Smile and be a Villain (18 page)

‘Is this the number of the house we saw last night?' I asked Alan. ‘I can't remember.'

‘Yes, I remember seeing it on the door. Thirty-seven. It's a long street.'

We got there, eventually. The heavy rain reduced visibility and made the cobbled streets slippery, but Alan drove slowly and carefully, and finally stopped in front of Guillot's door. ‘There's no place to park,' he said. He didn't sound as irritated about it as I would have. A village in this part of the world often has ‘no place to park', as cars are a very recent innovation in the long history of civilization here. ‘I'll stay with the car, if you wouldn't mind knocking on the door. I'm afraid you'll get very wet.'

‘I have an umbrella.'

Even so, I did get very wet, and to no avail. There was no answer to my knock, and no light showing inside on such a dark day.

I brought a good deal of water into the car with me. ‘It's a good thing the seats are leather,' I said, trying to arrange my raincoat to shed the least possible amount. ‘Nobody's home.'

‘So I saw. So the next step is the phone.'

Several rings. Voicemail. I left a brief message and punched off. ‘Well, that's that. Shall we try the hospital again, or is it still too early?'

‘Still a little too early. And before I forget, I'm running out of cash. Let's find a cash point somewhere.'

There were several banks in Victoria Street, one very close to our B & B. ‘Alan, don't even try to park. Let me out and I'll run to the bank while you drive around. I'll wait at Belle Isle.'

‘“Run” being the operative word. I think you're right, love.'

He dropped me off just in front of the bank. There was an ATM on the front wall, and I tried to shield myself with my umbrella while punching in my PIN and completing the transaction. A sudden gust of wind caught the umbrella and turned it inside out, and in the process of trying to close it and put my money away, I dropped a twenty-pound note, which went flying.

A woman just coming up to the door stepped on it just as it was about to head for France, and bent over to pick it up and hand it to me. ‘A trifle soggy,' she said with a smile, ‘but still negotiable, I think. Here, you'd best come in out of the rain to deal with that brolly. Isn't this weather frightful?'

She held the door open for me. We stood and dripped in the foyer.

I had known her the moment I saw her, and when she took off her plastic rain hat and shook it, and wiped the rain off her glasses, she recognized me, too.

‘Why, Mrs Martin!'

‘And you're Rebecca Smith. I'm glad to run into you. I've been wanting to say how much I enjoyed the anthem on Sunday.'

‘Yes, that's a beautiful setting of the Twenty-Third Psalm, isn't it? I've loved it ever since I heard it on
The Vicar of Dibley
. But one of our tenors was missing, which spoiled it a bit. One needs a good tenor section for that piece.'

‘Oh, yes, I believe someone mentioned him. Mr Guillot, wasn't it?'

She gave me a sharp look. ‘What have you heard about him?'

Uh-oh. She was in the Saint William camp. I'd better be careful. ‘I overheard someone say that he was a regular churchgoer and a member of the choir.'

‘And did someone tell you he was one of the principal forces in the group that disliked poor Mr Abercrombie?'

‘Well, as a matter of fact—'

Someone walked in the door just then.

‘Oh, dear, we can't stand here blocking traffic. I'll let you finish your banking.'

‘I work here. And I'd better get on with it.' She pushed open the door leading to the bank proper.

I followed her. ‘Actually, if you have a moment, I wondered if you have any idea where Mr Guillot might be. I'm anxious to talk to him, and he doesn't seem to be home.'

‘I have no idea where he's got to, nor when he'll be back. He has never before missed choir practice, much less a Sunday service. I'm quite anxious about him; if you find him ask him to call me.' She lowered her voice. ‘And you can tell him, too, that I don't believe a word of all those rumours that are going around about Mr Abercrombie and his supposed crimes back in America. I wouldn't be a bit surprised if Harold hadn't started them himself. He's probably gone off-island to avoid the backlash!'

There was no point in telling her that the ‘rumours' came straight from American authorities. She'd find out soon enough, and it would upset her greatly, poor dear. I went back out in the rain and did my best imitation of a sprint across the street to wait in the doorway of Belle Isle for Alan to come round again. It occurred to me that the name was another example of Alderney French; if I remembered correctly, the ‘real' French would be spelled Île.

Alan arrived, and as I got in the car, dripping still more rain on the seat, he said, ‘Do you want to change into dry clothes before we visit Alice?'

‘No. I'd just get wet again. Might as well wait until we're settled for a while.' I told him about my encounter with Rebecca. ‘She's now definitely wary of me. I doubt she'll talk to us again about anything important.'

‘Making enemies left and right, aren't we? For speaking the truth.'

‘That's been known to happen.'

Alice was looking a good deal better. They had managed to find something to deal with her mosquito and flea bites; the lumps were down and she looked as though she had slept. She greeted us with a half-smile. ‘Thank you for coming. You're my only visitors, except for Phil.'

‘Well, Mr Lewison …'

‘Yes, but he's clergy; it's part of his job. No one else from church, no neighbours … I'm sorry. I didn't mean to moan.'

