Charlie had stood up in his confusion. Temple kept a straight face.
“You’d better get back to Town, Charlie. Are you all right for money?”
“Yes — fine.” Charlie had taken the hint and was closing the case containing the recorder. “All right if I take a taxi back to the station? I can just catch the 5.59.”
“Yes, take a taxi and keep taping the ‘phone calls. You know where we are if there’s anything urgent.”
“Yes, sir! Goodbye, Mrs Temple.” Charlie gathered up his hat and coat and put a hand on the door. “Don’t eat too much rock.”
“Goodbye, Charlie,” Temple said, in a tone of firm dismissal, but when the door had closed on Charlie he burst out laughing.
“Paul, why do you think Mrs Fletcher mentioned the fun fair?”
“I don’t know. But she obviously thought that was one of the reasons why we came here.’’
Temple picked up the suitcases and put them one on each side of the bed, where they would be easy to unpack.
“But why on earth should she think that?”
“We won’t know until we visit the place.”
“I can’t wait for that!” Steve said, snapping the catches on her case.
“Even then it might not be clear what she was getting at. You see, if there’s someone there that she doesn’t want us to… “
Temple broke off as a knock sounded on the door. They stared at each other with exasperation.
“Charlie’s forgotten something!” Temple murmured. Then he called, more loudly: “Come in!”
It was not Charlie who walked into the room but George Kelburn. He closed it behind him before asking, “Can you spare me a minute, Temple?”
For his visit to Brighton, Kelburn had selected a brown blazer with plain brass buttons and a pair of sponge-bag check trousers. In his holiday gear he seemed less formidable than in his business suit and this impression was reinforced by an unwontedly apologetic manner.
“Yes, of course — come on in, Kelburn. You know my wife?”
“Yes, I do.” Kelburn inclined his head towards Steve. “Good afternoon, Mrs Temple.”
“Good afternoon, Mr Kelburn. Do sit down.”
The invitation was automatic. In fact the provision of chairs was sparse and she was relieved when he shook his head.
“I’d rather stand, if you don’t mind. I’m very restless today, for some reason or other.” Kelburn illustrated his point by crossing the room and standing in front of the electric fire, the nearest he could get to his favourite position in front of the mantelpiece. “Mrs Temple, I’d like to apologise for my rudeness the last time we met. I have rather an abrupt manner at times and it occasionally — well — gives the wrong impression.”
“That’s all right, Mr Kelburn,” Steve said, responding to his shamefaced smile.
“The same applies to our last meeting, Temple. You were perfectly right, of course — no reason why you shouldn’t continue your investigations if you feel like it. Quite under-
standable to want to keep on with a case once you’ve started it.” He paused, and then asked casually: “Incidentally, is that why you’re down here in Brighton?”
“No,” Temple replied, just as casually. “My wife had a rather unpleasant experience just lately; we thought a change of air might do her good.’’
“Yes, of course.” Kelburn nodded emphatically, accepting the explanation. “Well, I’ll tell you what I wanted to have a word with you about, Temple. It’s rather a delicate matter. You’ll treat this in the strictest confidence?”
“Yes, of course.”
Still restless, Kelburn moved to the window and glanced down at the street, almost as if he expected to see some covert watcher. Steve now had access to the one armchair and promptly sat down in it.
“Well, I don’t know whether Langdon mentioned this to you or not but …” He hesitated and then blurted out: “I’m afraid I’m having trouble with my wife.”
“What kind of trouble?” Temple asked.
“She stays out late, doesn’t tell me where she’s been, and — well — to be perfectly honest, I think she’s having an affair with someone.”
“Have you any idea who it is?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Have you spoken to her about it, Mr Kelburn?”
“Yes, but she refuses to admit that there is anyone. But there is someone — I’m sure there is. Of course, she has a large circle of friends and according to Langdon she’s been seeing a lot of Tony Wyman lately, but whether he’s the man or not I wouldn’t know.”
