Buried in the Country

by Carola Dunn

  “I don’t think I will,” she told Teazle. “They’re watching for strangers already, and a foreigner would stick out like a sore thumb.”

  THIRTEEN

  Eleanor saw no sign of Nick on her way back across the cliffs. She hoped he had found a secure eyrie with a good view of the castle ruins. The sun was warm and not a breath of breeze stirred as she and Teazle walked down through the churchyard. It was a pity Sir Edward was determined to keep the young people indoors on such a glorious day, with such glorious scenery close at hand.

  Remembering Nontando’s defiant look, Eleanor wasn’t at all certain he’d succeed.

  The track down to the Haven ran down a steep-sided cleft, making a shortcut to the hotel impossible, so they followed the lane. When Vicarage Hill met Fore Street, the main street, Eleanor turned right, heading into the village. She and Gina hadn’t made any definite plans to meet—or any plans at all, actually—so Gina might be waiting for her somewhere. It wouldn’t take long to stroll along, peering into shops and cafés, just in case.

  It was midday. The shops were busy with housewives buying last-minute supplies for the weekend. Eleanor met three or four people she knew from her donation-collecting rounds. She had to stop to exchange a few words, so progress was slow.

  Halfway back down the other side of the street, she ran into Megan, coming out of Boots chemist’s carrying a shopping bag.

  “Hello, dear. I’m glad you’re able to get out on such a beautiful day. I rather thought you were confined to barracks, after a manner of speaking.”

  Megan drew her aside, out of the way of a large woman with a wheelie basket, into the deserted alley beside the shop. “Mr. Scumble told me to come down and chat with the locals, and Ken and I agreed one of us should amble round the village, asking about strangers. He said it should be me, because it’s my district. He’s right, of course, but he’s up to something, I know it.”

  “What sort of something?”

  “I’m not sure, but the signs are he’s picked up another girl. How and where he found her, goodness knows. The maids all seem to be Greek, and he goes for blondes. Not good for our image as a holidaying couple. Still, I haven’t heard anything to suggest we have a nosy-parker about the hotel, so I suppose it doesn’t matter.”

  “You don’t mind, do you, Megan?”

  “Good lord no. Not the way you mean. But when it takes his mind off the job … I’ve been tramping round, buying tourist tat”—she hefted the shopping bag—“asking fatuous questions about the scarcity of visitors at this time of year, while I don’t know whether he’s even paying attention to those two fishy characters you didn’t see last night, let alone anyone new who may turn up.”

  “Surely he wouldn’t be so negligent.”

  “Probably not,” Megan conceded reluctantly. “He’s a good copper.”

  “Then trust him. Are you coming back to the hotel now? I’m going to be late for lunch if I don’t hurry.”

  “No, I’m going to have a snack in a pub, and ask some more fatuous questions. I’ll see you later.”

  Eleanor kissed her cheek and hurried off up the hill to the hotel, realising halfway there that she hadn’t told Megan that Freeth was safe and had written to Bulwer. It would have to wait till later. She had barely time to brush her hair before shutting Teazle in her room and dashing down to the sitting room. Norton was hovering outside the door, clearly itching to announce that luncheon was served, so Eleanor refused Sir Edward’s offer of sherry. The butler allowed thirty seconds for this exchange of courtesies before making his stately entrance.

  They all trooped down to the dining room. By the time they reached it, Eleanor was certain the dissension she had sensed upstairs was no figment of her imagination.

  As Sir Edward seated her, he leaned down to whisper, “Revolting students! Both want to parade about the countryside this afternoon. Perhaps you can dissuade them?”

  “At least they agree on something,” Eleanor responded. “Quite an achievement.”

  He shook his head, smiling. “Ever the optimist!”

  * * *

  When Aunt Nell left her, Megan strolled back along the street towards the pub where she’d decided to have lunch. As she approached the Old Post Office, a picturesquely ancient building with a sagging roof, she saw the so-called Adrian Arbuthnot coming out.

  He looked annoyed. She guessed that like so many others, he had assumed it was still a working post office, whereas it was now yet another tourist trap.

