The Guilty Secret

by Margaret Pemberton

  I turned. Behind us, a frightening distance away, was the pure silver of the sands, and above them, surrounded by the pinks and yellows of flowers, the villas and the pinewoods. My eyes looked in vain for Jonathan.

  Panting for breath, Tom rested the oars, wiping the sweat and the sea spray from his face. The boat continued to plunge and rear wildly.

  ‘Now. What did you mean back on the shore about me having Rozalinda on my mind?’

  I looked at him. It was obvious why Mary loved him so much. His regular features and dark hair and eyes. His careful grooming and perfectly fitted suits. He didn’t look like a boy from Templar’s Way, which is what Mary must have always imagined she would end up marrying. Although they still lived there, Tom brought with him a sophistication. He travelled daily to London to work. Often he went abroad on business. To Mary it must have seemed he was the epitome of the successful man. And he loved her. Or so she thought.

  ‘It’s been fairly obvious that you’re very attracted to her.’

  ‘Half the men in the Western world are,’ he said with a lop sided smile.

  ‘But she isn’t accessible to them. She is to you.’

  ‘You haven’t been talking to Mary, have you?’

  ‘No. Though she isn’t happy, Tom.’

  He sighed and swore under his breath. We were silent for a while, the waves roaring around us.

  ‘So it’s just a wild guess on your part?’

  I shook my head. ‘Aunt Harriet knows.’

  ‘Harriet!’

  He didn’t ask how. Didn’t bother to deny it, just sat with shoulders slumped and his eyes unseeing.

  ‘When you said you were coming out here to think, was it because you intend finishing the affair?’

  With difficulty he dragged his eyes back to mine.

  ‘I suppose so. God, I’ve been going to finish it even before it started. But she’s like a magnet. I can’t keep away from her. I’ve tried and I can’t!’

  ‘You’ll have to if you want to keep Mary and the children.’

  He didn’t answer and I said brutally. ‘You’re not the first of Rozalinda’s lovers and you won’t be the last. Unless you come to your senses Tom you’ll find yourself without a home and family and without a mistress as well. The nearest you’ll get to Rozalinda will be a pound ticket at the local cinema.’

  He looked at me as if he hated me. Then he said ‘Okay. You’re right. God damn it, I know you’re right. But she’s like a fever in my blood! Have you ever wanted someone so badly, Jenny? So badly that not being with them causes physical pain?’ His face changed and he said:- ‘Don’t look like that, Jenny. I was a fool. I shouldn’t have said it. I was too busy thinking about Rozalinda to remember Crown.’

  The boat sank down into a deep, glistening green trough of water, rising precariously to be smashed down once more. I understood why Tom came out here. The savagery of the sea was a compliment to the savagery I felt inside.

  ‘I saw him earlier on. Leaving the beach. Had he been speaking to you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, that’s a start. After this morning I thought he’d never speak to you again.’

  ‘He only came to say that it was no use. That it could never be any use now. There would always be Nanette and Sarah between us.’

  My voice sounded as wild as the waves. The concern on Tom’s face deepened. ‘He’s right you know. It’s been a tragedy for both of you. Falling in love like that. Not knowing. But it couldn’t possibly work.’

  ‘No …’ the tears were falling and I didn’t even bother to wipe them away. ‘No. It couldn’t possibly work.’

  ‘What will you do?’ Tom’s voice was worried. ‘ You’re only just out of hospital and a shock like this …’

  ‘I’ll stay with Aunt Harriet. What else is there to do?’ I laughed harshly, pushing the hair from my face. ‘ Someone, somewhere is having a hell of a joke at my expense!’

  ‘Is there anything I can do, Jenny? Anything at all?’

  ‘Yes. You can sleep in your own bed instead of Rozalinda’s.’

  He looked as though I had slapped him.

  ‘Anyone else Mary might forgive. But Rozalinda … Stop it before it’s too late, Tom. You know nothing can come of it.’

  ‘Women,’ he said, as he turned the boat round. ‘Bloody, bloody women!’

  It began to rain, and the small boat was so tossed and buffeted that it was impossible to see if we were making any headway at all to the shore. Tom’s pent up emotions were unleashed as he tried to master the boat and inch her nearer and nearer the beach. I welcomed the cold and the wet and the growing height of the waves. They were the outward signs of the storm going on within me. I didn’t care much one way or the other if the boat ever reached dry land.

