I walked firmly past him saying:- ‘I know all about Rozalinda and after what I’ve been through I should have thought you would have come to me for help before this.’
‘It, er, it crossed my mind, but then Harriet said you were still ill and I, er I didn’t like to say anything. Rozalinda is dreadfully touchy about people knowing. Even family.’
‘Well that’s understandable. It’s hardly something you would shout from the rooftops. I know about the letters as well.’
Harold cleared his throat unhappily. ‘Nothing to worry about, Jenny. A misunderstanding, er, a figment of the imagination …’
‘Harold, come off it. It’s me you’re talking to, Jenny. If you can’t trust me, who can you trust?’
From the expression on Harold’s face it seemed no-one. Not where Rozalinda was concerned. I took his arm, softening my voice. ‘Where is she? I want to help her. She did all she could for me last year and I haven’t forgotten it. Let me have a word with her, Harold.’
‘You, er, really think you should?’ Harold dithered. Torn between the chance of helping his wife and the fear of her wrath.
‘I think I should. If she’s as distressed as Mary and Aunt Harriet have indicated, I think I will understand better than anyone else, don’t you?’
Harold’s eyes flickered nervously from the stairs to my face and back again. It seemed he was incapable of making a decision so I made it for him.
‘I’m going up. Don’t worry. If you want to do something practical you could be making some coffee.’
‘Er, coffee …’ Harold repeated helplessly, watching with agonised eyes as I went up the marble steps towards the bedrooms. Upstairs all was quiet. I padded on thick carpeting past a couple of bedroom doors, pausing outside what seemed to be the master bedroom. Tentatively I knocked.
Rozalinda’s voice, sharp with fear said:- ‘Who is it? Go away. Go away!’
‘It’s me. Jenny.’
There was a moment’s silence and then her voice, dull and tired said again:- ‘Go away, Jenny.’
‘No. I want to speak to you. Open the door, Rozalinda.’
‘Oh Jenny!’ The door flung open and Rozalinda was in my arms, crying hysterically. I held her tightly, steering her back towards the bed, whispering words of comfort.
‘Don’t cry Rozalinda. It’s all right. Everything is going to be all right.’
‘It’s not! You don’t understand Jenny! Oh God!’ she twisted away from me, her fists pounding the pillows frenziedly.
‘I know that you tried to kill yourself,’ I said gently. ‘And about the letters. Surely you can tell me about them. I want to help you.’
‘Why?’ she rounded on me, streaks of mascara smearing her cheeks, her hair in a wild tangled knot. ‘ Why should you help me?’
‘Because I’m your cousin and because I love you.’
Her face crumpled again, tears streaming down it. ‘Oh God Jenny, forgive me. I’m such a bitch. And I’m frightened. So frightened!’ Her eyes were glazed with fear, her body shaking. She crouched on the bed, kneading the pillows with her hands, no resemblance at all to the butterfly creature of the previous night. Tears dripped onto the sheets, her nose ran uncaringly. I stared at her, appalled. There was no play acting now, only a terrified woman, no longer caring what she looked like. I moved to the dressing table with its vast array of cosmetics, searching for tissues and handing them to her. She clutched at them, making no attempt to use them, moaning over and over again: ‘I’m frightened, Jenny. Oh God, I’m so frightened!’
‘But why? What was in those letters? It can’t be anything that could possibly shock me, Rose. Tell me and let me help.’
She shook her head, her hair covering her face. ‘ No … No … Oh please, Jenny, please!’
Inadequately I held her close to me, her body shuddering with sobs, her nails digging painfully into my arms. ‘I wish I’d never done it, Jenny, but I was scared and now …’
‘Yes?’
She shook her head soundlessly. ‘I can’t, Jenny. I can’t …’
‘Would it help if Harold told your agent how bad you were and convinced him you were unable to star as the Queen of Sheba?’
Her eyes were blank. She had genuinely forgotten about the film part. For over an hour I held her, until the storm of tears died down, leaving her tired and exhausted.
‘Lay down and have a sleep.’
