“Mr. Nairn,” I began before I’d really worked out my best approach. “Jamie seemed to think he knew you.”
“Oh yes... ?” The words were casual, but I sensed a tightening of his hands on the wheel.
“It’s true, then?”
I felt him picking his words carefully. “It’s true that I know Jamie, yes.”
“That means you must have met him in London. He would never be able to remember people he met up here when he was just a baby.”
There was a long pause. At last Nairn said slowly, “Yes, I did meet Jamie in London.”
“So you knew my cousin then—Margo McKinross?”
He pretended to be very preoccupied with negotiating the jeep over a particularly difficult and muddy patch. He was silent for so long this time that I wondered if he was going to answer my question at all.
I prompted him. “Did you know my cousin, Mr. Nairn?”
“Yes,” he admitted reluctantly. “I knew Margo. I first met her in Edinburgh when Craig and I were both at the university.”
So he was more than a neighbor of Craig’s—he was a friend. My theories about him acting as a go-between began to have more substance.
I decided to take a plunge. “Why were you with Margo the night she … died?”
His reaction astonished me. He braked hard, stopping the jeep with such a jolt that I was nearly flung through the windshield.
“Now look here,” he began fiercely. “I had nothing to do with her death. You can’t blame me for that.”
I had an odd, unfitting sense of victory. Somehow I felt I had taken a small but vital step toward discovering the true cause of Marge’s death. Very soon now I might learn the real reason for her desperate act of suicide.
But if I thought I was making progress toward understanding, Nairn’s next words opened up a gaping hole of terror.
“It wasn’t me who killed her.”
Everything in my vision blurred except for Lambert Nairn’s face. The mountains, the loch below us, the track ahead—it was all a misty backcloth. The man’s features stood out sharply distinct, white and tense.
“But... but Margo took her own life,” I faltered.
“So the police think. I only hope they are right.”
I managed to collect myself enough to ask with relative calm, “Why should you even suspect that he might not be right?”
“I didn’t say I suspected....” Nairn was being evasive, running away from the implications of his own words. “But ... well, living the sort of life she led ...”
I blazed at him. “The sort of life she led? Just what is it you’re suggesting?”
“Come now.” His eyes were incredulous, almost ironical. “Pretending you don’t know what I mean.”
“But I don’t know. Margo was a model, and what’s wrong with that?”
“There’s nothing wrong with it.” He hesitated, and took out a packet of cigarettes. But I suppose he thought the moment was inappropriate, because he put them away again without lighting one. “Margo was a girl who needed admiration.”
“Don’t all women?” I cut in sharply defensive. “And men too, for that matter.”
“But with Margo it was much more than that—almost a disease really. Modeling suited her ideally, because she always had plenty of men at her feet. She gloried in it.”
I digested what he’d said. I didn’t want to believe it, but looking back, I had to admit that the picture fitted Margo. To a degree it fitted her.
“Margo was a very beautiful woman,” I said at last. “It’s natural enough. Well, I mean, wanting admiration isn’t ...”
He put in quietly, “Men don’t dance that sort of attention for nothing.”
His meaning should have been obvious to any adult person, but I was so shaken up by this conversation that I simply didn’t get the drift.
“I can hardly put it any plainer,” he murmured. Then, in a sickening rush, I did understand. “You’ve got it all wrong,” I cried. “She wasn’t like that at all.”
Again the irony was in his eyes. “You don’t think so? Surely I ought to know.”
“Do you mean you were ... ?”
“I was never fool enough to imagine that I was the only one. No—Margo liked to distribute her favors.”
“Why are you saying these things? Trying to make me believe that Margo was ... was promiscuous?”
“I’m simply trying to make you understand the truth about that cousin of yours.” He swung around to face me, suddenly earnest, dropping the act of sardonic amusement. “The point is this, Miss Calvert. You’ve discovered that I knew your cousin. All right then, but I can’t have my wife finding out about it. I want to make you see that if you insist on talking about my knowing Margo, you’re going to uncover a helluva lot of mud. And it won’t do you the slightest bit of good.”
I believed him then. I believed he thought he was telling me the truth. And for the first time I began to wonder seriously if he wasn’t partly right. Mike had always implied the same thing.
Of course, Lambert Nairn was exaggerating wildly. But it might have been that the break-up of her marriage had so shaken Margo’s self-confidence that she had been driven to look for admiration wherever she could find it.
Nairn had said: “Men don’t dance that sort of attention for nothing.”
It could be that poor Margo had sometimes got more than she bargained for. Men being what they were, had she found herself getting ever more deeply entangled?
Could this be the real reason for her suicide? I had to know what happened that night Margo had died.
As soon as I started questioning him again, Lambert Nairn switched back to an aggressively defensive attitude. “I told you, her death was nothing at all to do with me.”
“What time did you leave her?”
His answer was very pat. “About nine-thirty. We’d been out to dinner, and went back to her flat. But I only stayed a few minutes.”
I looked him square in the eye. “That hardly lines up with what you’ve been saying. You more than hinted you were her lover.”
