Dangerous Deception

by Anthea Fraser

  But I’d had more than enough of his cat-and-mouse games. I wrenched open the car door and half fell out, regained my balance and started to run stumblingly down the unmade road, through the gateway and across the gravel to the hotel. I pushed my way through the swing doors and stopped short.

  I could hardly have made a more effective entrance. Afternoon tea was about to be taken into the lounge. There were several people in the hall, but through the mist of my tears I registered only Harry, the waiter.

  “Mr Hardy will not be sitting at my table for dinner,” I said clearly. Then, aware of the staring faces, I snatched my key and ran up to my room, where I flung myself on the bed in a storm of tears.

  Chapter Twelve

  ‘… waste and solitary places;’

  Shelley: Julian and Maddalo

  BY DINNER-TIME I had, at least outwardly, regained my composure. With head high, I went downstairs and into the dining-room.

  My table, sure enough, was set for one only, but Dick Harvey’s next to mine was also laid. Surely – but no, I’d underestimated Harry’s tact. Philip was already seated across the room; my neighbour must be the newly arrived Goldilocks.

  The interest that our separation was causing was almost palpable, and I felt the colour flame in my cheeks. But this, after all, was the impression we’d intended to convey. He hadn’t looked in my direction, and after that one quick glance, I ignored him.

  Morgan paused at my table. “Have a good picnic?”

  “Diabolical,” I said.

  “Hence the segregation?”

  “Please, Morgan—” I looked up, and his eyes widened as he saw my face.

  “That bad?”

  I said in a low voice, “Everyone’s looking,” and felt the gentle pressure of his hand.

  “I’ll see you after dinner.”

  He’d just seated himself when Carol came in. There was a moment of total silence, every knife and fork immobilised. I looked up, and my heart contracted. So this was what Bryn had meant by ‘initial impact’.

  She was the most striking girl I’d ever seen. Her hair was so pale as to be almost white, cut very short, with jagged points framing her face. Her skin was a clear, sun-ripe gold, her eyes green and thickly lashed, her mouth sensuous. There was no denying she was beautiful, but I instinctively disliked her.

  She stood arrogantly just inside the room, as though acknowledging everyone’s attention. Philip shouldn’t find it difficult to make advances to her; the only danger would be his being trampled in the rush.

  Harry hurried towards her, almost tripping in his eagerness, and ushered her to her table, which service she acknowledged with a gracious inclination of her head. Her almond eyes flicked over me without interest, then circled the room, and heads turned hastily away. All but one. Across the room, Philip’s eyes met and held hers. I felt a little sick.

  I made a passable attempt to eat my meal, and it ended at last. Looking neither to left nor right, I went out into the hall. Morgan followed me and took my arm. “Now, tell uncle what happened.”

  I moved evasively.

  “Don’t say it’s none of my business, because I rather think it is.”

  I recited the line we’d agreed: “He was taking too much for granted, that’s all.” And added quickly, “What do you think of the new arrival?”

  “A bit obvious for my taste, but Master Philip seemed impressed.”

  So he too had seen that exchange of looks.

  “To hell with them both,” he said cheerfully. “Let’s see about some coffee.”

  Several people were already in the lounge, and Phyllis Bunting had as usual taken up her position behind the urn. We joined the Mortimers, and after a slightly hesitant start, our conversation was natural enough. No one mentioned Philip, and though, in ones and twos, the other diners came through to join us, he and Carol were not among them. They must have gone directly to the bar.

  After a few minutes the groups divided and re-formed. The Zimmermans and the teachers set up a table for bridge and the Mortimers announced their intention of going for a drink.

  “Are you two coming?” Pauline asked. Morgan was getting to his feet, but I shook my head.

  “Not just yet.”

  With a surprised glance, he sat down again, and the Mortimers, with a casual, “See you later, then”, left the room.

  “Don’t you want a drink?” Morgan inquired.

  I said steadily, “If you don’t mind, I’d rather not go in the bar this evening. But don’t let me stop you.” Brave words; I was praying he wouldn’t leave me.

