Motive for Murder

by Anthea Fraser

  I draped my dressing-gown round my shoulders and opened the bedroom door. I’d no idea what time it was, but a gentle snoring sound came from Miss Tamworth’s room.

  I had just started down the stairs when the sitting-room door opened, and Kate and Matthew came out into the hall. Matthew went to bolt the front door. Through the bars of the banisters I could see Kate quite clearly, standing in the middle of the hall. It was silly to stand here shivering – after all, I wasn’t planning to steal the silver. I slipped my arms into my dressing-gown, pulled it tight, and was lowering my bare foot on to the next step when Kate said suddenly, ‘Matthew!’

  Something in her voice froze my foot in mid-air, and I clutched at the hand rail to support myself. For my life I could not have stopped myself turning my head. Matthew must also have caught the odd note. He stood stock-still. Then, as I was about to creep quietly back to my room after all and wait until they were upstairs, Kate suddenly and quite literally flung herself at him. I caught the spasm that crossed his face before her hands dragged it down to hers. For a moment more he stood immobile and unresponsive. Then his arms went round her and he crushed her against him.

  I turned, stumbled silently up the stairs and through the open door of my bedroom. I closed it soundlessly behind me and stood for a very long time with my hand still on the knob. The draught from under the door washed over my feet, chilling my toes and ankles and creeping higher up my legs, while I schooled myself to forget what I’d seen. It was none of my business – none.

  Whispered voices sounded on the stairs, foosteps in the corridor, and closing doors. With an effort I at last detached my fingers from the door knob and crept shiveringly back to bed.

  But not to sleep. The events of the day continued to revolve endlessly in my head: the crashing boulder and its choking cloud of dust. Kate’s veiled threats. The look in Mike’s eyes. Matthew and Kate. And back to the rock again: had its falling been pure chance – or was it levered over deliberately on to Kate and me below – levered by someone who had crouched there watching us while he smoked a cigarette?

  Feeling decidedly underslept, I went down to the library the next morning to find Matthew, as always, there before me. I murmured something, seated myself with notebook and pencil, and waited for him to begin.

  ‘How’s your head?’ The abrupt question startled me into raising my eyes.

  ‘Better, thank you.’

  ‘You look appalling.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said with dignity.

  ‘Emily, would you rather knock off for today? You had a pretty gruelling time yesterday.’

  But I’d had enough of my imaginings during the night; I didn’t want to indulge in them all day as well.

  ‘No, really, I’m fine, thank you. I’d rather – get on.’

  ‘Well, if you’re sure, because I’d like to make up the time we lost yesterday.’

  He pulled a pile of papers towards him, leafed through them, and started to dictate. His voice droned on and on, without expression. My pencil flew over the paper, but I had to fight to keep my eyes open.

  At ten to twelve the door opened without ceremony and Kate appeared. ‘Good morning, Emily.’

  ‘Good morning.’

  ‘Darling, will you take me to the Harbour View for a drink?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Kate, I promised to meet Tom Francis; he wants to show me an old manuscript he’s found. I’ll take you tomorrow, if you like.’

  ‘I might not be here tomorrow.’

  He raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment.

  ‘And there’s something I want to speak to you about – something important.’

  He glanced at his watch, ‘It will have to be after lunch, then. I must go; see you later.’

  Kate still stood in the doorway. He waited for her to move aside, but when she didn’t, he simply brushed past her. A moment later we heard the front door open and close. Kate said something under her breath which I didn’t catch, turned on her heel and left the room.

  I put a hand to my throbbing head. I’d lied to Matthew; it wasn’t any better, and my eyes felt gritty from lack of sleep. There was still an hour to lunch, and the most sensible course seemed to be to go and lie down. I’d set the alarm to wake me in time.

  In my room I drew the curtains across the open window, slipped off my shoes and lay down under the eiderdown. Within two minutes I was asleep.

  The alarm dragged me up from a great depth and it took all my willpower to force myself out of bed. However, by the time I’d washed my face and brushed my hair, I felt considerably better. I had also reached a decision: I would phone Gil and ask him to come down next weekend. If I could talk things over with him, perhaps they would fall into perspective and the sense of danger would fade.