“I had to go early,” he said uneasily. “Something cropped up.”
“What cropped up?”
“I’d rather not say.”
“This is fantastic. You know perfectly well that the police should have been told you were with Margo that evening.” I went on talking right through Nairn’s indignant protest. “Yes, I know why you kept quiet—or at least I think I know why. But if you’re asking me to keep quiet too, I must be satisfied that it’s the right thing to do.”
He was getting very agitated. “I dropped in on Margo out of the blue at around five o’clock. She’d just got in herself after bringing Jamie back from nursery school.”
“You gave Jamie a cowboy hat, didn’t you?”
He stared. “How do you know that?”
“Never mind how I know. As soon as I got home from work that evening, Margo phoned, asking if Jamie could stay the night with me.”
Lambert Nairn nodded. “Yes, I was there when she phoned you, and then I drove them to your flat.”
“I see. And then?”
“Then we went on to a bar, and afterward to dinner.”
With a jab of pain I recalled Margo telling me that her agent wanted her to meet a client. An exciting advertising campaign for a new shampoo was being planned, using Margo as the model. The discussions might go on very late, she’d explained.
I said in a flat voice, “You took her to the Albatross.”
“Who’s been talking to you?” Nairn demanded. “You seem to know it all.”
“Sheer chance. A friend of a friend of mine saw you both at the restaurant, that’s all.”
He went whiter than ever. “Will they talk? I don’t want this coming out.”
“Oh, it’s all right. They didn’t know who you were. I was merely told that Margo had been dining there with a man.”
“Thank God for that.” Nairn looked very relieved. “Well, after dinner I
took her back to the flat, and I left at around nine-thirty.”
I shook my head. “You are being evasive, Mr. Nairn. You said something cropped up to make you leave early. I want to know what that something was. It might well have a bearing on her death.”
He looked away from me, stroking the outer rim of the steering wheel with an apparently idle finger. “I had to get out of Margo’s flat because somebody else was coming.”
“You mean another man?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“But why should you have gone? Why didn’t Margo put the other man off?”
His laugh was short, dry, entirely without humor. “She could hardly have done that.”
“Why not?”
There was no answer. I said determinedly, “I think you’d better tell me who this other man was, Mr. Nairn.”
He swung his head slowly so that he looked me in the eyes. There was a long pause before he said levelly, quite without emotion, “It was her husband—Craig McKinross.”
Chapter 5
Lambert Nairn had made a stupendous blunder. In order to clear himself of any connection with Margo’s death, he was trying to implicate a man who had not even been in Britain at the time. Craig had only returned from his job with the U.N. Forestry Unit the day before I arrived in Scotland.
In my contempt I flared at Nairn. “That can’t possibly be true. Craig was abroad when Margo died.”
Lambert Nairn shrugged. But I knew he couldn’t really be indifferent. He must be mighty anxious for me to believe his account of that evening.
“Craig chooses to say he was abroad, but I say he was in London. When he phoned Margo to tell her he was coming around right away, I got out of the place damned quick.”
The man sounded so sincere. “Maybe,” I began slowly, “it could possibly be that for some reason or other somebody phoned pretending to be Craig....” I trailed off. It seemed ridiculously improbable. But the only other answer was that Lambert Nairn was lying to me.
“I only just about got out in time,” he went on, shaking his head. “Craig must have phoned from around the corner, because he was already coming into the entrance of the apartment house as I got out of the elevator. I had to dodge up the stairs to avoid him.”
I stared. “You mean you actually saw Craig McKinross?”
“Yes, I do. Quite clearly.”
“But how could he have been there?”
“Search me. I only know he was there.”
“And did you see him leaving?”
“Good God, no. I didn’t hang about for that pleasure. I guessed there was going to be trouble, and I certainly wanted no part of it.”
My mind was racing round and round in a tight spiral, somehow never quite reaching the same spot twice. I said nothing—because there was too much to say. How could I pick a single coherent question when my world was being torn apart?
Since the death of my father, Margo had been easily the most important influence in my life. I loved and admired her. And when her marriage went wrong, I had felt for her quite desperately.
Now I was asked to believe that she’d been another person altogether from the Margo I thought I knew. If Lambert Nairn was speaking the truth, then Margo had deceived me, lied to me, and deliberately played upon my sympathy. Many times I’d looked after Jamie at short notice, often having to cancel my own arrangements. But I’d never minded a bit. I was glad to be helping Margo toward success in her career under very difficult circumstances. Never had I suspected she wanted Jamie out of the way so she could entertain lovers.
And on top of disillusion was the further shock of learning that Craig had visited Margo just before her death. Craig, who was supposed to have been thousands of miles away at the time.
I couldn’t believe it—any of it. I wouldn’t believe it.
If Craig had really called on Margo, surely he’d have come forward and said so.
But something had happened that night to drive Margo to suicide. Could it have been a visit from her husband? Had a fearful quarrel with Craig taken her to the edge of despair? Over the edge.
