Moon was becoming impatient. She no longer enjoyed making every little detail fit in. She was getting bored. She yawned.
‘Sacred got interested all right. Maybe Julia’s voice reminded him of his late mother’s voice? Guys like Sacred are all twisted inside. Most English guys are twisted inside. Sacred agrees to a meeting. They meet and they talk and then – then they become lovers.’
‘You are making this up, aren’t you?’
‘Julia is strong and domineering. Sacred Crane is weak and perhaps he likes to be whipped, or tied up, so it was a perfect match. Julia then asked him to help her. She told him she wanted Stella Markoff dead – eliminated.’ Moon made a slashing gesture across her throat with her right hand.
‘Why should Julia want Stella dead?’
Morland really didn’t know what to do. Should he tell Moon about Antonia Darcy? About what Antonia Darcy had done? Moon might be very young but she was intelligent, what she called a ‘smart cookie’; she was faster and cleverer than him, so she might – she just might think of a way out. He knew he was clutching at straws.
‘Julia knew that once you were married to Mother, she would have to say goodbye to all the money you’ve got in the bank. Julia planned everything. I was going to be the patsy. That’s why she used the sword, to throw suspicion on me – because I am maladjusted and mad about swords and beheadings and blood and stuff. I am the most obvious suspect, see?’
A lot of silly nonsense, Morland thought, though of course he didn’t dare say so. The next moment he frowned. What was it Moon had said earlier on? Something which had sent an inexplicable shiver down his spine ‘Julia drove Mother to the Villa Byzantine in her car. Sacred was there of course, but it was Julia who killed her. Julia took the sword off the wall and – swoosh.’ Moon yawned. ‘I hate this hotel – I really hate it – couldn’t we go some other place? I liked the Corrida Hotel better. Why don’t we go there any more?’
Her voice rose plaintively. She sounded like a child now. They were sitting on the double bed. Outside it was a grey afternoon. The rain had stopped. It was very quiet.
‘When are we moving into your new house, James? I like the new house. I think it’s the coolest house ever.’
‘I am glad you like it.’
Should he tell her? What a mess he had got himself into. What have I done? Morland thought in sudden panic.
‘One thing I must make clear, James. When we get married, I am not taking on your name. No way. Moon Morland sounds the dumbest name ever! What’s the matter with you? I don’t like it when you look sad. Come here,’ she said softly. ‘Come here.’
At the touch of her hand he shut his eyes. His physical reaction was so sharp, so powerful, so overwhelming, it blotted out all rational thought. Not that there’d been much rational thought in the first place.
Each time it felt like that very first time Holding her, smelling her, tasting her. He had feared he might faint with the ecstasy of it. He had broken down and wept. Never before had lovemaking been such an uplifting experience – so glorious, so infinitely rewarding!
He made a sound at the back of his throat, a kind of whimper.
She drew his head towards hers and kissed him on the lips.
35
The Cry of an Owl
It was the following morning. Antonia had made herself a cup of coffee when the telephone rang.
‘Miss Darcy? James Morland speaking.’
‘Oh, hello.’
There it was. She had been right. It hadn’t taken him too long. She looked at the clock: ten minutes past ten.
‘Would it be possible for me to have a word with you?’
‘Of course. I’ve been expecting you to call,’ Antonia said conversationally. Let him see he was not mistaken. Let him realize that his worst fears had been confirmed. Don’t let there be the slightest doubt in his mind that she knew. ‘Would you like to come to us? You’ve been to our house before, haven’t you?’
‘Would your husband be there?’
‘Would you rather he weren’t?’
‘I suppose he knows?’
‘He knows, yes.’
‘Do the-?’ Morland broke off. Clearly he was going to ask whether the police knew too, since in the end that was what really mattered. He was probably clinging to the hope that he might be able to strike some kind of a bargain with Antonia. ‘I will be with you in about an hour,’ he said tonelessly.
Despite herself, Antonia felt sorry for him. She believed that girl had led him on. Still, he was the adult. He should have known better. A fifteen-year-old girl.
There was such a thing as self-control.
She hadn’t seen him since the evening of Melisande’s birthday party at Kinderhook and she wondered whether she would have recognized him if she bumped into him in the street. Probably not – not unless he reminded her where they’d met and who he was.
At the party he had looked florid and festive in his Paisley-patterned tie. He hadn’t said anything remotely interesting, certainly nothing memorable. Blissfully uncomplicated, Hugh had said. Devoid of hidden depths. He was a recognizable type. One saw chaps like James Morland at superior gentlemen’s clubs – dozing at board meetings – taking their time over the wine list at expensive restaurants, usually in the company of a horsey lady – watching a cricket match at Lord’s, Pimm’s in hand, a white panama on their head, their face the colour of ripe tomato.
He looked different now.
He had lost weight and his expensive tweed jacket hung loosely on him. A candy-striped silk handkerchief stuck out of his breast pocket. His face was extremely pale and haggard as though with lack of sleep. Gone was the ruddy hue. He didn’t seem to have had a haircut recently. He hadn’t shaved either. In a funny kind of way he looked younger, raffish, somewhat dissolute. His eyes were bright, feverish.
‘Would you like some tea or coffee?’
‘No, thank you.’
‘Won’t you sit down?’
He sat on the sofa, making it creak. He was still a heavy man. She glanced at his hands. Big, well-tended hands ‘Why did you pay my bill at the hotel?’ Morland spoke without preamble. He was staring at the floor. Keeping custody of his eyes like a nun, Antonia thought incongruously. ‘What business was it of yours?’ He sounded a little breathless.
‘It was none of my business, you are right.’ She remained standing, giving herself, she reflected, an advantage of sorts.
‘You had no right to meddle in my affairs. No right at all.’ His voice rose slightly. ‘My private life is my own.’
Antonia walked slowly away from the sofa and stood beside the window. She hoped he wouldn’t make a scene. Hugh would be down any moment now. Not that she feared Morland would try to assault her. Still, she would feel safer with Hugh in the room.
‘I wouldn’t have gone to the Corrida Hotel,’ she said, ‘if it hadn’t been for Stella’s murder.’
‘You think – the two are connected? The hotel and the murder?’
‘I believe they are… Not the hotel as such-’ Antonia broke off. ‘There has been a second murder.’
This time he looked at her. ‘What second murder?’
‘Winifred Willard was killed yesterday at the Villa Byzantine.’
‘Winifred? Melisande’s sister? Are you serious?’
‘We saw the body.’
‘I don’t believe you.’ He shook his head. ‘Melisande would have told me about it. She would have telephoned me. You are lying.’
‘Melisande has been admitted to hospital. She’s had a nervous breakdown. Didn’t you know?’
‘I don’t believe you. You are lying,’ he said again. ‘What gave you the idea I’d stayed at the Corrida Hotel?’
‘You dropped a receipt the first time you came here. It was headed “The Corrida Hotel, Earls Court”. You had paid for a room, a bottle of champagne and a can of Red Bull. I thought it an unusual combination. I didn’t think you were the kind of man who would drink champagne with Red Bull. Actually, you didn’t seem to know what Red Bull was when it was mentioned – don’t you remember? At Melisande’s birthday party?’