  Kate was still in a bad temper at lunch, and as Sarah was back at school, it was a silent meal. I was relieved when it was over, and went straight back to the library.

  I worked steadily for some time, then, needing to check some facts, went over to the filing cabinet by the door and began to flick through the folders.

  Footsteps sounded outside and I paused, expecting someone to come in. When no one did, I realized it must be Kate settling in her corner, and returned to my checking.

  So engrossed was I that her voice, just the other side of the door, made me jump. ‘Matthew! Can you spare me a minute?’

  I’d found most of the information I needed. I pushed the drawer of the cabinet shut with a clang, hoping to warn her I was in the library, but the ruse failed. Her voice came at the same moment, and its quality was equally metallic.

  ‘I realize it’s seldom convenient for you to speak to me, but this time I must insist.’

  I coughed, but again I was not heard. Moving hastily away from the door, I sat down at my desk. Surely they’d hear the typewriter.

  But I was too late. Kate’s voice reached me clearly: ‘I just want to tell you I’m getting married again.’

  My fingers remained motionless on the keys. If I started to type now, they would know I’d heard them.

  There was a pause. Then Matthew’s said gratingly, ‘I must say it comes as a surprise. Your intention wasn’t evident last night.’

  Soundlessly I pushed my chair back and ran over to the window. I could escape that way. But the key was missing. I remembered Sarah playing with it over the weekend. Frantically I went down on hands and knees, feeling under Matthew’s desk and the book shelves behind it, without success.

  ‘Oh, that,’ she said dismissively.

  ‘Yes, that,’ Matthew’s voice was dangerous. ‘Why did you do it, Kate? To prove your hold over me?’

  ‘Emily said you wanted me back. I thought I’d see if she was right.’

  I sank back on my heels, eyes widening in horror. This was worse than the worst.

  ‘Emily said – ?’ Matthew sounded incredulous.

  After a brief pause he went on. ‘Surely the question was academic, in the circumstances? But no doubt your ego needed appeasing, as always. Well, did I satisfy you? Or would victory only have been complete if I’d accepted your generous invitation? What then? Would you have laughed in my face?’

  ‘I was quite ready to go to bed with you.’

  There was a silence. My nails bit into the palms of my hands but I felt nothing.

  Then Matthew said, ‘I can’t say I envy your fiancé.’

  ‘It was just the old chemistry, wasn’t it? We always had that, but nothing else.’

  ‘No, Kate, nothing else.’ Impossible to describe the tone of his voice. It could have been utter despair. I prayed it was not. I crouched behind his desk with my hands over my ears, longing for them to stop, to move away out of earshot.

  But Kate’s voice reached me clearly. ‘Let’s forego the hurt pride bit. The point is, I want to have Sarah.’

  I caught my breath.

  Matthew gave a harsh laugh. ‘I see. You want Sarah. Just like that.’

  ‘It will be a proper home for her.’

&nb
sp; ‘She has a “proper home” here.’

  She said impatiently, ‘You know what I mean. I thought you’d be glad to be rid of her. Tammy will come as well, of course.’

  ‘You thought –’

  ‘Oh come off it, Matthew, let’s not pretend. She gets in your way. You’ve no real feeling for the child.’

  ‘My God, Kate,’ he exploded, ‘what do you know of my feelings? What do you know of anything about me? You’ve never troubled to find out. And I’ve had enough of these insinuations that I don’t love Sarah. Of course I do, and I won’t have her bandied about whenever it suits your convenience. You didn’t want her at the time of the divorce, did you? Remember what the judge said? “Mrs Haig seems to be singularly lacking in maternal feelings. I think the child would be better with her father.” She’d have been in your way then. But now that you’re going to set up house again, a pretty little girl might be an asset; soften up your image. Well I’m telling you – you’re not having her. Sarah belongs here, with me.’

  Kate said silkily, ‘If you’re going to be difficult, Matthew, I have no choice but to revert to something distasteful. I’d prefer not to.’

  ‘Revert to whatever you like,’ he flung at her. ‘You’re not having Sarah.’