  ‘I was a bloody fool to have brought you out in this.’

  ‘You were a bloody fool to have come at all!’ I yelled back, as the luminous green waves crashed over our heads and into the boat. I began to bail. A watery grave made no difference to me in the mood I was in but it was obvious Tom didn’t share my thoughts. Besides, there was Mary and little Helen and Timothy to think of. The small rowing boat continually plunged, shook herself, hesitated and plunged again. The rain drove in sheets between us, so that I could no longer see Tom’s face. He strained at the oars and the pounding and crashing continued, the sky darkening and a real storm bearing down on us. The only thing in our favour was that the tide was coming in. If it had been flowing the other way it would have been goodbye to Portugal for good. The pounding and crashing continued, occasionally through the driving rain I could see Tom’s muscles straining at the oars, and my back ached in my sodden clothes as I bent and scooped, and bailed out, bent and bailed … Time seemed to stop. I saw again Nanette and Sarah laughing and hand in hand. Saw Jonathan as he had been that first night at the Santa Luzia. Remembered so clearly that I could almost taste him, our lovemaking, his eyes desirous, laughing, loving. Hating.

  ‘Out!’ Tom yelled over the sound of wind and waves. For a crazy moment I thought the boat was sinking and then saw only feet away the firm sand of the beach. Obediently I jumped waist high into the freezing water and helped him drag the boat high up on the beach. Then we leaned, panting, against it.

  Tom wiped sweat and sea from his face.

  ‘I thought we’d had it then. I thought that was really it.’

  ‘You were magnificent, Tom. If it hadn’t been for you …’

  ‘I was the bloody fool who wanted to go out in the first place. Never thought to check if a storm was brewing and too much of a landlubber to tell the signs.’

  ‘At least some good has come out of it.’

  He gasped for breath. ‘What?’

  ‘I think you’ve made your mind up about Rozalinda.’

  He gulped in great lungfuls of air. ‘We’re leaving at the end of the week. After that it’s finished. I promise you.’ He draped his arm around my shoulders and staggering with weariness we slowly made our way towards the bank of the dunes.

  ‘I don’t mind telling you, Jenny. I thought we’d had it. I thought of Mary and the kids. It’s not worth it. Nothing’s worth it.’

  We were both too exhausted to speak more. Wearily we clambered up the bank and onto the path to the villas.

  ‘Some fool,’ Tom said, ‘is going to ask us if we enjoyed our swim! Do you want me to see you back to your place?’

  I shook my head. ‘I’m fine. Tom. A bit wet, but fine.’

  We laughed weakly. The water was still pouring off us, streaming from our hair into our eyes, leaving pools behind us as we walked.

  ‘A hot bath,’ Tom gasped. ‘And a brandy. And Jenny …’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Thanks for the advice.’

  ‘Don’t mention it. Perhaps I should open a bureau for lonely hearts. I have enough experience.’ And with a wave I left him at the gateway to his villa and set off shivering violently for my own.

  As I neared the villas I could hear m
usic coming from Phil’s. Loud, harsh music, totally out of character. I followed Tom’s advice and whilst my bath was running poured myself a brandy, taking it back into the bathroom with me.

  There was only tonight to get through. Tomorrow I would leave Ofir and never see Jonathan again. And what, I thought despairingly as I struggled out of my wet clothes and into the blissful heat of the bath, would that achieve? Like the ghosts of his wife and child, Jonathan would be with me forever.

  At seven there was a brisk knocking on the door. I finished putting in an earring and went to open it.

  Miles smiled at me. It was as if his unwelcome lovemaking that morning had never happened. ‘Glad to see you survived this morning’s crisis. Hell, what a moment. I’m not surprised you passed out. Thought I’d leave you by yourself this afternoon to get over it.’

  He followed me back inside, helping himself to a scotch and soda.

  ‘I must say Phil surprised me. He was the only one to keep his wits about him, and when he came back downstairs … wow!’ he laughed. ‘He simply charged into the room and landed Crown one on the chin. I’ve never seen anything like it. I would never have cast our ascetic looking Phil as the knight in shining armour in a hundred years.’