  He looked taken aback. “There’s nothing else to do.”

  “Couldn’t we just stay here? Play bridge, or something? I think there’s another card table.”

  “Bridge?” The look on his face was almost comical. “Good God, you’re not serious?”

  “I am – really. I’d much prefer to stay here.” I’d no intention of watching Philip and Carol’s manoeuvres.

  Morgan turned resignedly to the Dacombes, who were sitting reading. “You don’t play bridge, by any chance?”

  Andrew looked up. “We do, as it happens. Would you like a game?”

  “Oh I would, very much!” I turned to Morgan. “Please!”

  He shrugged. “Very well, if you won’t change your mind.”

  A second card table was set up, and packs of cards produced from a drawer in the sideboard. I deliberately seated myself with my back to the glass wall; Philip wouldn’t have the satisfaction of my seeing him with Carol.

  Across the room the other players were silent except for bidding and the slap of the cards. The old ladies sat tranquilly knitting.

  Andrew fanned out the cards. I picked one, drawing a queen, and him as my partner. I started to deal.

  The evening wore on, largely in silence. From time to time I glanced at the other three round the table, and wondered indifferently what they were thinking. Andrew had been looking for something in the TV room last night. Was he Sinbad? And though ‘Cinderella’ hadn’t been mentioned, Cindy could also be involved. As for Morgan, who could guess what was going on behind that high, intelligent forehead?

  The other game ended before ours, and the Zimmermans, with a nod in our direction, left the room. We finished the third rubber at exactly ten-thirty.

  “Would you mind if we stopped there?” Cindy asked.

  I shook my head. The game had passed the evening, which was all I’d asked of it.

  “Suits me.” Morgan laid down his cards with an expression of relief.

  “Thanks for the game, everyone.” As I stood up, easing my aching back, the sound of voices reached us. Without volition I turned, and through the glass wall saw Philip and Carol coming out of the bar. Their heads were close together and they were laughing. Philip slipped a casual arm round her and led her into the TV lounge. The door shut behind them.

  I turned back to the room and to three pairs of sympathetic eyes.

  Morgan said, “How about a night-cap, Clare?”

  No reason, now, to avoid the bar, and I wasn’t yet ready to be alone with my worries. I could hold them at bay for a few more minutes.

  “Thanks, I’d like one.”

  In the cocktail lounge, the Zimmermans had settled themselves in a corner, and greeted us with a smile and a friendly, “Good game?”

  Clive and Pauline were seated on stools, chatting to the barman about his sister’s wedding.

  “It was a great day,” Dai finished, “but the news about Mr Harvey when I got back spoilt it all. One of our regulars he was, see. I still can’t believe it.”

  “None of us can,” Clive said soberly.

  Pauline, catching sight of Morgan and me, slipped off her stool. “Come and talk to me, Clare.”

  I followed her to a table, wondering what the Americans had made of Philip’s volte-face. Morgan brought my drink and then rejoined Clive at the bar. Pauline was studying me anxiously.

  “Is everything all right?” she asked in a low voi
ce.

  “Yes,” I said awkwardly, “fine.”

  “It’s none of my business, I know, but if it would help to talk—?”

  My fingers tightened on my glass. “We had a row, that’s all. It’s no big deal.”

  “But Clive said you knew each other from home?”

  “So?” I forced a laugh. “That doesn’t necessarily ensure sweetness and light – quite the reverse!”

  “I meant it wasn’t just a—” She broke off, glanced at my closed face, and patted my hand. “Sorry – let’s talk about something else. What have you and Morgan been doing with yourselves all evening? We expected you to join us.”

  “We were playing bridge.”

  Her eyebrows lifted. “Hidden talents! Who were you playing with?”

  “The Dacombes. They won.”

  Mamie Zimmerman laid down her book and smiled at me. “I didn’t realise you played. It’s unusual these days to find young people who do, but when I was a girl, bridge was regarded as a social asset.”

