A Mortal Sin (16 page)

“Stay in the house,” he ordered. “Don’t let anyone in. Anyone at all, you understand. Until I get there.”

“Hurry please, I’m so frightened.”

“Is there a gun?”

“Yes, I’ve got it.”

“Use it if you have to.” They were suddenly cut off. The line went absolutely dead.

Should she put the light on and frighten any intruder away? No. Better to sit quietly in the dark so whoever was out there would assume the place was empty. What if it was a robber? He would welcome an empty house. She almost switched the light on. If it was a rapist or murderer, better for him to think no one was home. Oh God, what a dilemma.

Perspiration broke out on her skin. She could feel it running in rivulets between her breasts. One minute she felt hot, the next freezing. She waited, huddled on the floor, fingering the cold steel of the gun. Would she have the guts to fire it? After what seemed like hours, the sound of a car roaring up the drive came to her.

“Paul!” She jumped up and dashed towards the door then stopped. What if it wasn’t him?

“Daphne! Daphne are you there? It’s me.” His voice was a soothing litany in her ears, and she collapsed in a trembling heap on the floor. “Daphne, for God’s sake! Answer me.”

“Paul, Paul,” she sobbed his name, over and over.

“Open up.”

She tried to stand up but couldn’t, so on her hands and knees she crawled to the door and dragged herself upright.

“Daphne, for God’s sake.”

She fumbled with the bolt. There was a rush of air then she was in Paul’s arms and sobbing wildly.

“It’s all right, my darling, it’s all right.” The light blazed so suddenly its glare blinded her.

“There was someone out there, Paul.” Two soldiers accompanied him.

 “Search outside, will you?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Did you have a nightmare?”

“No, I heard something outside. Awful moaning and thuds. It was horrible.”

“Jesus Christ!” The loud exclamation had Paul releasing her and sprinting towards the back. On legs that felt like jelly she made to follow.

“Stay inside.” His barked command stopped her in her tracks.

“Bloody hell, sir, look at this.”

When Paul returned his face was ashen. “I want you to stay in the house. Don’t come out. I’m going to call the police.”

“What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

He swallowed a couple of times. “Molly’s dead.”

“Dead?” She stared at him in disbelief.

“It must have been her trying to get into the house after someone attacked her.”

“Oh my God, I didn’t let her in.”

“It wouldn’t have made any difference. She’s got shocking head injuries, must have been a strong woman to make it back here. I doubt if most men could have done it.”

Daphne stood there with tears streaming down her face. “She probably ran off the road, that old car of hers is a death trap.”

“I’m sorry. It doesn’t look like that at all. She was murdered.”

When Daphne regained consciousness, she lay on her bed with Paul massaging her hands.

“Murdered, did you say?”

“I’m afraid so, the police are here now. I’ll have to see them. Lie quietly I’ll be back soon.”

“Paul.”

“Yes.” He swung around. “Thank you for coming.”

She maneuvered herself off the bed after he left the room. By hanging on to the furniture, she stumbled out into the hallway then wished she hadn’t.

“It’s a miracle she made it back here, her head is staved in,” an unfamiliar voice said.

Darkness engulfed her once more. When her eyes focused again, Paul’s anxious face hovered near hers.

“You should have stayed in the bedroom.” He scooped her up. “Forget anything you heard out there.”

“Was she awfully beaten?”

“I’m afraid so, Sunshine. Whoever murdered her must have been in a frenzy.”

“Anything else?” She could not bear to utter the words.

“The police don’t think so, but they’ll know for sure after the doctor has been.”

“Poor Molly.”

“There’s nothing for us to do here now. I’ll throw a few things in a case for you.”

“I’ve got nowhere to go, Paul.”

“I’ll take you to a hotel.”

“I want to stay with you, please. I haven’t got much money.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll be responsible for all your expenses.”

He used his thumb to push back the tumbled hair from her forehead.

“I don’t even have a job now,” she whispered.

“Don’t worry, I’ll look after you.”

“Let me stay with you. I’ll go mad if I’m left alone in some strange place. Except for Helen Sawyer, I don’t really know anyone here. Molly and I didn’t socialize much.”

He hesitated. “All right.” He sounded like he could refuse her nothing. “I’ll grab up a few things for you.”

She clutched at his arm, whimpering piteously. “Don’t leave me.”

