by Carola Dunn
Whether or not brother and sister, could they have been brought up together? Now she had time to ponder, it seemed unlikely. Alan Freeth was so clearly professional middle-class, and something about Rosie Mason spoke of lower-middle or upper-lower, that in-between group whose watchword was respectability.
The English class system be damned! thought Eleanor. Perhaps she was completely wrong about the whole thing, having spent so much of her life overseas.
“Yes, American musicals can be amusing,” she said to Gina. “The local cinemas show the films, but I have to confess, mostly they come and go before I get round to going to see them.”
Gina laughed. Giving up on theatrical chitchat, she switched to reminiscing about the distant parts of the world where their paths had crossed. Eleanor’s attention was engaged and she stopped worrying about Alan Freeth.
At about quarter to four, the negotiators appeared, Norton close behind with tea for all. Eleanor couldn’t tell from Sir Edward’s expression how the meeting had gone, but she reckoned that if he were meeting with notable success, he’d be visibly cheerful, which he wasn’t.
On the other hand, Nontando, spectacular today in bright purple and electric blue, was definitely cheerful. “I can’t wait to get outside into the fresh air,” she said. “If you’ll excuse me, Lady Bellowe, I’ll go and get my coat.”
“I really don’t believe it’s wise,” grumbled Sir Edward, fighting a rearguard action, “but if you insist.… Norton, send for the police officers, please.”
The butler ushered out Nontando and followed her. Gina poured tea. Tariro collected two cups and came over to give one to Eleanor. Teazle greeted him with a soft wuff and a wagging stump of a tail.
“May I join you, Mrs. Trewynn?”
“Of course. How did it go?”
He pulled a wry face. “Could be better. Could be worse. Sir Edward is probably correct. Sanctions will work in time and the settlers will have to accept majority rule. Bishop Muzorewa, as head of the only legal African party, will be well placed to take advantage. But Sir Edward doesn’t understand our impatience and frustration. We are tired of waiting. And naturally, he strongly disapproves of our guerrillas accepting support from the Commies. What can they do when the West won’t supply arms?”
“Which they use to fight each other,” Eleanor pointed out with a sigh.
“That’s why I can’t bring myself to support either group. I’m going to keep my head down and get my degree. Maybe by then it will be clearer who is worthy of support.”
“Or sanctions may have worked. I’d say that’s a wise decision. What about Nontando?”
“Oh, she’s a fire-breather. Her problem is that she prefers the Maoists to the Soviets, but they are supporting ZAPU and she doesn’t like Nkomo, even though he’s Ndebele, whereas ZANU’s leader, Mugabe, is Shona.”
“And she’s Ndebele. What a dilemma!”
“Also, she—”
“Here she is now,” Eleanor said with relief. She was never going to be able to keep ZANU and ZAPU straight. “And she’s sensibly dressed for a country walk on a chilly spring day. I’d better go and fetch my coat.”
On the landing, Eleanor met Megan and Ken.
“Ready to go, Aunt Nell?”
“Just about. Give me five minutes.”
“I expect Sir Edward will lecture us on our duties for at least that long.”
“Nontando’s not wearing high heels, is she?” Ken asked.
“No, jeans and proper walking shoes.”
He blenched. “I hope it doesn’t mean she’s expecting to climb over to the ruins.”
Megan grinned, slightly maliciously. “Probably. The tide should be right. I checked. Just make sure you get back before it starts to get dark, or you’ll find yourselves stranded for the night. Sir Edward would not be pleased. See you shortly, Aunt Nell.” She went into the sitting room, with Ken following.
When Eleanor returned downstairs, she found she need not have hurried. Sir Edward was minutely questioning Megan about exactly where they were going.
“Not along the main street of the village,” Megan was saying, as if not for the first time. She turned to Eleanor with relief. “Aunt Nell, could you please explain to Sir Edward where we’re taking Miss Nontando and Mr. Tariro?”
“We’ll be turning off the main road before we reach the main shopping area. The shops will be closed anyway on a Saturday afternoon. The tourist places stay open over the weekend in the summer, but not now. No one will be out and about.”