  Pretending to study a shop window—a collection of bits of driftwood topped with herring gulls in unlikely poses, made of some unidentifiable substance—she watched Arbuthnot from the corner of her eye. He glanced left, in her direction, then turned right towards the Bossiney Road, where the current post office occupied a corner of a small grocer’s.

  It was almost closing time. He hurried, but managed nevertheless to appear surreptitious.

  Megan dawdled along, keeping him just in sight. He went into the grocery. She crossed to the opposite side of the road and was almost level with the shop when he came out again after just a minute or two. In his hands was a small blue-covered booklet. Looking down at it with obvious satisfaction, he didn’t notice Megan. He turned back in the direction of the King Arthur Hotel and went off almost jauntily.

  “What the hell?” Megan murmured to herself.

  She, too, turned back, but she was pretty certain he was going to the hotel, probably to report his success—whatever it was—to his confederate. She couldn’t see much point in following him. When she reached the Trelawny Arms, she went in.

  The first person she set eyes on was Nick Gresham. He stood up, grinning, as she marched over to his table.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “And hello to you, too.” He held a chair for her—no one could say he wasn’t a gentleman.

  She sat down. “Sorry. Just a rather frustrating morning.” She dumped the shopping bag on the floor, glancing at his beer mug. “Are you having a meal or just drinking?”

  “You make me sound like a confirmed sot. I’m contemplating the alternatives: pasty or ploughman’s. This, as the barman told me, is a ruddy pub, not a ruddy rest-oh-rong. What about you?”

  “Ploughman’s sounds all right.” Megan glanced back at the barman. “Do you think you can persuade him to get me a cup of tea?”

  “He’s not a ruddy caff, but I’ll try charm, and if that doesn’t work, I’ll speak to him severely.”

  “Fall-back position, bitter lemon.”

  He raised his eyebrows but didn’t comment. Dropping a kiss on the top of her head in passing, he went to the bar. She couldn’t hear what was said, but either the charm or the severity worked, because Nick returned a moment later to tell her “Tea coming up.” He sat down and reached for her hand, meanwhile picking up his tankard with his other hand and taking a swallow. “I don’t believe you followed me here, either for the sake of my beautiful eyes or in the course of your duties—”

  “Hush!”

  “Eleanor said you’re mixed up in what’s going on at the hotel.”

  “I am not ‘mixed up’ in it. I don’t even know what they’re doing.”

  “You’re just watching out for strangers?”

  “How the hell do you know so much about it? Aunt Nell told you? I met her in the street a few minutes ago and she didn’t tell me you were in Tintagel.”

  “She didn’t mention that I drove her here yesterday because the Incorruptible wouldn’t start?”

  “No.”

  “No credit for my good deed, alas,” Nick said mournfully.

  “Don’t be an idiot. I hope that’s all you learned from her, that something’s going on and we’re trying to keep track of strangers in the area?”

  “Strangers who could be spies.”

  “She told you we’re on the lookout for spies? You’re not serious!” She stopped as Nick, looking beyond her, put his finger briefly to his lips.

  “Here you go.” T
he barman deposited a tray on the table: two ploughman’s lunches, teapot, cup and saucer, milk jug, sugar basin.

  “Thanks.” Megan took out her purse.

  “The gentleman already paid, miss.” He withdrew.

  “Oh, well, thanks, Nick. I’ll put it on expenses and pay you back.”

  “That’s all right, old girl.”

  “I’ll add yours on, too. It’s still cheaper than if I’d eaten at the hotel. What exactly did Aunt Nell say about spies?”

  “Originally, she just said mysteriously that it was all very hush-hush. This morning she let slip that the spies would probably be colonialists. She didn’t say which colony. We haven’t many left, so I might be able to work it out if I put my mind to it, especially as the Russians and Chinese are involved.”

  “What? She said the Commies are involved?”

  “Didn’t you know?”

  “No, I did not! Sir Edward never said anything about Russians.”

  “Eleanor was afraid he wasn’t paying enough heed to that dimension. She couldn’t decide whether she ought to remind him.”

