“The day,” said Jasper, “has not been without incident.”
“No.”
They began to move away.
“I’m afraid you have been distressed by it,” said Jasper. “Like my poorest Julia and, for a different reason, my tiresome baby brother.”
“Haven’t you?” Ricky asked. Jasper came to a halt.
“Been distressed? Not profoundly, I’m afraid. I didn’t see her, you know. I have a theory that the full shock and horror of a death is only experienced when it has been seen. I must, however, confess to a reaction in myself at one point of which I daresay I should be ashamed. I don’t know that I am, however.”
“Am I to hear what it was?”
“Why not? It happened when the ambulance men came into the yard here, carrying Miss Harkness on their covered stretcher. I had been thinking: thank God I wasn’t the one to find them. The remains, as of course they will be labeled. And then, without warning, there came upon me a — really a quite horribly strong impulse to go up to the stretcher and uncover it. I almost believe that if it could have been accomplished in a flash with a single flourish I would have done it — like Antony revealing Caesar’s body to the Romans. But of course the cover was fastened down and it would have been a fiddling, silly business and they would have stopped me. But why on earth should such a notion come upon me? Really, we do not know ourselves, do we?”
“It looks like it.”
“Confession may be good for the soul,” Jasper said lightly, “but I must say I find it a profoundly embarrassing exercise.”
“He’s coming.”
Mr. Harkness came out of the house under escort, like the victim of an accident. Doctor Carey and Sergeant Plank had him between them, their hands under his arms. The driver got down and opened the rear doors. His colleague looked out.
“It’ll only take a moment,” they heard Dr. Carey say.
On one impulse they turned and walked away, around the house and down the drive, not speaking to each other. A motorcycle roared down the cliff road, turned in at the gates, and, with little or no diminution of speed, bore down upon them.
“Look who’s here,” said Jasper.
It was Syd Jones. At first it seemed that he was going to ignore them but at the last moment he cut down his engine and skidded to a halt.
“G’ day,” he said morosely and exclusively to Jasper. “How’s tricks?”
They looked wildly at each other.
“Seen Dulce?” asked Syd.
ii
Any number of distracted reactions tumbled about in Ricky’s head. For an infinitesimal moment he actually thought Syd wanted to know if he’d seen dead Dulce with the broken body. Then he thought “we’ve got to tell him” and then that dead Dulce might be carrying Syd’s baby (this was the first time he’d remembered about what would doubtless be referred to as her “condition”). He had no idea how long this state of muddled thinking persisted, but their silence or their manner must have been strange because Syd said, “What’s wrong?” He spoke directly to Jasper and had not looked at Ricky.
Jasper said: “There’s been an accident. I’m afraid this is going to be a shock.”
“It’s bad news, Syd,” Ricky said. Because he thought he ought to and because he was unexpectedly filled with a warmth of compassion for Syd, he laid a hand on his arm and was much discomforted when Syd shook him off without a glance.
“It’s about Dulcie Harkness,” Jasper said.
“What about her? Did you say an accident? Here!” Syd demanded. “What are you on about? Is she dead? Or what?”
“I’m afraid she is, Syd,” Ricky ventured.
After a considerable pause he said, “Poor old Dulce.” And then to Jasper: “What happened?”
Jasper told him. Syd was, Ricky knew, a quite remarkably inexpressive person and allowances had to be made for that. He seemed to be sobered, taken aback, even perturbed, but, quite clearly, not shattered. And still he would not look at Ricky.
“You can hardly credit it,” he mumbled.
He seemed to turn the information over in his mind and after doing so for some time said: “She was pregnant. Did you know that?”
“Well, yes,” Jasper said. “Yes, we did.”
“They’ll find that out, won’t they?”
“Yes, I expect they will.”
“Too bad,” he said.
Jasper caught Ricky’s eye and made a slight face at him.
“Who,” he asked, “is the father?”
“I dunno,” said Syd, almost cheerfully. “And I reckon she didn’t. She was quite a girl.”
Somebody else had used the phrase about her. Recently. It was Louis, Ricky remembered, Louis Pharamond in the Fisherman’s Rest at Bon Accord.
“Where’s the old man?” Syd asked Jasper.
“In the house. The doctor’s there. And a police sergeant.”
“What’s he want?” Syd demanded.
“They have to make a formal appearance at fatal accidents,” Ricky said and was ignored.
“He’s very much upset,” said Jasper.
“Who is?”
“Mr. Harkness.”
“He warned her, didn’t he? You heard him.”
“Of course he did.”
“Fair enough, then. What’s he got to worry about?”
“Good God!” Jasper burst out and then checked himself.
“My dear Jones,” he urged. “The man’s had a monstrous shock. His niece has been killed. He’s had to identify her body. He’s—”
“Aw,” said Syd. “That, yeah.”
And to Ricky’s bewilderment he actually turned pale.
“That’s different again,” he said. “That could be grotty, all right.”
He stood for a moment or two with his head down, looking at his boots. Then he hitched his shoulder, settled himself on his seat, and revved up his engine.
“Where are you going?” Jasper shouted.
“Back,” he said. “No sense going on, is there? It was her I wanted to see.”
They stood and watched him. He kicked the ground, turned his machine, and roared off the way he had come.
“That creature’s a monster,” said Jasper.
“He may be a monster,” Ricky said, “but there’s one thing we can be sure he’s not.”
“Really? Oh, I see what you mean. Yes, I suppose we can.”
The sound of the motorcycle faded.
“That’s a bloody expensive machine,” Ricky said.
“Oh?”
“New.”
“Really?” said Jasper without interest. “Shall we shog?”
It was an opulent evening, as if gold dust had been shaken out of some heavenly sifter, laying a spell over an unspectacular landscape. Even the effects of chiaroscuro were changed so that details, normally close at hand, were set at a golden remove. L’Espérance itself was enskied by inconsequent drifts of cloud at its base. The transformation would have been a bit too much of a good thing, Ricky thought, if its impermanence had not lent it a sort of austerity. Even as they saw the glow on each other’s face, it faded and the evening was cold.
“Ricky,” Jasper said, “come up and have a drink and supper with us. We would like you to come.”
But Ricky thought it best to say no and they parted at the entrance to the drive. He mounted his bicycle and was sharply reminded of his saddle-soreness.
When he got back to the cove it was to find that news of the accident was already broadcast. Mrs. Ferrant met him in the passage.
“This is a terrible business, then,” she said without any preliminaries and stared at Ricky out of her stewed-prune eyes. He had no mind to discuss it with her, anticipating a series of greedy questions. He remembered Mrs. Ferrant’s former reactions to mention of Dulcie Harkness.
“They’re saying it was a horse-riding accident,” she probed. “That’s correct, is it? They’re saying there was arguments with the uncle, upalong, over her being too bold with her jumping. Is it true, then, what they’re saying, that you was a witness to the accident? Was it you that found her, then? There’s a terrible retribution for you, isn’t it, whatever she may have been in the past?”