Landscape with Corpse, page 10
‘Over my dead body,’ said Oliver.
‘Yes. That too,’ Geoff went on placidly. ‘Nude With Corpse. It would at least be original.’
‘Suggest it to Elise,’ I told him, ‘and she’d pass out on the spot.’
He smiled to himself. ‘That she would.’
‘And her father would bring a hatchet and carve you to pieces,’ Oliver told him.
‘You know about her father?’ Geoff asked. He was leading us the length of the Glasshouse, to the counter than ran the full width of the far wall. He didn’t look round. ‘She’s never told me anything about him.’
‘Yes.’ I spoke to his back. ‘We know. Elise came to our room, when we got back. She didn’t want to be alone, and I’m not surprised. We let her use the bathroom, and she and I had a little chat.’
He turned, leaning back against the counter. ‘Little?’ he asked casually. He obviously knew Elise very well. ‘She’s a right chatterbox.’
‘Well—she confided. So naturally I can’t repeat what she said. Except to you, Geoff, of course.’
‘She told you about us?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘A little.’
‘She must have taken a liking to you, then.’
‘I think perhaps she did. We got along together very well indeed. I mean…in a situation such as this, and the rather tricky position she has in the overall picture…Tell me, Geoff—how did you discover who had slashed her painting?’
He stared at me blankly. He was not pleased with this. ‘What do you…she told you that?’
‘Oh yes.’
‘The silly child.’ He said it with affection, smiling softly.
‘Not silly, Geoff. Naïve, yes. Immature, perhaps. But not silly. You see, she’s in a situation that could make her life very difficult, and when the superintendent gets going he’ll be sure to pounce on it.’
He stared blankly at me. Some of the colour had flowed from his face, leaving spots of red high on his cheeks. Beyond him, Oliver was wandering the length of the counter, opening each of the drawers and peering into them.
‘What situation?’ Geoff asked. ‘Nobody’s told me anything.’
‘I don’t think she realises, herself.’
‘Then tell me, for God’s sake.’
I took a deep breath. ‘You know she was sharing her special spot with Oliver and me? What happened was that she wanted to go to the toilet, and in spite of the acres of trees all around, she insisted on going to the Ladies—and you know where that is, I expect.’
He groaned. ‘Yes—I know.’
‘So she placed herself at the scene of Jennie’s death, and at about the time that it happened, and later—up in our room—she told me what she had heard from you, that it had been Jennie who’d slashed her lovely painting. Is that true?’
For a moment he looked hunted, then he whispered, ‘Yes.’
‘So that puts Elise in a very tricky situation, Geoff. She had a positive motive for doing Jennie harm, and she was ideally placed for doing it. And she realises that, and she could very likely go into a panic, if pressed, and say anything. Literally anything. Then what?’
‘But you can’t really believe that Elise could do such a thing.’ He rubbed his hands over his face, and stared round at Oliver for assistance. But Oliver simply smiled, and said nothing.
I shook Geoff’s arm. ‘She’s a woman, Geoff. A grown woman, and she’d been deeply wounded when her painting was slashed. That was two years ago, and she still feels it. A woman, hurt in that way, is capable of anything, and don’t delude yourself about that. Anything! And Mr Llewellyn has probably come across dozens of cases where they have. So…he’ll give special attention to Elise, and we’ll need to look out for her welfare, Geoff.’
‘D’you think I shan’t?’ He looked keenly at me. ‘We?’
‘Yes. Include Oliver and myself as supporters. Do you think she would have confided as much as she did, and to a woman she barely knows, unless she was completely innocent?’
‘What did she confide?’ He was wary.
‘What’s between you and Elise. I got it all—including her father’s attitude to artists.’
He rubbed his hands through his hair. ‘I’m completely beyond the pale,’ he admitted. ‘A pariah.’
‘So…tell me. How did you discover who had slashed her painting?’
He drew a deep breath, then relaxed, his shoulders slumping again.
‘It happened two years ago,’ he said. ‘There’ve been a lot of painting courses between then and now, because we have weekend ones as well as full week ones. And although there’s a tight little circle we’ve got here, who never seem to miss one, there are others of course. Semi-regulars, if you like. So…there were three women here on the night the painting was slashed—and who’re not very regular students. It’s been a long and tiresome business. You see, it’s not easy to slash a canvas. It needs a sharp knife, such as a Stanley knife. Razor sharp, those blades are. And I have one here, in one of the drawers.’
‘Third one along,’ said Oliver, and Geoff flashed him a brief smile.
‘Right,’ he said. ‘So I had to wait and wait, for the times when I was alone in here with one of our past artists. I wasn’t certain it had to be a woman, but it seemed like a woman’s work. Anyway…I’d have a sheet of watercolour paper, say, on my cutting surface—which is on this counter. And, with just one person here, and me with my steel straight-edge in position, I’d say, “Reach me out the Stanley knife, will you,” in a casual voice. And usually they’d have to ask, “Where is it?” And I’d say, “Third drawer along.” So that person hadn’t known. And…oh, it took ages.’
‘Two years,’ I said emptily. Two years! ‘But you eventually succeeded?’
‘Oh yes. In the end, there was just one person who didn’t ask, and just went straight to it.’
‘That person being Jennie?’
‘That’s right.’
‘So then you knew?’
‘Yes. Then I knew.’ He nodded sagely.
I groaned, but internally. ‘That was very clever of you, Geoff,’ I said. ‘But it’s not valid, you know.’
‘What? Of course it is.’
‘It’s not positive thinking. For one thing, the picture-slasher could be very quick-witted, and have spotted the trap. And for another, Jennie could have known where you kept it, simply because she’d seen you put it there, at one time or another. And so…your slasher might be anywhere, not necessarily here at this time. But…and you must see this, Geoff…we’re left with the fact that Elise believed it to be Jennie, and she went within a few yards of her at the time when Jennie was killed, and when she really had no valid reason for going there, with acres of woodland in all directions.’
‘Elise wouldn’t—’
‘I know. It wouldn’t be ladylike to resort to a barrier of trees. And I’m sure she’s sincere in that. Her father—’
‘Her father!’ he interrupted, groaning.
‘Who isn’t going to allow his delicate little girl to become embroiled…he would use that word, I’d bet. Wouldn’t allow his girl to find herself in a nasty situation such as a double murder. If he gets to hear of this business—’
‘Don’t even think it!’
The door was flung open, and Elise rushed in. ‘Geoff!’ she cried. ‘It’s going to be all right! And when he meets you, and gets to know you…
‘What the devil!’ Geoff said. ‘Easy now, easy.’
‘I’ve phoned Daddy. He’s going to get right in his car, and come along to see that everything’s sorted out. And Geoff—he’s going to meet you at last.’
‘I can’t wait,’ Geoff whispered.
She linked her arm in his. ‘You’ll like him, Geoff.’ Then she looked round at Oliver and me. ‘I told him I’ve got friends here, and he said he’d give me eight to five that I couldn’t trust them.’ She managed a little tinkle of a laugh. ‘But I never did understand odds. Who gets what if it is or isn’t! So complicated.’
‘I’m sure I can’t help you,’ I told her. ‘It’s all a great mystery to me, too. The best thing is to keep away from betting. You never win.’
Oliver laughed. ‘Unless you’re the bookie.’
‘That’s true,’ Elise agreed, jutting her lower lip. ‘He never seems to lose.’
We stared at her.
‘Are you telling us that your father’s a bookmaker?’ Geoff asked.
‘Well…yes. Didn’t I tell you that?’ She pouted. ‘I was sure you knew.’
‘Not until now, my sweet. And he’s got the utter nerve to criticise me for being an artist!’
‘It didn’t seem worth mentioning. And it’s ever so legal.’
‘Oh, I’m sure it is. But so’s painting pictures.’
‘Ah yes.’ She linked her arm in his, drawing herself closer. ‘But you can’t earn a decent living by painting pictures and tutoring courses.’
Geoff looked down into her flushed face. ‘How very true,’ he admitted, sighing.
‘But if Daddy taught you about odds, you could start your own book, Geoff love, and earn lots and lots of money.’
‘Thank you for the advice.’
‘Oh now…don’t be silly, Geoff. I know you could do it.’
‘Would you rather marry a bookmaker—or an artist?’ Geoff was keeping a tight control on his voice.
‘I just want to marry you, Geoff, and you know it.’
‘As an artist or a bookmaker?’ His voice was toneless.
I was becoming disturbed. A few seconds before, Elise had simply been teasing him, but now a fresh tone had entered into it.
She wanted Geoff, and she was staring at him now, abruptly aware that she had to make a decision.
‘As you are, Geoff,’ she said softly. ‘Of course.’
I caught Oliver’s eye. Silently he was asking the question: can we get out of here?
Quietly, we left them to work it out between themselves. We stood outside. ‘What now?’ I asked.
‘Walk,’ he suggested. ‘We’ve done no exploring at all. It’s about five o’clock, and dinner’s not until seven-thirty. What about a walk down into the town?’
‘It’s the best part of a mile,’ I pointed out. ‘And all uphill coming back.’
‘Since when can’t you walk that distance?’ he asked.
‘Give me five minutes to change into slacks and my walking shoes.’
Oliver, I knew, wanted to see the site of Jennie’s death. That suited me fine, because I wanted to see it too.
So I changed, re-joined him, and we walked down to the town.
9
It was still rather warm for walking, but this portion was downhill, and hopefully, when we plodded back and upwards, the sun would at least be nudging the horizon.
‘There’s something you want to look at, isn’t there?’ I asked him.
‘Naturally. The scene of Jennie’s death, of course.’
‘There’ll be nothing left to interest you, there.’
He paced a further hundred yards before answering. ‘All right. Just to look at it, then. To see what Elise would have seen.’
‘That’s not going to be any help, Oliver, and anyway it’s officially a police case, and they won’t want us poking about.’
‘True,’ he said. ‘But they’ll have cleared off long before this, and it always helps to see for yourself. At any other time, you’d be the one to suggest it, Phil. What’s got into you, so suddenly?’
‘Oh…I don’t know. Perhaps it’s because I’m wondering if it wouldn’t have been better to stay around, back at the Manor.’
He was silent. We walked two hundred yards, with not a sound from him. Then at last he said, ‘Why better?’
I found it difficult to put into words. ‘A feeling.’
‘Hmm! Let me guess. You’re interested in that Elise lass, and you don’t know how far away her father lives, so you can’t guess how long it’ll take him to get here, and—’
‘All right, all right! Yes, yes, and yes. I’m worrying about Elise. To phone her father…well, it was a mistake. I can see trouble coming from that.’
‘True,’ he agreed. ‘Very true, in fact.’
‘Heavens,’ I said. ‘If he comes here, he’s certainly going to be heading into trouble, one way or another.’
He paced ahead, not glancing sideways at me. We were nearing the river now. At last he commented, as though he had given it deep thought, ‘I think Elise could have been exaggerating a little, about her father. Didn’t you think so, Phil? Perhaps it’s she who’s a little tentative, and not absolutely certain that it’s Geoff she wants.’
‘Her father’, I said, ‘would call that hedging her bets.’
‘So you know that much about betting.’ He nudged my elbow. ‘You can bet, then, that her father wouldn’t do a thing, or come to any decision, before he weighed up the odds, for and against.’
‘Then it’s possibly a good thing that he’s going to meet Geoff,’ I said hopefully.
‘Or a bad one.’ He turned his head and grinned at me. ‘Want a bet?’
‘I never bet.’
‘And a good thing, too.’ He was silent for a few moments, then he went on, ‘And what would you bet that our drive isn’t finished when we get back to Penley—and no access?’
‘What!’ I stopped in mid-stride.
‘Just a thought, my love. But do contractors ever finish anything by the promised time? Think about it, Phillie.’
‘But—if it wasn’t—what would we do?’
He turned back to face me. ‘We’d phone our friend and benefactor, Harvey Remington, and demand accommodation from him. As compensation for a consideration that has failed. He’ll know that phrase.’
I thought it best not to comment, and we walked on.
We had now reached the river, and the turn-off to our right along the road to the footbridge. There was no traffic. We saw nobody, and no cars passed us.
Then we reached the footbridge, and Oliver paused, looking round.
‘Things I want to check,’ he explained, and he moved on to the bridge.
‘Let me guess.’ I wanted to do a little checking, myself. ‘You want to see whether any of our group could have approached in this direction, and not been noticed by Jennie. Deny it.’
We were now standing in the middle of the bridge, which, designed for pedestrians only, was a mere six feet wide. It was a strongly built wooden erection, with hefty railings each side, though the planks under our feet seemed loose. From its centre we were looking directly down the estuary.
In the intervening time since we had last seen the sea, the tide had turned, the water flowing back, though moving sluggishly. ‘I don’t see that it would be possible,’ Oliver said.
‘What? What have you got in mind?’
‘I’m looking for some way that a member of our group could have approached this bridge, and walked over it, without being seen by Jennie. From up there. As you said yourself, Phil.’
We both turned and looked up to the top of the cliff, at the far end of the bridge. The sandstone face rose vertically, and on the near edge of its flat top surface, we knew, Jennie had set up her easel. The only apparent access to that site, at the far end of the footbridge, was the steep, cobbled lane. A pedestrian way, this was, clearly.
‘Would it matter?’ I asked softly. ‘About being observed, I mean. Jennie would have seen anybody from our group as a friend, and not, surely, as someone aggressive.’
‘Pam Wilton?’ he suggested. ‘Jennie would’ve seen Pam as anything but a friend.’ He nodded his head decisively. ‘Especially if she was carrying something weighty and lethal.’
‘You’re surely not suggesting that Pam could have walked the best part of a mile here, and back, and managed to finish her painting. You’re getting to know pastel work now, Oliver, and even I—from just a glimpse—could tell that the sort of work she’s been doing is far from being sketches. They’re detailed paintings. In fact, from the view I got of it, I’m surprised she’d managed to finish it in just one morning. You saw it, Oliver, and you ought to know. Could she have done it—all that beautiful detail—and walked all the way here, and back—’
‘All right. All right. I agree. She couldn’t have finished that painting and finished off Jennie, in the time.’
‘That’, I said positively, ‘was a joke in the poorest taste, Oliver.’
‘Yes—it was. Sorry.’
‘Let’s go and look at Jennie’s site,’ I said, smiling at him.
We reached the other end of the bridge, and the steep, cobbled walkway faced us. I found that my walking shoes had soles that slipped on the highly polished cobbles. Oliver had no such difficulty, his soles being rubber.
The path mounted, gently curving to our right, until we came to the side of a modern brick building. There was, on its wall, a white signboard, with an arrow pointing to our right, towards Jennie’s chosen painting position. Next to this sign was fastened a brass plaque, with information engraved on its surface. It was, however, in Welsh. The only words that made any sense to me were Owain and Glyndwr. I gathered from this that Owen Glendower had done something of historical interest on this cliff top. Perhaps he had stood there, looking out to sea and waiting for reinforcements that were due to arrive in ships. Or enemies, of course. Or Irishmen, always keen for a good fight, on either side.
We followed the direction of the arrow, walking through a narrow gap in the high yew hedge, and found ourselves on the wide rock platform on which Jennie had chosen to paint—and had died.
This would clearly have been a most advantageous situation for an artist interested in the harbour. Apart from that, the bay was widely visible to the left, so that beyond the estuary and directly ahead was the gentle curve of the headland, on the outside edge of which Paul Wilton, we were given to understand, always chose to settle himself. He would have been clearly visible to Jennie, as she would have been to him. Yet he had not seen her attacked—or so he claimed.
From our position on the platform of rock it was possible to look directly north along the route the coach had taken, and we could detect the indented parallel tracks in the grass. But the grassland seemed more narrow than when we had driven northwards along it. The trees—those hugging the cliffs—now appeared to be more tightly massed. The greenery on the other side reached across and appeared almost to intertwine. It would have been possible to walk to the bridge from along there, hugging the woodland, and not be observed from this site. Only for the last hundred yards before reaching the bridge, and across the bridge itself, would anyone approaching be seen clearly.