  “This cheese is good, and the bread is fresh!”

  “Davidstow Cheddar—I saw it on the counter. She didn’t mention Russians to you?”

  “No, not a word. She was in a hurry to get back for lunch,” Megan excused her aunt. “Local butter, too, by the taste of it.” She glanced round the dingy room. “Much better than the surroundings suggest.”

  “I was chatting to the barman before you arrived. Apparently there’s a new owner who’s going to tart the place up for the tourist trade. He’s renaming it the Excalibur Inn.”

  Megan groaned. “Arthur, Arthur everywhere. You didn’t happen to chat about the paucity of tourists at this time of year?”

  “I was just coming to that. He said he wasn’t complaining, because he was paid for it, but it was a waste of time opening in the middle of the day before the Easter hols. Locals come in only in the evening, and mine’s the first strange—make that unknown—face he’s seen in a week.”

  “Thanks, I won’t have to ask.”

  “Neither of us mentioned Russians, however.”

  “A Russian would be just another stranger.”

  “A stranger stranger, you might say.”

  “You might. Chinese would be pretty obvious, though. Dammit, why did Aunt Nell talk to you about the conference at all?”

  “I was giving her a lift, remember. I was mildly interested in where she was going and why.”

  “But why did you stay in Tintagel after dropping her at the hotel?”

  “My dear girl, you aren’t suspecting me of being a spy, are you?” he teased.

  “Of course not. Don’t be silly. Benighted by the storm?”

  “Brilliant guess. And then I got an idea.…” His eyes took on a faraway look.

  Megan reached over and shook his arm. “Don’t you disappear into an artistic haze.”

  “Sorry. The storm was just descending in full force and I didn’t fancy driving in it. I found a bed-and-breakfast willing to put me up for the night. When today turned out fine, I decided to stay on for a day or two. Did Eleanor tell you whom I found myself sharing digs with?”

  “She did not,” Megan said grimly. “Which seems to be becoming a refrain. What didn’t she tell me this time?”

  “If she didn’t, I’m not sure I should.”

  “Why not? Does it involve something illegal?”

  “Not to my knowledge. What a suspicious person you are!”

  “Must be the company I keep. Come on, Nick, spill the beans.”

  “It’s a matter of privacy. The person concerned was obviously dismayed that I was staying at the same bed-and-breakfast. Besides, he doesn’t count as a coincidence for you. You’ve probably never met him. A chap from Port Mabyn.”

  “If he’s a stranger to me, there can’t be any harm in telling me.” Megan had pretty much lost interest, but she was stubborn. “Wait a bit—a stranger to me and a stranger to Tintagel?”

  “I’ve no idea. For all I know, he comes here every year for a hiking holiday. You’re thinking he could be one of the spies you’re watching for?”

  “Well, couldn’t he?”

  “I doubt it. It would help if I knew what the conference is about, but I’d guess it was planned quite recently.” Nick frowned, obviously pondering whether to give her the whole story. “This chap’s lived in Port Mabyn for years, longer than I have.”

  “Port Mabyn? Then why would he come to Tintagel for a holiday?”

  Nick shrugged. “Just for a change? I really can’t see Freeth as a spy.”

  “Freeth! Not really? Alan Freeth, the solicitor?”

  “Yes. Eleanor told me you’re looking for him. But not that you suspected him of spying for the Chinese.”

  “For heaven’s sake, Nick, that’s not what I said. I shouldn’t talk about it.”

  “But you’re going to.”

  “If you swear to keep it under your hat.”

  “I solemnly swear to keep it under the hat I never wear.”

  Megan smiled, but said, “Seriously. I could get into deep trouble.”

  “Seriously, of course I won’t breathe a word to a soul, idiot.”

  “And you won’t let it slip accidentally, as you just did his name?”

  “Ho, that was no accident. Carefully calculated to elicit a reaction if the name meant anything to you.”

  “You are impossible, Nick!”

  “So my parents used to say.”

