Winifred turned on the computer. As she waited for the icons to come up, another clap of thunder shook the windows and the next moment the rain came, a battering kind of sound, like a hail of bullets… It was a firing squad that had executed Prince Cyril… There seemed to be reminders of death everywhere today… There had been a dead mole in the garden that morning… Winifred had put on her gardening gloves, picked it up, wrapped it in an old copy of the Telegraph and dropped it in the bin. She was not the least bit squeamish.
Documents. Exactly what she wanted. There it was. For a second she hesitated. No – never slack your hand in the day of battle!
Prince Cyril biography. Delete.
She stooped a little, her eyes above the half-moon glasses fixed on the computer screen. Her hand became busy.
Click – click – click – and click.
There it was. So easy. The work of a moment!
All gone. The so-called ‘biography’ was no more. Thank God.
She could imagine Professor Goldsworthy waiting in vain for the Vane papers…
It was all over! The relief of it! The damage had been undone. She felt the knot in her stomach start loosening. She had been envisaging problems. She had imagined Miss Hope might put up a fight!
‘Well done,’ she told Miss Hope. ‘Now take Tancred’s black leather notebook – there it is – and put it in your bag. We’ll deal with that later. How about a bonfire tonight?’
Winifred thought she heard the stairs creak, then the sound of footfalls across the landing. Suddenly she remembered the slamming of the car door she had heard earlier on. Had she imagined it? Could Tancred have returned? Her hand went up to her mouth. What if Tancred were suddenly to come into Pupil Room? What would he do when he realized she had destroyed the Prince Cyril biography? Well, it would be a shock – he might fly off the handle – he might get into a blind rage, pick up the owl doorstop and She told herself that such wild fantasies were unworthy of her. Tancred would never hurt her. Besides, she couldn’t imagine Tancred in a blind rage – going berserk – no, of course not – why, he was the gentlest of men – apart from being a gentleman.
She heard a scraping sound – exactly as though the owl had been removed from the space between the door and the floor.
‘You must get out of here, quick,’ Miss Hope whispered urgently in her ear. ‘Don’t stand and stare. Turn round. Look behind you!’
Winifred’s hand went up to her forehead. ‘I have the strangest feeling there are two people inside me.’
The next moment the blow fell.
Without a sound she slumped to the floor.
33
Murder in Pupil Room
It was some time after lunch.
Major Payne pointed with the stem of his pipe. ‘Look at the rain!’
‘It’s horrible. Enough to break the windows. It’s been now – what? Three hours?’ Antonia sighed. ‘England’s got so little to recommend it, really. It’s on days like these that I dream of emigrating to Italy. What was it you said about Morland? You thought he looked guilty when he came to you asking for help – he had a haunted air about him?’
‘He seemed guilty, yes. I don’t think I imagined it. But Morland has no motive as such. Why should he want to kill the woman he was about to marry, the woman for whom he had ditched Melisande Chevret? He loved her, didn’t he?’
‘Actually, Hugh, I don’t think he did.’
Payne’s left eyebrow went up. ‘What’s this? Don’t tell me it’s anything to do with the… Corrida Hotel?’
‘Well, it is… I have a theory,’ said Antonia a little apologetically.
The next moment Payne’s mobile phone rang and he took it out of his pocket.
‘Sorry… What slaves we are to these things… Hello?’
‘Major Payne? Oh, Major Payne! Thank God!’
‘That you, Vane? Whatever’s happened?’
‘Something dreadful – she’s been killed – the body is in my study – lots of blood-’
‘Slow down a bit… Who’s been killed?’
‘Miss Hope!’
‘There’s no such person as Miss Hope.’
‘I mean Melisande! Melisande Chevret. The actress!’ The biographer’s voice rose on a hysterical note.
‘Melisande?’ The next moment Payne remembered that Vane was a bit behind with his facts. But explanations could wait. ‘Are you sure she is dead?’
‘Yes. Her head has been bashed in. It’s terrible. She is in Pupil Room – my study – there’s blood everywhere!’
‘Have you called the police?’
‘I haven’t! I thought I would call you first.’ Vane’s voice quavered. ‘I am frightened, Major Payne. It’s happened twice! Two murders in my house. The police will say it’s me! They are bound to!’
‘Don’t jump to conclusions, Vane. And don’t touch anything. We are coming.’ He turned to Antonia. ‘Allons-y.’
They drove through the pelting rain. The windscreen wipers writhed like living things as they struggled to keep the flood in check.
‘What if it is Melisande who has turned up dead?’ Antonia murmured. ‘For some reason, Melisande might have gone to the Villa Byzantine dressed up as Miss Hope…’
‘That, my love, would be one of those logic-defying twists which are relished by genre addicts and condemned by the unhooked as nothing better than annoying childish tricks.’
‘Don’t you think you are driving too fast?’
‘Melisande might have gone to the Villa Byzantine dressed up as her sister dressed up as Miss Hope. Sorry. I forgot you disapproved of double bluffs.’
‘What I disapprove of is speeding in a deluge. Please, Hugh, don’t look at me – keep your eyes on the road! We’ll have an accident!’
The Villa Byzantine was fully illuminated and looked incongruously festive. It brought to mind the Royal Albert Hall at the start of the Proms. Tancred Vane seemed to have walked about turning on all the lights.
‘Leaving his fingerprints everywhere, silly fellow,’ Payne said.
‘Well, his fingerprints are already everywhere,’ Antonia pointed out. ‘He needn’t account for them. It’s his house.’
Tancred Vane ushered them in. He was deadly pale. His bow-tie was askew. He didn’t say a word. He was shaking. Payne patted his arm. The royal biographer led the way up the Carrollian staircase and into the study.
Major Payne’s eye had become practised in taking in swiftly every detail of what a murder scene had to offer. The body lay face downwards beside the mahogany desk. He knelt beside it and, overcoming his extreme revulsion, gently tipped the head to one side so that he could get a good view of it.
Eyes open and glazed. Theatrical make-up. Vertical lines painted in, from nose down to each side of mouth. Somewhat smudged. White wig. Tight curls. Helmet-like coiffure of the ‘indestructible’ kind. No, not indestructible – it hadn’t succeeded in cushioning the blow – the blows – she had been hit several times. It hadn’t prevented her skull from being smashed.
So she had come to the Villa Byzantine as before, dressed up as Miss Hope… What could have been going on in her mind?
‘It’s Winifred all right,’ said Payne. He rose to his feet.
The royal biographer stared. ‘Winifred?’
‘Yes, Vane. Her name is Winifred Willard.’
‘I thought her name was Melisande Chevret.’
‘This is Melisande’s sister. It was she who was in love with you. Winifred was Miss Hope. We thought it was Melisande but then we had a sudden revelation. Thanks to my aunt, actually. It happened last night.’
‘Thanks to your aunt?’
‘You would be perfectly justified in imagining that all reason had disintegrated and the universe had turned into a brainless harlequinade, but I assure you-’
‘She’s been killed with the owl,’ Tancred Vane said wildly. He pointed to the blood-bespattered doorstop that lay halfway between the body and the study door. ‘Somebody picked up the owl and hit her with it.’
‘That indeed was the way it was done,’ agreed Payne.
‘She phoned me last night – at some unearthly hour. She said she wanted to meet me urgently this morning – not here – at the British Library. At midday, she said. She said she wanted to speak to me. It was a matter of life and death. I tried to call you – but I couldn’t get an answer. I left a message.’