‘You won’t let anyone see me, will you?’ She said, strength surging back in her voice. ‘ Promise me you won’t let anyone see me? Miles mustn’t let anyone know where I am …’
‘He won’t. I promise. Try and sleep.’
She lay down obediently and I pulled the silk sheets up around her naked shoulders, closing the blinds and plunging the room into shadow. When I turned round, her eyes were already closed, her energy spent. I stroked a tendril of hair away from her mouth and went quietly out of the room.
Harold was waiting anxiously downstairs:- ‘Is she all right?’
‘No, she isn’t. Has she seen a doctor?’
‘She won’t. She just wants to stay here but it’s not helping. I thought after a couple of weeks, but …’ he waved his arms helplessly.
‘Harold. Until you get rid of whatever it is that’s frightening her so much, she’ll never get better.’
‘Frightening her?’ Harold tried to look bewildered and failed miserably.
‘The letters that she’s been receiving. Are they still coming?’
‘I, er …’ he chewed his thumb nervously.
‘Apart from Aunt Harriet I’m the only relative Rozalinda has. Now are you going to level with me or not?’
‘She wouldn’t like it …’
‘She’s not in any state to judge and all I want to do is help her. I can’t if I don’t know what it is that’s making her so scared.’
‘I can’t tell you.’
For Harold, it was an amazingly decisive statement.
‘Why not?’ I said exasperatedly, ‘I’m her cousin and apart from Mary, the only friend she has. What was in those letters?’
‘Harold is right,’ Aunt Harriet said from the doorway. ‘He can’t tell you Jenny because Rozalinda burnt them all, and we don’t know ourselves what they contained.’
‘You mean they are no longer arriving?’
‘No,’ they both said simultaneously.
I looked from Harold to Aunt Harriet convinced they were lying. That Harold should lie came as no great surprise, but that Aunt Harriet should, silenced me completely.
‘I think perhaps we’d better leave Harold to get some rest. He had a bad night last night.’
‘Yes, of course.’
Harold wiped some beads of sweat off his forehead, seeing us out, his fingers rubbing nervously against his palms.
‘So you still don’t think I’m fully recovered?’ I said to Aunt Harriet once the villa door had closed behind us and we were in the garden.
‘On the contrary. I think you’re looking remarkably well.’
‘Then why act as though I still have to be protected? Mary told me about the letters and that Rozalinda had tried to kill herself.’
Aunt Harriet let out a deep sigh.
I put my arm around her. ‘It’s stupid you taking on all this worry yourself. You’ve lost at least two stones in weight and it’s useless to deny it. Surely I can help. I love Rozalinda too, you know.’
‘I know you do, Jenny.’ Her eyes were bright with unshed tears. ‘But I was telling you the truth in there. I don’t know what it is that’s made Rozalinda so afraid.’
‘But you have an idea?’
‘No.’ Her voice was too sharp to be convincing.
‘It can’t be that bad, Aunt Harriet. Everyone knows Rozalinda isn’t faithful. Do the letters threaten to tell Harold? Is that what she’s afraid of? Losing Harold?’
‘No … it’s not that.’
‘Then what?’
But I was up against a blank wall. ‘I don’t know. I don’t want to know.
A few weeks and she’ll be her usual self again. Rozalinda has always been resilient. She’ll get over it.’
Her words lacked conviction but it was obviously useless to continue questioning her.
‘Would you like a drive out in the car?’ I asked, changing the subject.
‘No thank you, child. I’ll have a rest. I’ll see you for dinner tonight. I think I’ll ask Maria to serve it in my villa. There’s plenty of room and under the circumstances it might be wisest.’
Helplessly I watched her bird-like figure cross into the next garden and climb the winding shallow steps to her own front door. She didn’t look back.
Tom Farrar was leaving Miles’ villa as I wandered through the cool green of the pines in search of Phil. He smiled. ‘Hi there. I was wondering where you were hiding.’
‘I’ve been riding with Phil.’
I wondered if he had agreed to leave Ofir. He looked happy enough about it if he had.
‘Don’t blame you. Superb horses Rozalinda has. I shall miss them.’
My smile warmed. I’d been as mad as Mary to think he had been taken in by Rozalinda’s flirtation.