“If you say so.… I suppose it will be all right. But be careful!”
The five, plus Teazle, trooped down to the ground floor. As Sir Edward had insisted, Nontando and Tariro waited at the tower door for Megan and Ken to bring the cars right to the spot.
“I’ll go with you to fetch the car, Megan,” said Eleanor, to whom Sir Edward had not issued orders. “Seeing a little old lady and a dog get into your car should make you look innocuous.”
Megan laughed. “Little do they know you! All right, it’s in front. We’ll go out through the main door.”
They went through to the hotel lobby. Megan held the main door open for Eleanor and followed her out.
“Damn and blast, the van’s gone!”
“Van? Oh, your crooks’ van?”
“Yes. They must have driven off while Sir Edward was haranguing us. I’d better call it in.”
Eleanor scurried after her niece to the car, Teazle scampering alongside. Megan unlocked the driver’s door, got in, leaned over to unlock the passenger door, then reached for the radio set. As soon as Eleanor opened the door, Teazle hopped in and sprang over the gear lever to the backseat.
Megan spoke urgently into the radio transmitter. Eleanor paused to look at the sky before getting into the car. A pall of low cloud hung over sea and land. She hoped Tariro and Nontando wouldn’t be disappointed not to see waves sparkling in sunlight.
The radio squawked. Megan replied and it squawked again.
“Oh hell! Okay, thanks, Launceston. CaRaDoC L6 over and out.”
“What’s wrong?” asked Eleanor, settling in her seat.
“They’ve sent Dawson.”
“Dawson?”
“PC Dawson, the Speed Demon, Terror of the Highways and Byways. The only thing he does well is drive. His idea of fun would be careering at eighty miles an hour round the lanes, pretending to hunt for the van.”
“Oh dear!”
“And if he finds it by crashing into it, guess who the guv’nor’s going to blame?”
* * *
“Freddy!”
“Hello, Sis.”
“What are you— Vic!”
“Hello, Rosie. Happy to see dear hubby? C’mon, give us a kiss.”
“No! Vic, don’t!”
“Have it your own way. Aren’t you going to invite us in? What a way to welcome your lawful wedded husband that’s been away for years.”
“You’re not—”
“Now hold on, Vic!”
“You trying to tell me how to treat my own wife?”
“No, Vic, of course not. But can’t you give her time to get used—”
“Ah, that’s better. Nice place you got here. Comfy, like. Doing well, are you, duckie? Bit too far from the Smoke, though.”
“How did you find me?”
“Now, that’d be telling. Maybe you forgot I have my ways. What’s this ’ere? ‘Private’? Looks like a good spot for a little private chat. You and me’ve got things to discuss. Anyone else in the house, Rosie? Bed-and-breakfasters, like?”
“They’ll be back soon. Any minute.”
“We better get a move on then, hadn’t we. That desk, it was your pa’s, wasn’t it? Always knew quality when he saw it, your pa. I don’t know what prices are these days, but I bet it’d fetch a pretty penny. Sit down, Rosie. Make yourself at home. Oh, ha ha, you are at home, aren’t you? Good old home sweet home. Don’t want to sit down? All right, stand, then; just don’t try any funny business.�
�
“I won’t, Vic. Please—”
“Now, I seem to remember you always kept the stuff you thought was important in the bottom drawer. Freddy, see what you can find.”
“No! I’ll give you money, everything Dad owed you. I’ve got cash in the top drawer. I’ll write you a cheque—”
“Get out of the way. Forgot your lessons, have you? This’ll teach you!”
“No, Vic, don’t!”
“Vic, there was no call for that.”
“That’s for me to decide. I won’t have my wife cheeking me. Go look in that drawer.”
* * *
Nick was in a foul mood as he trudged down the hill towards Mrs. Mason’s house. His vision of a ghostly host emerging through the remaining arch from the ruins on the island had deserted him. Replacing them in his mind’s eye were a Pre-Raphaelite knight with inevitable drooping damsel, most definitely not his thing. He couldn’t get rid of them.