“Darling, I won’t.”

Daphne remembered little of the drive to Paul’s bungalow. He kept her close to him with an arm about her shoulder.

 “My boy will have gone to bed by now, but I’ll get him up if there’s anything you need. There are two bedrooms, the master bedroom is mine and there is a smaller one for guests. Would you like some tea?”

“No thanks.” Her voice was scarcely more than a whisper.

He showed her the bathroom that separated the two bedrooms and asked. “Is there anything you want?”

She shook her head.

“Here we are.” He placed the case on the floor in the bedroom. “If you want anything yell out. I have to be at H.Q. early, so I’ll see you when I get back. Probably best if you don’t leave here, there could be a few reporters sniffing around.”

After he left, she pulled the bedclothes back and crawled between the sheets. She adjusted the mosquito nets and closed her eyes tightly to blot out the horror. She wanted to cry and scream at the awfulness of it all. Poor Molly. Who could have done such a fiendish thing? Her eyes were burning and sore from weeping, and it felt as if a dozen hammers pounded the inside of her head.

She lay in the darkness listening, for God alone knew what. When Paul’s light went out, it was suddenly pitch black. Sheer exhaustion allowed her to drift off, but her sleep was peppered with nightmares. She jackknifed into a sitting position and sat there trembling. Impossible to stay alone for even a moment longer. She wanted Paul. He was her lifeline to sanity.

She slid out of bed. Feeling her way to the main bedroom, she found the mosquito netting and pushed it aside. He slept soundly, his breathing regular and even.

“Paul.”

He muttered something. She heard the sheet rustling as he moved. She was shivering, yet her nightgown was damp with perspiration. Putting out a trembling hand, she touched his bare shoulder.

“What’s the matter?” he asked groggily.

“Let me stay here with you.”

“Daphne, what are you doing?”

“I keep having nightmares about Molly. I can’t stay on my own, anymore, I can’t.”

“For God’s sake. What are you trying to do to me?” Even as he spoke he moved aside for her. He wore cotton pajama pants, she vaguely noticed and his bare chest felt damp.

“I’m not afraid with you.” She cuddled up to him.

Almost immediately Daphne drifted into an exhausted sleep. He lay there savoring her nearness, inhaling the sweet perfume of her skin. He slid one hand along the full length of her body, despising himself for the sudden surge of passion his movement evoked.

When Daphne awoke next morning she was alone in the large double bed. Had she dreamed last night’s shocking events? Of course not. She shuddered. Molly, who had been such a staunch friend, was dead. It was unbelievable.

After bathing and dressing, she wandered into the dining section of the large sitting room. The furniture was of white painted cane, with brightly colored cushions and rugs, serviceable and functional, befitting a man living on his own.

From the small, well-ordered kitchen, a back door led to a trellis groaning under the weight of exotic vines.

An old Chinaman jabbed at the ground with a hoe. He did not speak, just bowed as she passed by. Back inside the house, a grinning youth, immaculate in white trousers and shirt greeted her. “I am Sam, Major Ashfield’s houseboy.” He spoke excellent English, with the merest trace of an accent.

“Hello, I’m Daphne Clarke. Do you think I might have some tea, please.”

“My wife will be happy to make it for you.”

“Do you live here, Sam?”

“Our quarters are down there.” He waved his hand to indicate a small, whitewashed house half hidden behind a huge tree. His wife was little more than a child, seeming about sixteen or so. She was much lighter skinned than him, almost certainly a half-caste, yet she spoke no English.

Daphne could not hide her puzzlement. “We are newly married, SuSu comes from one of the inland villages,” Sam explained.

“Oh.”

“Her name is…” he gabbled something Daphne had no hope of understanding. “You could not pronounce it, the Major has trouble too.” He grinned while the girl merely bowed her head.

The day dragged. Daphne either paced the floor, read or drank cups of tea supplied by the silent SuSu. She shuddered on reading the news report of Molly’s murder in the paper Sam brought in with the market shopping. The police were continuing their investigations the papers went on to say.

A number of reporters called. Somehow they must have tracked her down. They became so persistent her only recourse was to leave the phone off the hook and refuse to see anyone who came around.

* * *

Paul came home in the middle of the afternoon, hot, worried and irritable.