“Well, what do you want me to do?” Except to turn and face Kelburn in his changes of position, Temple had not moved from his position at the foot of the bed.
“I’d like you to make some enquiries for me, watch her, if possible.” He added quickly, as he saw Temple frown: “Oh, I know this isn’t your usual line of country …”
Temple laughed. “It certainly isn’t!”
“But if I employed one of the usual agencies Laura would be on to it straight away, I’m sure she would.”
“And you don’t think she’d suspect me?”
“No, I’m positive she wouldn’t. She might even confide in you. I’m convinced you’re the man for this assignment, Temple.”
Temple met his eye thoughtfully and Kelburn made a point of not dropping his own direct gaze — reminiscent of some senior officer assigning a subaltern to a dangerous mission.
“Does Mike Langdon agree with you?”
Kelburn was surprised by the question. “Yes, he does.”
“Well, I’ll think about it.”
Kelburn was not accustomed to waiting for other people’s decisions. With a return to his customary brusque manner he said: “All right — but don’t think about it too long. It’s important.” He was already crossing from the window to the door. “I won’t mention a fee because the last time I mentioned money …”
“I’ll let you have a decision this evening. You’ll be in the hotel, I take it?”
“Yes, I will. I’m dining here. Thank you, Temple.” As he opened the door Kelburn remembered his manners. He gave Steve the same brief nod as when he had come in. “Goodbye, Mrs Temple.”
“Paul, do you know what I think …” Steve got up from her chair as soon as the door had closed.
“No, darling, what do you think?”
“I don’t think Kelburn’s worried about his wife. I think this is just an attempt to stop you investigating the murder.”
Steve was opening the window. Kelburn had been wearing some kind of aftershave or deodorant and it hung in the room. She felt that a gust of sea air would purify the atmosphere. Temple had opened his suitcase and found a cardigan thoughtfully packed by Charlie.
“On the other hand, Laura is friendly with someone, remember. That’s why she telephoned me, because she didn’t want us to tell her husband about seeing her with Larry Cross.”
“Yes, but I still don’t think that’s why he consulted you. For some reason or other Kelburn wants you to drop this case. If he can’t get you to drop it, then he’ll try and divert your attention on to something else.”
Temple had removed his jacket to put on the cardigan. “Meaning his wife?”
“Yes.”
“M’m, could be. Well, come along, Steve. You’d better bring a woolly.”
“Where are we going?”
“Do you feel like a nice smooth ride on a roller-coaster?”
“Paul, my head’s splitting. Can’t we go back to the hotel? If we’re going to be in time for —”
“Just a bit longer, Steve. We haven’t seen that part over there, behind the shooting gallery.”
It was a real old-fashioned fair with panting steam engines, merry-go-rounds, dodgems, hobby-horses, whirling swings, shooting galleries and every kind of side-show from the Fat Lady to the Troupe of Performing Fleas. The din was deafening, what with the blaring music, the crack of shots, the shouts of the touts and the screams of
children. To Steve’s intense relief there was no roller-coaster but the giant wheel had given her a bad attack of vertigo.
“But the shooting gallery is where we came in!” Steve protested, her head spinning.
“No, dear,” Paul told her patiently. “That was on the other side, near the ghost train —”
“Don’t mention that ghost train!” she protested, wincing at the memory of those clammy, cold hands brushing her face and hair.
Holding Temple’s hand and stumbling through the crowd behind him, she let herself be towed round the side of the shooting gallery.
“Paul, I’m being deafened by those guns.”
“Shan’t be much longer, darling. I just want to make sure — By Timothy!”
“What is it?”
“Look at that sign, on the tent over by the coconut-shy.”
Focussing her eyes with an effort she peered through the smoky haze. Though it was not yet dark the fairground lights had been switched on and she could see the name on a board over the opening of the tent.