From the hillside, he saw a van in the drive, backed in, in front of Mrs. Mason’s car. She had a visitor, or perhaps a shop delivery, though that seemed unlikely on a Saturday afternoon. As he approached the back door, he heard voices in her private room.
Good. He was in no mood to be introduced to strangers. Slipping in through the kitchen, he could avoid them.
It was a measure of her hospitable nature that he didn’t hesitate to enter her house unannounced. He wanted a cup of tea but was not quite enough at home to set about making himself one. Going through into the hall, he made for the stairs.
A thought struck him. Could her visitors be people wanting a bed for the night? Perhaps he should tell her that he’d be quite happy to go home right away. With inspiration fled, he had plenty of work to do in his studio. It would be easy enough to come back on Sunday night or Monday morning to pick up Eleanor.
He dumped his equipment at the foot of the stairs and turned towards the front of the house.
From the front room came Mrs. Mason’s voice, raised in protest: “Vic, no!” followed by a heavy thump.
Two strides took Nick to the door. As he moved, he heard a different voice, high but recognisably male: “Vic, you shouldn’t have!”
“She asked for it.”
Nick turned the handle. It was locked.
“How long d’you put her out for?”
“Dunno, do I. Haven’t got the old skill back yet. Didn’t hit that hard. Coupla minutes, I reckon.”
“Rosie? Rosie! Oh my God, Vic, what have you done?”
Nick took a step back and ran at the door shoulder-first. It shook, but the lock held. He was about to try again, when Freeth came hurrying along the hall towards him.
“What’s going on? Who’s in there?”
“I don’t know, but it doesn’t sound good. Help me break in.”
“A good kick just below the lock—or so I’ve been told. By a felonious client.”
Not waiting for the explanation, Nick kicked. The door burst open. Facing them was a burly man, arm raised. Beyond him, Nick caught a glimpse of Mrs. Mason sprawled on her back, her head resting on the edge of the raised slate hearth.
Behind Nick, Freeth uttered an inarticulate cry. Nick had just time enough to take in that much before the man’s arm, oddly lengthened, swung down with a sideways flick and the world went black.
SEVENTEEN
“Are you going to see Mr. Freeth?” Eleanor asked as the police car rolled down the hotel drive, Megan at the wheel, Tariro in the back with Teazle on his knee.
“Yes, I think so, just for the sake of my report. It shouldn’t take more than a minute or two.”
“And after that? Tariro and I can walk back to the hotel if you have to go chasing off after your two malefactors, can’t we, Tariro?”
“If you say so, Mrs. Trewynn. I’ll be glad to stretch my legs.”
“No,” Megan said decidedly. “They’re only prospective malefactors. As far as I know, they haven’t actually done anything illegal, and for all I know, they’re heading straight back to London. If not, Dawson and Yarrow can manage without me for the present. Besides, Sir Edward would have a fit.”
“Which reminds me,” said Eleanor, looking back, “you’re supposed to keep your head down, Tariro.”
“Okay.” He grinned at her and leaned forward over the dog, who kissed his nose.
“Teazle, really! I’m so sorry. Here, hand her over; she can sit on my lap.”
“That’s all right. She was just being friendly.” Still bent double, he took out a handkerchief and wiped the dog slobber off his face. “How long do I have to stay bent double?”
“I’ve got to stop for petrol,” said Megan after a glance at the gauge. “I’m afraid you really ought to get down on the floor. Sorry!”
Tariro groaned. “This is all such rubbish!” But he slithered off the seat and managed an awkward crouch, knees on one side of the bump and hands on the other side.
Teazle regarded this manoeuvre with interest, then hopped up on his back, eliciting another groan.
Megan made the petrol stop as brief as possible by asking for four quids’ worth instead of a fill-up, and having four pound coins ready.
Pulling out of the petrol station, she said, “You can get up on the seat now, if you can do it without bobbing up in the process.”
Tariro clambered up. With a few contortions—Teazle scrambling to adjust—he ended up on his back, knees in the air and the dog on his stomach. She turned three times and settled to sleep.
By that time, with next to no traffic in the streets, they had almost passed the built-up area.