  ‘Have you forgotten St Catherine’s House?’

  ‘I wondered when you’d get back to that.’

  ‘Aren’t you even remotely curious?’

  ‘Frankly, no. And if what you’re trying so delicately to suggest is either you get Sarah or you print your story, then, in the time-honoured phrase, publish and be damned!’

  ‘But you don’t know what it is, do you?’

  There was a long silence. Then Matthew said quietly, ‘I’ve a rough idea.’

  ‘Really? Well, how would it be if the story got out?’

  ‘Most unpleasant, for several people. But I’m not going to plead with you.’

  ‘Or appeal to my better nature?’ she mocked.

  ‘Have you one? Look, you know as well as I do that Sarah has nothing to do with this. You’re determined to print your sordid little story, and there’s nothing I can do to stop you. Short of killing you, that is!’

  ‘And I wouldn’t put that past you!’

  ‘Am I allowed to know who you’re marrying?’

  ‘Stuart Henderson.’

  ‘The journalist?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And what does he think of having someone else’s child foisted on him?’

  ‘If I want her, he’s quite happy.’

  ‘I see. Well, I’m not happy, and that’s all there is to it.’

  ‘I think not, Matthew. I’ll take you to court if necessary.’

  ‘Please don’t threaten me, Kate.’

  Her voice rose. ‘I’m sure they’d agree that this is hardly the place for a child – a house where her father brings a succession of young girls under the euphemistic name of secretaries!’

  My finger nails stabbed convulsively into my palm. I closed my eyes.

  Matthew’s voice when it came was shaking. ‘Get out of this house, Kate. Now!’

  I imagined them facing each other, Kate on her feet by this time. There was a long silence, then the sound of footsteps. God, don’t let Matthew come in here! My prayers were answered. I heard him stride down the passage and slam out of the front door.

  I stood up, waiting for the hammering of my heart to subside. I could hear Kate in the room above, doubtless flinging her things into her suitcase. I went to the door, opened it and listened. No one was about. Miss Tamworth would have gone to meet Sarah and take her to her music lesson. Mrs Johnson, I knew, was shopping in Chapelcombe.

  I had to get out of the house, but I daren’t use the front door in case I met Matthew. I went through the empty kitchen and out at the back. A line of washing wafted gently in the breeze that was all that remained of the night’s gale.

  I crossed the yard and walked slowly round the vegetable garden, my gaze passing unseeingly over the delicate green fronds of carrots, the rich coppery green of kale.

  A car engine roared into life. There was a scattered hail of gravel as wheels spun furiously, and I rounded the corner of the house in time to see Kate’s little white sports car shoot through the gates and away down the hill.

  I was still staring after it when Mike turned in at the gate. He too stood looking after the hurtling car, then he turned, saw me, and walked across the grass to meet me. ‘What’s got into Kate? She came out of that gate like a bat out of hell. Nearly ran me down.’

  ‘I – think she had a row with Matthew.’

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘Really? They certainly weren’t rowing when I left them last night.’

  He looked at me more closely. ‘You still don’t look too good.’

  ‘I had a rest before lunch. I’m all right.’

  He glanced restlessly about him. ‘Let’s sit on the grass for a while. The sun’s dried it now.’

  I let him lead me over to the hedge and we sat down in silence. Mike lit a cigarette, his hands trembling a little. Kate’s car must have given him a jolt, missing him so narrowly. He drew rapidly on the cigarette and the smoke plumed upwards, polluting the crystal air. I slid down on to my back and lay staring up at the clouds.

  After a moment he lay beside me, one arm pillowing my head. ‘It’s a hell of a world, Emily.’

  I turned my head to look at him. ‘Why so, particularly?’

  ‘Oh, Kate and Matthew and you and me – all caught up against our will in a mad kind of treadmill.’

  ‘You’re waxing very philosophical today!’

  ‘It’s my mother’s birthday. A time to take stock, perhaps.’

  ‘Oh. I’m sorry.’ So he had been on edge before the incident with the car. I would like to have known Mike’s mother; that lovely young girl in the painting, so eager for life, who had grown up into the rather sad-faced lady in Sarah’s album.