 “Had a bad day?” She met him in the sitting room.

“Bloody terrible.” What an understatement? He flung himself into a chair. “See about getting me a cold drink, will you, please.” He raked his fingers through his hair. A garbled message from one of his Coast Watchers had been cut off mid-sentence, and that coupled with the furor over Molly’s death had help make the day a real bloody shocker. Daphne got his usual stengah, which was half whisky and soda.

“Thanks, where are the servants?”

“Around.”

“They’re damn slack. God, this place is getting to me.” He undid the top button on his shirt. “Seen the afternoon papers?”

“No, the morning edition sickened me.”

“We’ve made the front page. I warned you not to talk to any reporters.”

“I didn’t.”

“Well, how the hell do they know you spent the night here with me?”

“I don’t know. What did they say?”

“Read it. They shouldn’t be allowed to print such scurrilous filth. I even had Brigadier Charlesworth breathing down my neck, wanting to know what was going on.”

Under the headlines, ‘Local Doctor Slain’, was the story of how Dr Gratton’s assistant had spent the night in the quarters of Major Paul Ashfield. Daphne felt sickened, especially when they went on to state that there were rumors of Major Ashfield and Miss Clarke having had an intimate relationship in Australia in 1938.

“They shouldn’t be allowed to print such things, it isn’t fair. They make me sound like some common tart waiting for a chance to jump into bed with you.”

“Forget them. Maybe it would be better if you stayed at a hotel.”

“No please.” She wrung her hand. She wanted Paul, no-one else. “Let me stay here with you, please,” she pleaded until he finally gave in.

Rumors were rife about the murder. Some people thought it had been the work of Japanese infiltrators, but the government line was a robbery gone wrong.

Molly Gratton’s sexual preferences were questioned. How dare they vilify Molly when she was not here to defend herself? Daphne fumed. It was disgraceful, and she felt tempted to contact the paper and tell them what she thought about such contemptible, erroneous reporting.

Paul went white with rage when someone at H.Q. showed him the latest newspaper report. The thought that any part of it might be true sickened him. He had copped a lot of flack over the last few days because of Daphne staying unchaperoned with him.

A white-faced Daphne met him at the front door. “Did you read the afternoon paper?”

“Yes.” He all but pushed past her.

“You don’t believe them, do you?”

He shook her restraining hand off his arm and strode indoors.

“Paul, Paul.” His name came out in a desperate plea that spun him around. “You don’t think it’s true, surely?”

“What am I supposed to believe? You lived in the house with her, just the two of you. I saw the possessive way she stared at you.”

He watched pain darkening her eyes to green. “It isn’t true, I liked her, nothing more and she regarded me as the daughter she never had”

Daphne stood there quiet and dignified with not a vestige of color left in her face. She looked so little and fragile he wanted to comfort her, but some of the poison had infiltrated his system.

“I’ll pack my things and leave. I can’t pay you for my board and lodging yet, but when I get a job I will. Maybe Robbie might be able to loan me some money.”

“It isn’t necessary.” He stood watching her without speaking as she slowly walked towards the guest bedroom, head lowered, shoulders slumped.

“Daphne.”

“Yes.” She swung around.

“Were you and Molly lovers?”

She stared him straight in the face. “I’ve only ever had one lover, Paul.”

The words were softly spoken, yet he heard them as clearly as if she had shouted them from the rooftops.

“Don’t go.” In three strides he caught up to her. “I love you, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have taken any notice of those filthy lies.”

“There can’t be love without trust.”

“I was crazy with jealousy. Let’s get married.”

“Once I would have been the proudest girl in the world to have accepted.”

“Daphne, please, I’ve been a bastard. Can’t you forgive me?”

“I don’t know. If you thought I took a man lover that would have been bad enough, but another woman, it’s revolting.”

“I thought, well maybe she’d taken advantage of you.” He swallowed quickly. “I don’t think I could live without you now. You can’t know how I’ve looked forward to coming home these last few days. To see you waiting at the door, bringing me a drink, just being there. Not asking questions when I didn’t want to talk, the flowers in the rooms. You’ve made this bungalow a home, something I’ve never had before, and that’s why it nearly killed me to think you might have lavished such affection on someone else,” he went on passionately. “I want to be the only person in your life. I don’t want to share you with anyone else. I want you all to myself.”