  ‘Never assume,’ I said, putting in the other earring and thinking he must have a hide like an elephant.

  ‘Too true. Seemed to bring Crown to his senses though. Phil was frothing with rage. Yelled at him that the accident was not your fault, that you’d been in a mental home for eighteen months after it suffering from unreasonable guilt and that if Crown thought he was going to drive you back there he’d have him to contend with. Even Rozalinda was speechless. He said you’d just tried to kill yourself, which I take it was poetic licence on Phil’s part, and told Crown to get the hell out of your life.’

  ‘Very exciting for all of you,’ I said dryly.

  ‘I knew Phil was exaggerating and that you wouldn’t be taking it so bad. After all, you only knew the guy a week, and …’ he put his glass down. ‘At least it means you’re free to other offers.’

  ‘No,’ I said forcefully. ‘ I’m not. Come on, we’re going to be late for dinner.’

  One thing I was finding out about Miles, he had a very short memory.

  ‘I just thought you might need a shoulder to cry on.’

  ‘No. I’ve done all the crying I’m going to do.’ I switched off the lights and closed the villa door behind me.

  He fell into step beside me his handsome face sulky. We walked over the sandy track towards the bright lights of Rozalinda’s villa.

  He said suddenly. ‘Let’s leave tomorrow together. We could go south to the Algarve. Forget Crown. Enjoy life a bit.’

  ‘I’d love to,’ I said bleakly. ‘But not with you.’

  His face tightened. ‘Okay, if that’s the way you want it.’ And we continued the rest of the way in silence. I was scarcely aware of him. In another few minutes I would see Jonathan again … for the last time.

  Aunt Harriet opened the door to us. I tried to keep my eyes on her face and not in the far corner of the room where Jonathan’s sun-gold hair and broad shoulders drew my eyes like a magnet.

  ‘All right, darling?’

  ‘Yes,’ I lied. ‘I’m fine Aunt Harriet. Please don’t worry.’

  Mary was sat by the windows staring out towards the dark glitter of the Atlantic. I went over and sat next to her. Her eyes were full of unshed tears.

  ‘Mary …’ I reached out to her, but before I could say any more Harold was blustering into the room, his face flushed.

  ‘Can’t get a reply from Rozalinda’s room …’ Aunt Harriet and Tom immediately stiffened, recalling the last time Rozalinda’s door had been locked. The rest unaware of what it could mean, continued to make desultory conversation. Mary’s hand gripped mine and she sucked in her breath.

  ‘Don’t panic so, Harold,’ Aunt Harriet said. ‘I’m not surprised she’s overslept after the day we’ve had.’

  With Harold at her heels she hurried up the stairs. We could hear her rapping at the door, and as she received no answer, Tom, his face white, hurried after them, ignoring Mary’s cry for him to stay.

  ‘Rozalinda! Open this door at once!’ Aunt Harriet commanded. There was no reply. By now even Phil and Miles were beginning to take a slight interest. Jonathan was too busy studiously avoiding me.

  ‘Rozalinda! If you don’t open the door immediately I shall ask Harold and Phil to break it down!’

  ‘Can’t we just get on with dinner and let her sulk?’ Phil asked bad temperedly.

  ‘Phil!’ Aunt Harriet called, her voice beginning to rise hysterically. ‘Phil, come here and help Harold with this door.’ Without urgency he loped up the stairs followed by Mary and myself, our hands still clasped. The two men put their shoulders to the door, the hinges creaking. Then Jonathan pushed past me to help them and under their combined weight the door broke open, the three of them falling into the room.

  It was Aunt Harriet who screamed first, clutching wild eyed at the door jamb.

  ‘For Christ’s sake!’ Tom whispered.

  ‘Rozalinda! Rozalinda!’ Harold gasped, seizing the lifeless hand and clutching it to his face.

  No-one suggested calling an ambulance. Rozalinda’s chest was a mass of blood, her head hanging over the edge of the bed, mouth lolling open, eyes wide with a mixture of horror and surprise. The gun on the floor.

  ‘Take the girls downstairs,’ Jonathan was saying to Phil. ‘For God’s sake man, move!’

  Dazedly Phil propelled us down the stairs. Mary was in a state of shock, allowing herself to be seated and obediently drinking the brandy Phil pushed into her hand. From upstairs came the wracked sound of Harold’s sobs and then Jonathan and Tom came down, half carrying him.