MADAME MARGO. FORTUNE TELLER.
“So that’s what Mrs Fletcher meant. She thought you’d found out about Margo and that was the reason you’d come down to Brighton.’’
“You may be right, Steve. Now listen — I want you to go in and have your fortune told. I’ll tell you exactly what to do…”
Steve had to stoop to enter the tent. The interior was cramped and there was barely room for two chairs on either side of a small table, one with arms and one without. A lamp with a low-watt bulb and a thick scarlet tasselled shade cast a dim light on the table and the imitation round Persian carpet beneath it. The striped tent, luminous with the light from the fairground outside, created an eerie effect. The plump woman in gypsy costume seated in the armchair was sipping a cup of tea she had made on a calor gas stove beside her chair. In the dim light Steve could hardly see her features, but a pair of observant eyes shone in the light reflected upwards from the table.
“I’m so sorry, madam — do come in.” Madame Margo put the cup down on the floor beside her. Her accent was broad Cockney. “I was just ‘avin’ a cup of tea.”
“I can wait.”
“No, no … “Madame Margo waved a pudgy hand at the upright chair. “Please sit down, madam.”
Steve sat down facing the fortune teller and folded her hands on the baize-covered table. “You are Madame Margo?”
“That’s right, dear. They all know me in Brighton. Been here for years … Patronised by royalty …”
“Royalty?”
The way the lamp was angled it shone on the face of the sitter and left Madame Margo in the shade.
“His Royal Highness, Prince Castrola of Tian See. Nice young man, he was, but you never saw anything like his lifeline … Now what sort of reading did you want?”
“I don’t know. Which would you recommend?”
“Looking at you, I’d say the palm, madam. Of course, it’s a bit more expensive, but it goes deeper — much deeper, if you know what I mean.”
As Steve’s eyes accustomed themselves, the face of the fortune teller was becoming clearer. The features above the bizarre gypsy costume were plump and at the same time avaricious.
“Yes, you read the palm of a friend of mine and told her the most amazing story — it all came true. That’s what made me so curious.”
“Did I? I wonder if I remember her?”
“I’m sure you would. You foretold a great tragedy in her life. And it happened, just as you said.”
“Really? Of course, there’s no getting away from the palm. It’s all there. What happened to your friend?”
“She was murdered.”
Madame Margo leant back in her chair, further from the circle of light. “Murdered?”
“Yes. Her name was Julia Kelburn.”
“Oh, yes,” Madame Margo said, after a brief pause. “I think I read about the murder.”
“But you don’t remember Julia?”
“No, I’m afraid I don’t. But, of course, I see so many people, you know, especially in the height of the season.”
“Yes, I suppose you do.”
“Now, dear, if you’ll just sit facing me… “If she had been taken aback the older woman had recovered her poise and her professional manner. She leant forward again.
“Which hand do you want?”
“Oh, both, dear … Under the light if you don’t mind. That’s it… “
Steve placed her hands, palms upward, on the table. They seemed strangely remote under the light, as if they did not belong to her. The fortune teller stared at them, gently tracing the lines with the tip of her index finger. The contact sent a tremor up Steve’s arm.
“That’s very interesting … Were you ever on the stage?”
“No,” Steve admitted. “I wasn’t.”
“You’re married, and your husband’s, well known — famous, in fact … Got something to do with books and writing, is that right, dear … ?”
“Yes.”
“It’s an interesting hand. You travel a lot, don’t you — er — Mrs … ?”
Steve glanced up and met the sharp eyes which were now on her face and not her hands. She ignored the invitation to give her name.
“Yes, we travel quite a lot.”
Madame Margo bent over her hand again. “I can see a journey now … towards the end of the year … a sea voyage …” Suddenly the fortune teller caught her breath. “Oh! … There’s danger too, dear. You’ve got to be very careful — both you and your husband.”
There was a note of genuine warning in her voice which Steve found convincing.