  ‘I wish I’d known her,’ I said aloud.

  His eyes darkened. ‘Oh Emily, if you only had, how different everything would have been!’

  I didn’t understand, but the hurt in his eyes forbade any questioning. ‘Don’t be unhappy, Mike,’ I said gently.

  He pulled me towards him and his lips moved over my face. I lay with closed eyes, comforted by the caress. I think it was then, in the lull before the storm, that the realization which I had been fighting for some time finally stole over me and I accepted it. I was exhausted, mentally and physically, and unable any longer to deny my love for Matthew and the unhappiness that went with it. After the last twenty-four hours it was very soothing to accept Mike’s gentle, undemanding kisses on my cheek, with no questions asked.

  Still sleepy, I was half-dozing in the warmth, when, from the open sitting-room window, I heard the telephone ring. We both sat up and I said, ‘I don’t think anyone’s in. I’ll have to answer it.’

  ‘You aren’t in, either!’ Mike remarked, and kissed me on the mouth. I pushed him gently away and in that moment the phone stopped ringing. ‘There you are,’ he said, ‘someone’s there, after all.’

  A minute later the front door opened and Matthew appeared. He stumbled forward and stopped, leaning heavily on the stonework. I felt a clutch of fear and, scrambling to my feet, I rushed across the grass, conscious of Mike just behind me.

  Matthew’s face was a mask and he seemed to have difficulty breathing. He turned his head blindly in my direction as I seized his arm.

  ‘Matthew, what is it? Are you ill?’

  ‘It’s Kate.’ His voice rasped through lips like parchment. ‘I think she’s dead.’

  ‘Dead?’ I repeated stupidly, and heard Mike’s swiftly indrawn breath.

  ‘Her car’s just gone over the cliff. It’s blazing fiercely; they can’t get near it.’ And as I clung to his arm, numb with shock, he added – only just audibly – ‘God, I didn’t mean to kill her!’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  My memory of those next terrible days is mercifully confine
d to brief flashes, each in itself sharp and unbearable: Matthew returning from the inquest and locking himself in the library; Kate’s book on the chair, forgotten in her precipitate departure; Sarah’s first, uncomprehending protest – ‘But she didn’t say goodbye.’ There was Mrs Johnson sobbing in the kitchen and Tammy going about the house tight-lipped and red-eyed, but above all there was Matthew, alone and unapproachable in his shocked disbelief. I ached to comfort him, but there was nothing I could say.

  It transpired that it was Benson from the farm who had seen the accident. He’d recognised Kate’s car a split second after it came roaring round a bend, swerved to avoid a cyclist, and bucketed its way over the short grass verge to the cliff edge. He had watched in fascinated horror as it teetered on the brink, front wheels in space, before, in slow-motion, disappearing over the edge. By the time his numbed legs had carried him there, it had burst into flames and a moment later the petrol tank exploded. The heat was too intense to go near – there was nothing he could do.

  He had dialled 999 from the call-box across the road, and then rung Touchstone, knowing Mike was there and hoping he would break the news to Matthew. It was his bad luck that Matthew himself answered the phone.

  The police, deferential and offering condolences, called at the house. Had Mrs Haig been in a hurry when she left the house? According to witnesses, she had been driving dangerously fast. Matthew replied that he had not seen her go.

  Had she been upset in any way, might she subconsciously have been ‘taking it out on the car’? There was a long silence. Then Matthew replied in a low voice, ‘Not that I know of.’

  Over his bent head, Mike’s eyes met and held mine.

  During the course of the next few days, we learned that the car had been so comprehensively destroyed that the laboratory had been unable to trace any mechanical failure. From the severity of the blaze, they deduced that Kate must have been carrying a spare can of petrol in the boot. The second inquest duly returned a verdict of accidental death.

  Stuart Henderson came down for the funeral. He was a tall, thin man, considerably older than Kate. I liked him at once. It must have been an unnerving experience for him; meeting Matthew in any circumstances would have been awkward, without the added tragedy of Kate’s death.