  ‘Look after him, Jenny. I’m telephoning for the police.’

  He sat on the settee clutching his chest and for a frightening moment I thought that he had had a heart attack. His face was grey, his breath coming in harsh gasps. I put a coat round his shoulders, turning as Aunt Harriet came slowly down the stairs.

  She had always been bursting with energy now she looked every one of seventy-two years. Her cheeks were hollow, her eyes sunk deep. ‘Silly, silly girl,’ she whispered. ‘Oh, the silly, silly girl.’

  ‘Tea will be better than that,’ I said as Phil shakily poured more brandy, spilling it over the carpet. He sat down beside Aunt Harriet cradling her in his arms and I occupied myself with the mechanics of making tea, of caring for Mary and Aunt Harriet and Harold, of doing anything but think of Rozalinda’s shattered body and of why she had done it.

  ‘What are the police like here?’ It was Miles. No longer self assured and sophisticated, but looking sick and frightened.

  ‘The Policia Judiciaria,’ Jonathan said. ‘PJ for short and when it comes to traffic offences pretty fair. When it comes to murder I wouldn’t like to guess.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  ‘Murder!’ I dropped the cup of tea I was carrying, hardly noticing the scalding heat as it seeped through my dress.

  ‘Don’t talk rot, Crown.’ Phil’s face was still ashen by the sight he had seen upstairs.

  ‘I’m not. You can’t shoot yourself through the chest and then throw the gun a gentle three yards away afterwards.’

  Harold was crying like a child, his head buried in his hands, scarcely taking any notice of the conversation. Rozalinda was dead and that was all that was penetrating Harold’s brain at the moment. Tom and Mary were sat, hands clasped, watching Jonathan with growing horror. Only Aunt Harriet seemed to have recovered some calm. Or perhaps it was simply that she was in a state of shock.

  I said:- ‘You don’t understand Jonathan. Rozalinda made a suicide attempt before coming out here. She took an overdose and had to be admitted to hospital …’

  ‘She didn’t try to kill herself this time,’ Jonathan insisted grimly. ‘Someone did it for her.’

  Miles had been the first to recover. He sat
in a chair, a large brandy nursed in his hand, his eyes narrowed on Jonathan.

  ‘Do I take it you have one of us in mind?’

  ‘I don’t have anyone in mind. I just think I should warn you what’s going to happen when the police get here. There’s going to be a murder enquiry.’

  ‘Murder?’ Harold said, gazing across the room with befuddled eyes. ‘Murder?’

  ‘It’s all right, Harold.’ Aunt Harriet grasped his hand. ‘It’s just that we have to take everything into account.’

  His head sank back onto his hands, his shoulders beginning to heave once more. ‘Why did Rozalinda make a suicide attempt?’ It was Jonathan asking Aunt Harriet.

  ‘There’s no reason not to tell you now. She’d been receiving poison pen letters for quite some time. The pressure mounted up on her and …’

  ‘The police,’ Tom interrupted. ‘ Shouldn’t someone ring the police?’

  Jonathan nodded and went across to the telephone. There was nothing to do but sit. Mary’s face was stricken. Like Harold I don’t think she had taken in what Jonathan had said.

  We had all been at the room door. We had all seen the gun on the floor. There was something else as well. Something I couldn’t bring to the fore-front of my mind.

  Jonathan said:– ‘Try explaining a murder in Spanish to a Portuguese.’

  ‘I thought they spoke Spanish,’ Tom said naively.

  ‘Portuguese,’ Jonathan said, pouring himself a drink and sitting down. Whether by accident or design he chose the chair the furthest away from mine.

  Miles said to him. ‘If you insist on having a murder. You have to have a motive. I don’t see one.’

  ‘What was in the letters?’ Jonathan was again asking Aunt Harriet. Harold was lost to the world.

  ‘I don’t know. Neither does Harold. She burnt them all. Didn’t tell us about them till she took the overdose.’

  ‘She must have given you some inkling.’

  ‘No …’

  I looked across at her. I had known her all my life and I knew that she was lying. She might not know what had been in the letters but she had come to her own conclusions and she wasn’t going to tell. Even now.