“You can get up now,” said Megan cheerfully.
Tariro groaned. Teazle strongly objected to another upheaval. She took a leap and landed on Eleanor just as the car made an abrupt turn off the main road into a narrow lane. The dog slithered to the floor with an indignant yip.
Eleanor leaned down to help her. When she straightened up, they were turning off the narrow lane into a narrower lane with slate walls on either side. A short way ahead, an isolated house stood at the point where the lane turned into an unpaved farm track. The sign in front now announced NO VACANCIES.
“Bloody hell! That’s the van, in the drive!”
“The one you’re looking for?” Eleanor asked. “Are you sure? There must be thousands like that on the roads.”
“I’m sure. I’m going to drive on a bit up the track and walk down to see what’s going on. That’s where Freeth and Nick are staying?”
“Yes, Mrs. Mason’s.”
Luckily, there was no rattling cattle grid. A five-barred gate stood open. On their left, an enclosure surrounded by drystone walls held a flock of ewes and lambs. Beyond, the stony track, unwalled, sloped up towards the crest of the cliffs. Megan stopped after fifty yards or so and turned the car to face downhill.
“May I come with you?” Tariro asked.
“No, better wait here. Aunt Nell, explain to him, would you?” She retrieved her binoculars, got out, and closed the door with a faint click.
Eleanor held on to the dog, who wanted to follow. While she told Tariro what little she knew about the two men, she and Tariro watched Megan circle round behind the house. She ran half-crouched, ducking behind gorse bushes bright yellow with bloom, then took up a position concealed by an outcrop of granite. The house hid the van from them, but Megan must have a good view, Eleanor assumed.
* * *
From Megan’s vantage point, looking down at the house, she saw a small car parked in the drive behind the van. Fortunately, the vehicles were far enough apart for the van’s licence plate to be visible to her. She focussed the binoculars on it. She could imagine the ructions if she spent Sir Edward’s time watching a perfectly innocent anonymous white van.
The number was her quarry’s. She widened the focus to take in the van, the side of the house, and the space between.
Settling down into a reasonably comfortable position, she wondered what on earth the two men could want with Mrs. Mason. Had Adrian Ar
buthnot gone so far to seed that he could no longer prey on wealthy women and had to make do with the proprietress of a guest house? Had he come alone, or brought his thuggish crony along?
Megan wished she knew whether Victor “Jones”—Stone, if Ken was right—was in the house. If he was, she’d be inclined to go down and prospect more closely, perhaps knock on the door and ask for Freeth. Maybe she should anyway. She might wait for hours here without being any the wiser as to what he, or they, were up to.
In the meantime, what were Aunt Nell and Tariro up to? It was only a matter of time before they got fed up with waiting and either went off for a walk or came down to see what she was doing.
She glanced over towards her car, partly concealed by the intervening gorse. No sign of movement. So far, so good.
A pair of jackdaws landed on the grass a few feet from her. Inveterate beggars, they doubtless hoped she was having a solitary picnic. Attracted by their insistent chuck-chuck, a gull wheeled overhead, screaming. A pair of Londoners probably wouldn’t notice, or if they did, wouldn’t draw the conclusion that the birds were interested in an intruder. Anyway, they were still inside the—
Click.
At the sound of a latch, Megan swung the binoculars back to the house. The con man came out of the side door. His appearance was more furtive than ever. He slunk down the drive to the lane and peered down towards the village, then turned and came back. Megan zoomed in on his face. It was ghastly, a mix of horror and terror.
Whatever he had looked for in the lane, he didn’t raise his eyes to the hillside. The London mind-set: A barren hillside could present no danger.
He went back into the house.
His expression had shocked Megan. Something appalling had happened in the house. Now she had to decide whether duty required her to dash down to investigate or to hurry back to the car and radio for assistance.
If she called for help, she’d face teasing from her male colleagues. If she went to the house and ran into trouble she couldn’t handle, teasing would be the least of it. Against Arbuthnot alone, she would expect to prevail. But she remembered Victor Stone’s burly form and couldn’t help quailing.