  The fact that she’d picked up so easily on our conversation made me wonder uneasily if she’d been as interested in her book as she’d appeared. She might well have also heard my comments about Philip – not, I thought wearily, that it mattered.

  “My parents taught me,” I told her, “but I’m a bit rusty.”

  Morgan and Clive joined us at the table and conversation became general. I was tired after the traumas of the day, and as I watched the animated faces around me, the situation seemed more and more unreal. Behind this façade of social affability, two of our number were negotiating to buy stolen art treasures, and quite possibly someone other than myself was aware of it. I wondered a little hysterically what would happen if I started to recite the ridiculous code names we’d been given.

  It was obviously time I went to bed. I stood up, excused myself, and left the room, devoutly hoping I shouldn’t bump into Philip and Carol in the hall. But there was only Mr Davies at the desk.

  “Everything all right, Miss Laurie?” he asked as he handed me my key.

  “Fine, thanks.”

  He grinned. “No more mysterious messages?”

  I glanced nervously over my shoulder, but the hall remained empty. I forced a smile. “No.”

  “That’s good. Good-night, then.”

  Alone in my room, all my fears rushed to reclaim me. I wish to God you’d never set foot in this place, Philip had said. Me too – oh, me too!

  How could I ever face Matthew? If he knew the position I was in, he’d expect me to expose Philip and the others and recover the paintings. I knew that, but I was not as strong as my uncle, who had already publicly denounced his step-son. I supposed dully that he’d had to, for the sake of the business.

  But anxiety on his behalf was only a small part of my emotions now. I wondered what Philip would do, after Wednesday. If he continued in this line of business, he was bound to be caught sooner or later.

  And what of myself? God knew what risks I was running by staying under the same roof as Carol, whose role I had temporarily usurped. Would I be considered a risk? And if so, how would they deal with me?

  Again, Philip’s voice spoke in my head. If they find out, they’ll kill you.

  I caught my lip between my teeth, tasting blood, warm and salty, on my tongue. And in the meantime, what was going on in the television lounge? Was Carol satisfied with the story of the misdirected notes? There was nothing else I could do. As Philip had pointed out, I’d already done more than enough. The scalding memory of the scene in the field flooded my mind, and I covered my ears as if to shut out the cruelty in his voice.

  Mechanically I undressed and crept into bed, shivering despite the comparative mildness of the night. Gradually the sounds outside my room lessened and ceased. The landing light went out and the hotel settled down to sleep. And at last I was able to force my aching eyes shut and, turning on my side, I also slept.

  * * *

  The next morning, I was aware of an animal-like need of privacy in which to lick my wounds, somewhere there was no chance of seeing Philip and Carol.

  Accordingly I phoned down to reception and asked if there was any chance of an early breakfast. I was told there was and, spurred by my decision, had a quick bath, dressed in jeans and T-shirt, and went down to the empty dining-room. It was seven-thirty.

  Outside, the wind was blowing clouds across the sky, and the room was filled with a grey, watery light. Harry brought me cereal and orange juice, a boiled egg, toast and coffee. I ate quickly, anxious to be away before any of the other guests arrived.

  The room had an expectant air, with the clean stiff tablecloths and shining cutlery, the meticulously folded newspapers on each table. It was like a stage set, waiting for a play to begin. I smiled grimly to myself, wondering what Mr and Mrs Davies would make of the action going on in the wings.

  “Thank you, Harry, that was good. Would you please tell Mrs Davies I shan’t be in for lunch?”

  “Very good, miss. Will you be wanting a packed lunch again?”

  “No thanks, I’ll stop somewhere when I’m hungry.”

  I had brought my jacket down to save going back upstairs. I retrieved it and was through the swing doors and across the car park before anyone else appeared.

  It was the first time I’d been in my own car since my arrival – was it really only three days ago? – and I breathed a sigh of relief as I turned out of the private road on to the main one. Today was mine. I had the paperback, still unread, in my handbag, and I shouldn’t have to make polite conversation to anyone. The realisation that I was free of the hotel and all it contained for at least ten hours was like a tonic.