‘There’s always the local riding stables.’
‘Yes. A bit of a come down though after this.’
‘I should imagine it would pall after a time. Aunt Harriet was saying you were doing very well lately.’
‘Business? Yes. We’ve had a good year. Exceptional in fact. I might even run to buying a villa down here myself.’
I controlled my surprise. Aunt Harriet had said Tom Farrar was driving this year’s E Type around Templar’s Way, but I hadn’t realised he was doing so well.
‘Mary will like that. She’ll be able to bring the children.’
‘Yes. She’s been missing them. I must hurry on. I told her I’d be back in ten minutes and she tends to fret if I’m late. See you and Phil later.’ And with an infectious smile he was off, jogging eagerly back to Mary and home cooking. Feeling happier in my mind over at least one person at the enclave, I let myself into my own villa to find Phil busy tossing a salad, eggs all ready for omelettes.
‘Did Rozalinda let you in?’
‘Yes …’ it seemed unnatural not to be able to talk frankly to Phil, but until I had got Rozalinda’s say so I hadn’t the right to tell him about the suicide attempt or the letters.
‘And what’s the matter with her?’
‘Overwork I think, let me do the omelettes Phil.’
He moved over obligingly. ‘There’s some fresh cakes in the bag. Joanna-Maria brought them over a few minutes ago on her way home.’
I peeped in the paper bag to see an enticing array of cream filled pastries.
‘I’m going to have no figure left by the time I leave here.’
‘Nonsense,’ he said, apparently concentrating very hard on his salad. ‘ You have a superb figure.’
‘I never thought you’d noticed,’ I said banteringly.
He put his fork and spoon down. ‘You would be surprised at some of the things I notice, Jennifer. Perhaps I should have told you before.’ And with his cheeks more flushed than usual, he picked up the salad bowl and carried it into the dining-room, leaving me staring with astonishment after him.
Chapter Eleven
Dinner that night was surprisingly relaxed. Aunt Harriet presided, looking much better after her rest, and happy to be playing hostess in her own villa. Mary had said happily:-
‘Tom was so understanding about my wanting to go back to the children. It made me feel so selfish, I said we would stay on until Jonathan arrives and leave then.’ Her eyes were sparkling and she had put on a dark green dress that suited her. They sat together at the dinner table, holding hands.
Miles greeted me as if nothing had happened. The intimacy had gone out of his smile, but I didn’t regret that.
Phil sat on my other side. He was quiet, but that wasn’t unusual when he was in company. I had promised to go back to his villa after dinner and listen while he played a new piece by a young British composer. Even Harold looked more relaxed. Rozalinda, he had explained, had a migraine and wouldn’t be joining us. Everyone had murmured appropriate words of sympathy and Harold had sat down beside Mary, leaving Aunt Harriet to preside alone. She looked quite grand that evening, wearing a black silk dress and two heavy ropes of pearls, thick white hair waving back off her face into a high chignon. In the soft candle-light it seemed impossible to believe that she was seventy-two.
‘You’re not going to forgive me for this, Jenny,’ Miles said suddenly. ‘There was a telephone call about a half hour ago and I’d forgotten all about it. Apparently your fiance will be down a little sooner than you had anticipated.’
‘When? What did he say?’
‘He’s coming sometime tomorrow if it’s convenient. Naturally I said that it was.’
I felt my cheeks flush and didn’t care.
‘Isn’t that super!’ Mary said enthusiastically, half her happiness for me and the other half for herself and an early reunion with Helen and Timothy.
‘Hope he’ll understand … about Rozalinda not being well and all that …’ Harold said, worry flickering across his face.
‘Of course he will. Please don’t bother about that, Harold. I shall tell him Rozalinda has been overworking and isn’t seeing anyone at the moment. Jonathan will understand.’
‘Yes,’ Miles said, wiping his mouth on his napkin. ‘I must have a talk with you after dinner, Harold. Can’t go on like this for much longer.’