‘Your son?'

‘He lives in New Zealand. He phoned and asked if he should come; I told him it wasn't as bad as all that and to save his money.'

‘Wise decision, I think. Does he have a good job there?'

‘It's with a start-up tech company. He's confident they'll grow, but at the moment he's struggling. I'm thinking of moving out to be with him.'

She sounded listless; her voice was grey.

‘I think Phil would be unhappy about that,' I ventured.

‘Phil wants me to marry him. I thought I might, before That Man came to Alderney. Now … there's nothing left of me to give anyone. Everything was eaten up in my hatred of him.'

‘Have you talked to Mr Lewison about that?'

‘No. What's the point? Everyone at the parish church thought he was a marvel. No one would believe me.'

I hesitated, looking over at Alan, who was sitting silently on the other side of the bed. He gave the slightest of nods. ‘Alice, there are a few things you need to know. First, we told Mr Lewison about your experience. He didn't mention it to you?'

She sat up, looking less grey. In fact, she looked very angry. ‘How dare you! I told you that in confidence!'

‘I know that. We told him only after he told us something that I want to pass along to you. Mr Abercrombie's thefts at his American church have been discovered, and he would have been arrested if he had not left before he was discovered. Nothing has been proven, and now he is dead the case will be dropped, but I thought you'd want to know. Everyone in Alderney will soon know the truth.'

She sat back, stunned. ‘Too late,' she whispered finally. ‘Too late for Aleta.'

‘But not too late for her memory. Or for you.' I leaned forward and touched her hand. ‘Alice, she died, but you're still alive. You have a son who loves you and a good man who wants to marry you. You have a life ahead of you. You can let yourself be consumed by hatred of a man who is now in the hands of perfect justice, or you can let go of it. I don't say forgive him. That may come eventually, but for now you need to stop letting him control your life. He never did deserve that kind of power, and he certainly doesn't now.'

She had turned her face to the wall. I clasped her hand firmly, then let go, and we left.

‘Any good?' I asked as we got back into the car.

‘Time will tell. She needed to hear all that, but whether she'll do anything about it …' He shrugged. ‘I want a thumping good lunch. Let's go and change clothes and then find one.'

The rain was slacking off, which was a good thing, because Alan had to park quite a long way from Belle Isle.

‘We're going to have to walk to wherever we eat,' I said when we were changing. I put on the lovely clean clothes that our wonderful helper had washed, dried, folded and put neatly on our bed. ‘Are you sure you don't want to eat leftovers right here?'

‘Quite sure.'

‘Then let's try Gloria's. It's close, and they might not be booked up, as it's early.'

We were lucky. We got the last table and had a lovely meal of tapas, portions generous enough that we could take some back to add to our eclectic collection of leftovers.

When we had finished, we went outside to find that the rain had stopped and a watery sunshine was trying to brighten the day. I pulled out my phone as we walked back to our room and tried Guillot again. Voicemail.

‘You know,' I said, ‘I'm beginning to get a little uneasy about this man. I mean – Alice hated Abercrombie and she disappeared, possibly intending suicide. Harold hated Abercrombie and he seems to have disappeared. I'm sensing a pattern here, and I don't like it at all.'

‘Nor do I, but I don't know what we can do about it, unless we talk to the police. And what could we tell them? The man's gone away? It's a free country, and he has no employer to whom he's beholden.'

‘Yes, but – we were concerned about Alice, and we were right. She was in trouble. Why aren't we as concerned about Harold Guillot? Just because we don't know him? That doesn't seem right. Besides, he might very well know something about Abercrombie's death. Either way, he ought to be found.'

Alan is not given to sighs. He sighed now. ‘You know, I was hoping, now that the weather has cleared, to forget about our troubles for a time and go out this afternoon on the bird-watching boat to see the puffins. We've never seen puffins together, and I thought you'd enjoy it.'

‘I don't believe in puffins. For one thing, they're just too silly-looking to be real, but it's not just that. Frank and I, over the years, went to a lot of places where puffins were supposed to be found. It was always like the White Queen's jam. Puffins last month, or puffins next month, never puffins this month. They're invented for the tourist trade.'

‘I assure you, there are puffins on a nearby island right now, in the hundreds.'

‘I'd love to have you prove that to me, but …'

‘I know. You can't leave the Abercrombie thing alone. You want to find Guillot. Are you thinking of going to the police, then?'

‘Not yet. I want to talk to Robin,' I said stubbornly.

‘He won't tell you where to find Guillot. He said so.'

‘I know, but if he knows where his friend is, I can stop worrying.'

‘You won't stop worrying about the possibility that he might have killed Abercrombie.'

‘No, but one thing at a time. First, let's find Robin.'

‘First you catch your hare,' Alan muttered.

‘I cannot imagine,' I said irritably, ‘why we haven't been getting people's phone numbers. It's ridiculous to have to wander around town hoping to run into someone.'

‘They'll have his number at the Visitor Centre, I imagine, as he's a volunteer. