‘Yes, but...’
‘But what?’ I asked.
‘Why would he do such a thing?’
Why indeed?
‘God, I’m so dreadfully sorry,’ Martin said. ‘I can’t think how it could have happened. I’m so careful when I fill the tanks for the very reason that I know how dangerous the engine exhaust fumes can be.’
He really did sound quite apologetic, and almost believable.
He was standing in the centre of the living room of our apartment at the Coral Stone Club having walked down the beach from his house. It was five o’clock and I had been there about half an hour, having been discharged from the hospital.
Henri and I were sitting next to each other on the sofa in front of him.
Should I come straight out and accuse him of poisoning me on purpose?
Perhaps not just yet.
‘It was strange how none of the other tanks was affected,’ I said.
‘Yes, I thought that,’ Martin replied. ‘You must have been unlucky. I’m always careful about placing the compressor outside in the open, with the engine exhaust downwind from the air intake, but maybe the wind shifted direction, or something, when that particular tank was being filled.’
Or something, I thought. Like purposely turning it round.
‘Who knew I would use the yellow tanks?’ I asked pointedly.
‘The yellow tanks are my guest tanks. They are the easiest to see and I generally give them to the diver who I think needs the most watching. In this case that was you. If Bentley had been diving, he would probably have had them.’
But Bentley hadn’t been diving. He’d brought no swimmers with him.
‘Who knows that?’ I asked.
‘It’s standard practice. At least, it is for me.’ He paused, but he wasn’t finished. ‘Are you seriously suggesting that you were in some way specifically targeted? That someone gave you a contaminated tank on purpose?’
I just looked at him as he built up a head of steam.
‘That’s preposterous. How dare you!’ He looked fit to explode.
‘I’m sure Jeff didn’t mean that,’ Henri said, stepping in to try to defuse the bomb.
But I did mean that. However, it seemed diplomatic not to continue with that line just at the moment.
‘At least I’m fine now,’ I said, smiling at him. ‘Fully recovered.’
He was only a little placated. He turned on his heel and stomped back out to the beach without another word.
Bloody cheek, I thought.
His contaminated dive tank had nearly killed me.
On purpose, or by accident, it was still his fault.
Surely it was I who had the right to be angry, not he.
But Henri was cross with me as well.
‘You simply can’t go around accusing people like that,’ she shouted at me as soon as Martin was out of earshot. ‘What evidence do you have?’
‘I was poisoned,’ I said. ‘There’s no doubt about that. It was one of Martin’s yellow tanks, filled by him, which was responsible. No other tanks appear to have been contaminated. It was Martin who made sure I used the yellow tanks. And, on top of that, he has since emptied the tanks and washed them out so that they can’t be tested for carbon monoxide. OK, I’ll admit the evidence is circumstantial, but... what else am I meant to think?’
‘That’s ridiculous,’ she said. ‘Why on earth would Martin try to kill you? It just doesn’t make any sense. He would be risking everything.’
But Martin was not averse to taking risks.
What had Bentley said to him on the balcony at Newbury?
You’re a total fucking idiot! You absolutely shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t even be in the country. It’s far too risky.
32
An uneasy truce was established between Henri and myself, helped in part by the Chanel № 5 Christmas present, which she adored.
‘It’s my favourite,’ she said, kissing me. ‘Thank you so much.’
However, she was still cross with me, not so much for my initial accusation, but for then not agreeing with her that it was ridiculous, and for not apologizing to Martin.
We had been invited by Theresa to go up to their place for a light supper and some Christmas games. But I was not really in the mood for party games. And especially not for Murder in the Dark.
‘You go,’ I said. ‘I’ll stay here and watch the television. I could do with the rest.’ I leaned my head back on the sofa and put my feet up on the footstool.
‘I’m not going without you,’ she said adamantly. ‘I’m not letting you sulk here like a spoilt schoolboy. So move your blooming arse and get yourself changed.’
I was still wearing the baggy tracksuit I’d been lent by the hospital to come home in.
‘OK, you win.’ I dragged myself upright. ‘Do you know what happened to the shirt I had with me on the boat? And also my phone is missing.’
‘Sorry, I’ve no idea,’ Henri said. ‘I was too busy worrying about you. But I’m sure they’re safe somewhere. Carson Ebanks probably has them.’
I hoped so. Even though I occasionally backed up everything from my phone to my laptop, I hadn’t done it for a while and I’d hate to lose the photos taken on this trip.
As it was getting dark, we walked along the road to the Reynard residence to avoid being bitten by the sand flies on the beach.
Martin’s welcome was less than enthusiastic and his anger simmered just below the surface for most of the evening. He pointedly did not offer me a drink when we arrived, even though he poured a glass of wine for Henri.
Fortunately, Henri noticed, giving me her glass before fetching another for herself. It saved a minor diplomatic incident.
I didn’t care. I could cope with his spiteful little actions with ease. He wasn’t likely to walk up behind me and blow my brains out, as I’d suspected of some of the hosts with whom I’d been a houseguest in Afghanistan. At least, I hoped he wasn’t.
Remarkably, no one asked me if I was all right. In fact, the morning’s incident was not spoken of at all. It was as if the whole thing had never occurred. I soon realized that it was not just my poisoning they were not prepared to discuss; none of them appeared to want to talk to me about anything. Apart from Henri, they were even avoiding eye contact. I put it down to their embarrassment that such a thing could happen to a guest but, nevertheless, I found their behaviour somewhat bizarre.
Only Theresa said anything to me, and that was to ask if I’d enjoyed my Christmas lunch.
‘Yes, thank you,’ I replied. ‘Very thoughtful of you.’
‘I’m sorry there was no Christmas pudding with it,’ she said. ‘That was still steaming when Henrietta left.’ She forced a smile. ‘But you can make up for that tonight. There’s plenty left over.’
During yet another awkward gap in the conversation, I asked if anyone knew the whereabouts of my mobile phone.
There was a collective shaking of heads.
‘Then does anyone have Carson Ebanks’s home telephone number?’
Martin reluctantly gave me the number and I called it using the phone in the kitchen.
‘Sure, man,’ said Carson in his deep resonant voice, ‘I got it.’
That was a relief.
‘Your shirt too, man,’ he said. ‘You OK now?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Fully recovered. Thank you.’
‘Had me worried, there, man,’ he said. ‘First person to pass out on me.’ He sounded anxious. ‘I keep oxygen on the boat, man, in case. First time I used it.’
‘What happened wasn’t your fault,’ I said to him. ‘In fact, it was your prompt action in giving me the oxygen that probably saved me.’