A sudden claw of fear gripped me. I thought of another possibility. I’d always found it hard to understand why Margo should have killed herself. Perhaps, after all, it had not been suicide. Perhaps Craig had killed her, and then disappeared, sulking away until it suited him to turn up, pretending he had just arrived in Scotland from abroad.
No, I couldn’t accept that—it was too horrible. Anyway, why should I believe what Lambert Nairn had told me?
I hardly knew what I was saying. “I shall ask Craig about this as soon as I see him,” I announced loudly.
“No, don’t do that.” Lambert Nairn barked out the words.
“Why not?”
“You’d have to tell Craig about me, that’s why. Besides ...” He stared out ahead through the windshield. “It ... it might be dangerous....”
“Dangerous? How could it be?”
“He might think you know too much for his comfort.” Nairn reached across and took my elbow, pressing it urgently. “Leave this business alone, my dear. Take it from me, nothing will be gained from stirring up trouble. You just go back to London and forget it.”
How I longed to do just that. I was hopelessly confused by what I’d heard, confused and frightened. I didn’t know whom to believe, whom to trust.
But if I didn’t trust Lambert Nairn, if I didn’t believe his story, then I ought to fear him. He must be a desperate man, desperate enough to ...
I shivered, feeling a snake of terror slither down my spine. Nobody knew where I was at this moment. Nobody could possibly know I had met Lambert Nairn.
“Perhaps you’re right,” I conceded. “I ... I’ll think it over. Could we drive on down to the road now, please.”
“But I must convince you first,” he said with a wild earnestness. “I can’t risk you blowing up my whole life for the sake of that... for the sake of Margo’s memory.”
All I wanted now was to get away from him. I had to pretend to be won over by his reasoning, to agree to leave well alone and go back to London.
“I see what you mean,” I said slowly. “After all, it can’t do Margo any good now....”
“Exactly,” he cried in relief.
“And for Jamie’s sake too,” I added for good measure, “maybe it would be best to say nothing.”
He was ready to seize upon any justification. “That’s right. Poor little chap.”
“Yes,” I said, as if reaching a definite conclusion. “I think I will take your advice. I’ll just stay on here for a few days to help Jamie get used to life at the castle, and then I’ll go back to London and put all this unhappy business right out of my mind.”
I must have played my part well. He was absolutely delighted with me. “You’re a very intelligent girl. I thought you’d see the good sense of what I’ve been saying.”
He started the engine, and we jolted on down the track. At the highway Lambert Nairn stopped. There was no sign of life anywhere, and the castle was hidden beyond a bend.
“I’ll walk from here,” I said, climbing down. “I think it’s best not to mention our meeting to anyone else.”
He reached out and patted my shoulder. “You can rely on me.” His fingers had the slightly clinging feel of a man who finds it hard to keep his hands off women. Even in the present situation Lambert Nairn’s true character betrayed him.
I pretended not to have noticed. “Goodbye,” I said, holding out a formal hand.
He held on a shade too long. “I wish we could have met under different circumstances.”
It was an effort not to run as I turned away and headed back to the castle. But not even those thick stone walls could give me any sense of security. Either Lambert Nairn or Craig McKinross was deliberately lying. It must be one or the other. Had Craig really been to Margo’s apartment that night? Was his story about arriving from abroad only two days ago just an invention?
I’d made Nairn believ
e that for Jamie’s sake I would keep quiet and go back to London as planned. But I couldn’t do that. How could I go away now? How could I leave Jamie in the care of a man who might even be a ... ?
Somehow or other I had to find out the truth. And I’d have to do it alone. There was nobody I could turn to for help.
* * * *
“Come in, my dear.” Alistair Lennox jumped up from a fireside chair, and tossed his newspaper aside. His wife made vague noises, motioning me to a chair beside hers.
I had changed after my walk and come straight downstairs. It was better to be with people—any people—than alone with my thoughts. I didn’t really believe it myself, did I?
Sharp at one o’clock Duncan appeared to announce that luncheon was served.
I was surprised. “Aren’t Craig and Fiona coming back for lunch? I thought they said ...”
“Craig telephoned,” Mrs. Lennox explained. “The Camerons invited them to ... He said he didn’t know when ...”
Coming back along the road just now I had decided, however little I liked the idea, that I’d have to do some detective work. Here was an opportunity—sooner than I’d expected. With Craig safely out of the way, maybe I could put into operation a plan I’d worked out.
If Craig’s story about flying into Prestwick airport was true, maybe his passport would bear out that fact. It might be date-stamped accordingly.
My problem was how to get a look at his passport. Presumably it would be somewhere in his room, but I didn’t even know which of the many bedrooms in the castle was the one Craig used.
I dared not ask. What possible reason could I give for wanting to know? I would simply have to go by trial and error. I’d have to take my chance to look in each bedroom when nobody was around, until I found the right one.
Just now I only had the Lennoxes to consider—and the domestic staff, of course. I knew the servants had their own lunch immediately following the family meal, so that would give me a bit of time.
My luck was in.
After Duncan had cleared away the coffee things Isabel Lennox announced that she was going to take a nap.
Call of Glengarron Page 6