Harold ummed and aahed uncomfortably. Aunt Harriet said:-
‘I think you’re right, Miles. It’s only fair to tell you that Rozalinda is far more ill than we’ve let any of you think. I talked with Harold this afternoon and we think it’s only fair to the rest of you to know the truth.’ She had everybody’s undivided attention. ‘ The last couple of years have been nothing but work for her. I’m afraid they’ve taken their toll and when she came back from France she had a nervous breakdown. Not a serious one. But bad enough for her to need the rest here. I’m afraid there’s no way that she could begin filming again in a matter of weeks.’
Miles put his wine glass down. ‘I see. And this was brought on solely by overwork?’
‘Of course.’
Miles drummed his fingers on the table thoughtfully. ‘She wouldn’t by any chance have been receiving anonymous letters would she?’
‘I say, old man …’ Harold began but Aunt Harriet’s voice cut across him.
‘Why should you think that?’
Miles leaned back in his chair. ‘ Only that it’s a shame you didn’t tell me if she had. There’s been a spate of them. Marisa Clavering had months of them, and Danella St John is still getting them.’
‘You mean Rozalinda isn’t the only one?’ Harold asked unbelievingly.
‘No. They’re rife. Though of course the people receiving them don’t go out of their way to talk about it. No truth in the vicious things of course. The Claverings employed private detectives and they soon stopped.’
‘You mean they found out who was sending them?’
‘No, but when it was obvious they might do, the letters stopped. My advice to you is hand them all over to a private detective. God knows you can afford the best. That will soon put an end to them.’
Harold looked so relieved it was pathetic. ‘Everyone getting them … unbelievable, eh? Must hurry over and tell Rozalinda …’
Aunt Harriet laid a restraining hand on his arm. ‘ Not just now, Harold. She’s fast asleep. Wait till morning.’
Crestfallen, he sank back in his seat and it seemed ludicrous that it was because of his wealth that we were all there at all. He must have been a walk over for Rozalinda.
‘So that’s what all the fuss has been about,’ Phil said disinterestedly.
‘She’s gone through hell,’ Mary said with an unusual edge to her voice. ‘I sometimes wonder if you have any feelings, Phil.’
‘Oh, I have. Believe me, I have.’ He looked directly
at me.
Miles poured himself another glass of wine. ‘Then I think our troubles are over, Harold. I can promise you that there will be no more letters. Not once the writer knows you’re all set to flush him out.’
‘I thought anonymous letters were usually written by women,’ Mary interrupted.
‘Her then.’ Miles amended equably.
Harold was looking flustered again. ‘ Not as easy as that. Rozalinda put them all in the fire.’
‘Best place for them as well.’ Tom said with fervour.
‘I shouldn’t worry,’ Miles smiled reassuringly at his host. ‘The letters themselves aren’t important. Whoever wrote them doesn’t know Rozalinda has destroyed them, besides I doubt if your private detective would find the culprit. The Claverings didn’t. But bring it out in the open and let him or her know you’re no longer afraid and they’ll soon stop. Takes all the fun out of it for the writer.’
‘You seem to be very experienced in the ways of poison pen writers,’ Phil said unpleasantly. It was the first time he had spoken to Miles all evening.
Miles laughed. ‘I am. Rozalinda is the third to be on the receiving end of them. I’m just cursing myself for a fool for not having suspected what was the matter long ago.’
‘Thank God,’ Harold said sincerely. ‘ I told her in the beginning we should go to the police, but she wouldn’t hear of it.’
‘I’m not surprised. Think of the sort of publicity it could have sparked off. The thought would have been enough to frighten anyone of Rozalinda’s temperament.’
‘But I thought you just said Harold should hire a private detective and be quite open about the letters. If he does that it will leak to the press anyway,’ I protested.
‘Not quite the same as a police investigation. Besides, when I said be open about it, I didn’t mean hold a press conference. The writer will know soon enough without that.’
I looked blank and he said. ‘I don’t know what was in the letters Rozalinda received, but I do know what was in Marisa’s and Danella’s. Whoever wrote them was close enough to have put in details of truth amongst the rest of the garbage. The writer is someone on the inside of the film world who knows the girls well. Just let your friends know, Harold. That will be enough.’
The Guilty Secret Page 8