“Why have we got to be careful?”
“Because I can see an accident.” Madame Margo was gazing deeply into Steve’s left palm. “A car accident …”
“When is this accident likely to happen?” Steve asked, shaken by the woman’s urgent tone.
“I can’t tell you. It may be soon … very soon.” The voice was different, like that of a person talking in their sleep.
“Where is it going to happen?”
“I don’t know, but…”
Steve’s left palm was prickling under that intense scrutiny, even though Madame Margo had only her eyes on it. “Go on …” she whispered.
“It seems to me your husband’s driving … There’s something here, in your palm … I can’t tell what it is … It looks like a dolphin.”
“A dolphin? You mean a real dolphin?”
“I can’t tell … But watch out for it …” The strange sensation went out of Steve’s palm and when she looked up she found the small dark eyes staring at her. Madame Margo’s voice had reverted to its normal Cockney friendliness. “When you see the dolphin be on your guard, dear. That’s when the accident might happen.”
Steve panicked for a moment when she came out of the tent and saw no sign of Temple. Then, to her relief, she spotted him over by the coconut-shy. He was just collecting a teddy-bear, his prize for knocking down the maximum number of coconuts. He was surprised at the eagerness with which she clutched his arm and hung on to it until they had passed through the exit from the fairground. Only when they were away from the merry but oppressive din did she try to give him a description of her experience in Madame Margo’s tent.
“It was only when I mentioned Julia Kelburn that she seemed to be on her guard,” she finished. “I think she had a good idea who I was.’’
“Yes, it sounds like it. D’you think she was expecting you?”
“I don’t know. The whole set-up was terribly phoney and normally I wouldn’t believe a word she said, but that was a warning, Paul, about the car accident — I don’t think there’s any doubt about that.”
“That’s why I asked if you thought she was expecting you. This way, Steve. The car’s over here.”
“It’s difficult to say. But the thing that puzzled me is that reference to a dolphin. What did she mean — watch out for the dolphin?”
“I don’t know. It could be
a public house, I suppose, at a dangerous corner or crossroads.’’
“Yes, I wonder why I never thought of that.”
Temple opened the car door for Steve before going round to his own side. As he slid into the driver’s seat he saw her press her fingers to her eyes.
“Tired?”
“Yes, I am. It was a draining experience.”
“Well, there’s no need for you to come to Seadale, darling. I can see Fiona Scott by myself.’’
“Yes, of course you can,” Steve agreed. She waited while Temple operated the self-starter and then straightened her shoulders. “But you’re not going to.”
“This has got to be the road. Fiona Scott said you couldn’t miss it if you kept as close to the sea as possible.”
They had taken a right turn after passing through the hamlet of Seadale, but the road had soon deteriorated into a lane and after a mile or so had swung inland away from the coast. The headlights of the Rover illuminated rough banks hemming the lane in and beyond them scraggy trees twisted into tormented shapes by the inshore winds. They had not passed a house since leaving the main road and fortunately had met no other cars. That would have meant reversing to one of the occasional passing places.
“If we don’t come to something soon, I’m going to turn round,” Temple said. “We must have missed a turning.”
As they rounded yet another bend, Steve exclaimed: “Look, Paul, there’s a light ahead.”
It was a wavering light and almost gave the impression that someone was signalling. After a hundred yards Temple dipped his headlights.
“I think it’s a cyclist. We must have nearly blinded him.”
In fact, the cyclist had dismounted and was waiting for them to pass. As they drew near Temple saw the white collar and the dark grey suit of a clergyman. He was wearing a battered brown felt hat and had his head lowered to avoid the glare of the headlamps. As Temple drew up beside him he raised his head. He was about fifty and had the craggy but charitable features of a Rugby player turned parish priest.
“Good evening,” Temple said. “I wonder if you could help me. We’re looking for a place called Breakwater House.’’
Paul Temple and the Margo Mystery Page 12
