye – had turned up early, wanting to know what was going to happen. A pale young Frenchwoman, who turned out to be the normally invisible secretary, Marie-Claire, was assuring the assembly in a shrill voice that everything was to proceed as normal. If the group of Madame Ash required transport, Fernand would drive the mini-bus. Monsieur Bonard’s students would please await him in their classroom. As soon as he was free – she gave a glance of distaste towards the police car discreetly parked in the farthest corner of the courtyard – Monsieur Bonard would proceed with their lesson. Marie-Claire then vanished into the house, followed in a straggling line by the students of French. The artists were left in the courtyard, where they stood clutching their equipment with the anxious, uncertain air of a group of refugees.

  Chrissie sidled up to Iris. ‘What are we doing this morning?’ she asked in a forlorn voice. With her long hair drooping round her face and her large, mournful eyes, she looked like a lost basset-hound puppy.

  Iris passed a hand over her forehead. She had slept badly and the flesh seemed to be drawn too tightly over the bones of her face. ‘I was planning to look at some rock formations,’ she said wearily. ‘Strata lines and so on.’

  ‘You mean, like the ones in the cliff face, opposite the belvedere?’ Chrissie looked horror-struck. ‘We couldn’t possibly go up there, not now!’

  ‘There are other places.’

  Heads were already beginning to shake. No one, it seemed, wanted to know about rocks, no matter what cunning designs Nature had created in them.

  ‘We don’t have to stick slavishly to the programme do we?’ said Mervyn. ‘Perhaps a complete change would be a good idea.’

  ‘How about a train ride?’ suggested Jack. ‘There’s a little steamer that chuffs to and fro between Anduze and St-Jean-du-Gard. It goes through some wonderful scenery and St-Jean itself is quite picturesque, plenty of things to paint . . . not exactly designed by Nature I know, but . . .’ He glanced round the small ring of faces, by now registering quickening interest. ‘What do you think, Iris?’

  ‘Does everyone agree?’ she asked. Heads nodded vigorously.

  ‘Fine!’ said Jack. ‘All aboard the bus everyone; I’ll go and find Fernand.’

  Five minutes later they had gone and Melissa was standing alone in the middle of the courtyard, wondering what to do next. She had intended to spend the day working on a preliminary plan for her novel, taking advantage of Philippe Bonard’s invitation to use his library. That was out of the question now; concentration would be impossible. Eyeing the police car, she wondered whether it belonged to Officer Hassan and whether it was worth hanging around for a word with him. In the light of his melodramatic prophesy, it would be interesting to learn his reaction to this second death. Could there possibly be a link between the two? A serial killer, perhaps? It was a chilling thought.

  She glanced at her watch; it was only twenty past nine. A bit too early to call Madame Gebrec. In half an hour maybe. As if the time would make any difference to a woman whose only son had just been killed. She mightn’t welcome the intrusion. On the other hand . . . Perhaps Marie-Claire would let her use the office phone. She was still undecided when Officer Hassan came out of the house, marched straight across to her and saluted.

  ‘Good morning, Madame Craig.’ His voice was subdued and his smile of greeting a pale reflection of its normal radiance. ‘This is a terrible tragedy.’

  ‘Terrible.’

  ‘I warned, did I not, that something of this nature might occur?’

  That’s not quite as I remember it, Melissa thought, but let the inaccuracy pass unchallenged.

  ‘You did i
ndeed,’ she said. ‘Does that mean that there will be a further investigation into Monsieur Klein’s death?’

  Rather regretfully, it seemed, Hassan shook his head. ‘The facts are very simple, Madame. The death of Monsieur Klein was, as the médecin légiste maintained at the outset and,’ he coughed in some embarrassment, evidently recalling his earlier insinuations, ‘as subsequent enquiries proved, a most tragic accident. This time, I fear, there can be no doubt – Monsieur Gebrec took his own life.’

  ‘Have you any idea why?’

  ‘I believe so, Madame.’ He cleared his throat and looked down at his feet as if assessing the shine on his boots. ‘It seems there was a . . . relationship between Messieurs Klein and Gebrec.’

  ‘You mean a homosexual relationship?’

  ‘Yes, Madame.’ He looked up and met her eye in obvious relief at her matter-of-fact response. ‘It would appear that the death of his friend was, for Monsieur Gebrec, an insupportable loss.’

  ‘You think he killed himself out of grief?’

  ‘Exactly so, Madame.’

  ‘But according to Monsieur Bonard, they were scarcely more than acquaintances . . . occasional drinking companions.’

  ‘I suggest that it is not a matter which a man wishes his employer to know about.’

  ‘No, I suppose not. So what does Monsieur Bonard say about the suicide theory?’

  ‘He is, I think, now prepared to accept it.’

  ‘Monsieur Bonard knew that something very serious was on Alain’s mind, but he said he had no idea what it was. Some of us wondered if he had an illness that no one knew about.’

  ‘That possibility has already been explored. His own doctor had recently examined him and found him perfectly healthy.’

  Melissa sighed. ‘That seems pretty conclusive, I suppose.’

  ‘That is my assessment of the case, Madame, as I intend to report it to my commandant.’

  ‘Poor Madame Gebrec. She will be heartbroken.’

  ‘Alas, yes, Madame. A very brave lady. It was my unhappy duty to break the news of her son’s death, which she bore with great fortitude. Now, I have to visit her one more time. It will be painful, I fear. Au revoir, Madame.’ He saluted again and marched across the yard to his car. Melissa turned and went sadly into the house.