  The wind through the sunroof lifted my hair as I drove and a sudden burst of sunshine made my heart a little lighter. I resolved to close my mind to Philip and Carol and Bryn, to Morgan with his worried eyes and Clive and his easy morals, even to Andrew and Cindy, whose linked hands made my heart ache with loneliness. Today was mine alone, and I determined to enjoy it to the full.

  I drove for about an hour, without any clear thought of where I was going. I followed little-used farm roads, ran through tiny grey-stone villages and alongside winding streams. Eventually, beside one such stream, I drew in the car and stopped.

  Except for the soft murmuring of water, the silence was total. A steep bank led down to the brook, and beyond it, the tall, waving grasses of a meadow stretched up towards a sprawling hillside, patterned with patchwork fields on the lower slopes and rising to green woods and bare grey rock.

  I picked up my book and made my way down to the water. Here, I was out of the wind. I slipped off my sandals. The bank of the little river shelved gently, with patches of soft warm sand. I sat down on one of these, and the grassy bank rising behind me was just the right height for a back rest. Above me, clouds raced across the pale sky and seabirds hung lazily in the currents of air. Here at last was the peace I had come to Wales to find.

  Slowly and lazily the morning passed. Every now and then I lifted my eyes from the book to watch my toes gently burrowing in the sand, or the glint of a fish in the trickling water. I began to wish that I had after all brought a picnic lunch and need not move from this spot. By one o’clock I was really hungry, and reluctantly brushed the sand from my feet, gathered up my things, and stood up.

  It was then, with a sense of shock, that I saw him – a man sitting motionless some fifty yards downstream, screened (by design?) from where I’d been sitting by a curve in the bank. Then I saw he had a line in the river; only a fisherman, after all. Or was he after bigger fish?

  He didn’t turn his head as I hastily made my way up the bank and back to the car.

  Having passed several likely-looking pubs earlier, now that I needed one it was about ten minutes before my search was rewarded in the shape of a small flint building with deep eaves and a welcome notice outside that said Lunches.

  They served me leek soup and apple charlotte with thick yellow cream. The men at the bar were ta
lking Welsh among themselves. I wished fruitlessly that I had found a little place like this on Friday, instead of the more efficient but infinitely more dangerous Carreg Coed.

  During lunch the pale sky deepened to a more ominous purple, and I remembered the seabirds that had flown inland. Perhaps another storm was on the way, and today I hadn’t Philip’s hand to hold. I wondered if he kept glancing at my empty table, or whether by now he’d joined Carol at hers.

  It was only as I was leaving that I noticed the fisherman I’d seen earlier, seated in one of the alcoves with a steak pie in front of him. He must have come in after me – had he been following me? Yet this pub was the nearest to the spot where we’d spent the morning, and an obvious place for lunch.

  I paused fractionally by his table, willing him to look up and meet my eye, but the sporting paper was open beside him and he appeared engrossed in it.

  I paid my bill and went outside, thankful at least to see no sign of a red Austin in the car park.

  Telling myself I was being over-imaginative, I stood for a minute to take stock of my surroundings, staring across the valley to the brooding darkness of the crags on the opposite side.

  As I watched, the sun came out suddenly like liquid spilling from a jug, and its light poured over the purple peaks, staining them gold. The brightness spread rapidly down the hillside and the shadows sped before it, retreating from the white farmhouses which now twinkled like diamonds in the radiance. On it rolled across the valley floor as the clouds above parted, and in a matter of seconds I myself, in the pub doorway, stood bathed in its false warmth. Then, as suddenly, the light was withdrawn and the crags leapt back into the shadows. I shivered and turned to the car.

  But although I continued my aimless meandering, my day was spoilt. The double sighting of the fisherman, innocent though no doubt he was, had unnerved me, and thick clouds now hung over the countryside with a brooding menace which my imagination was only too ready to interpret as personal. The breeze had freshened and I couldn’t find another spot like my sheltered stream, where I could sit out of the car.