  “Oh, sorry.” Megan was taken aback by the hint of bitterness in his tone. She didn’t know much about his family, except that they had disapproved of his choice to become an artist. “I won’t say it again.”

  “Never mind, old girl. I’m used to it. Now, what about Freeth?”

  “His … partner reported him missing.”

  “Yes, that’s what Eleanor said. So…?”

  “No suggestion of embezzlement or anything like that, and he’s a competent adult.… At least, did he seem to you to have gone off the rails?”

  “Not in the least. He seemed tense and wary, worried, and very pally with our landlady, but otherwise—”

  “How pally?”

  “Megan, you know he’s gay?”

  “That was obvious, and Mrs. Stearns confirmed it. As did Aunt Nell.”

  “Good lord, you don’t mean to tell me you tackled our Jocelyn? You’re a brave woman.”

  “She was very circumspect, if that’s the word I want.”

  “Fits her to a T. I daresay Freeth may swing both ways, if that’s what you’re suggesting, though I doubt it. She’s no dolly-bird, you know. A nice-looking middle-aged woman, not at all tarted up to look younger. More like brother and sister. Even if they are lovers, it’s no business of the police.”

  “None whatsoever. But it would make it that much less likely that he’s the sort of spy I’m supposed to keep an eye out for. Also, though it’s equally none of my business, I feel I ought to—”

  “Not to tell Bulwer where he is?”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it. No, to suggest to Freeth that it might be a good idea to let Bulwer know he’s safe and sound, if not where he is or when and whether he’s going home.”

  “I feel sure the estimable Scumble, for whom I begin to feel some sympathy, would strongly object. Besides, you’re not supposed to know Freeth’s here. Unless you’re proposing to shatter my nice clean reputation as an innocuous member of the public?”

  “Is that how you see yourself?” Megan teased. “I’d hate to tarnish that image.”

  “I’m beginning to wish I’d kept my mouth shut.”

  “I won’t give you away, honestly. I’ll fabricate a reason for looking for you, and hope to find him in. Where is the place?”

  “I suppose it can’t hurt.” Nick gave her directions. “You’re not expecting me to be there, are you? What sort of time, so I can be out?”

  “I don’t know. Depends when I can get away.”<
br />
  “I’m not so convinced it’s a good idea. You said yourself, he’s a competent adult.”

  “Old enough to run away from home if he wants to, for whatever reason.”

  “His reason remains obscure to me. ‘“And that,” said John, “is that.”’ I’m off, before the light changes too much.” He kissed her on the mouth, but a light, friendly kiss.

  Noncommittal, Megan thought as she followed him out. That was all right. Though she was over thirty, she wasn’t ready to settle down and wasn’t sure she ever would be. Besides, an artist and a police officer just didn’t belong together. She never knew when she’d be called out, and he might disappear in pursuit of his muse at any moment.

  Better Nick than Ken, though. Almost worse than the girls was that he’d always hold a rank superior to hers in her own profession, by virtue of being male.

  Not that either of them had ever breathed a word about marriage.

  As for Freeth, why would a prosperous solicitor take a room at a bed-and-breakfast if his intention was to observe what was going on at the hotel? He wouldn’t need to pinch pennies. And why should he spy for Ian Smith? Even less likely that he should be working for the African side, let alone the Russians or Chinese. Megan wished she paid more attention to the international news.

  Whatever had caused him to walk out, he was surely a distraction, a red herring. All the same, if she could get away later, she would go and have a word with him.

  FOURTEEN

  Over lunch, Eleanor exerted her powers of persuasion to the utmost. Somewhat to her surprise, she succeeded in getting Nontando and Tariro to agree to a couple more hours of talks that afternoon, on condition that they be permitted to go outside later.

  “Fresh air and exercise,” Nontando said decidedly.

  “And the view of the castle and the sea from the cliffs,” Tariro added.

  With more difficulty, Sir Edward was brought to admit that there was little danger in a walk on the cliffs, so long as they didn’t show themselves in the village.

  “And you must take a police escort,” he insisted.

  “Ken—Sergeant Faraday—will be happy to walk with me,” Nontando said with confidence.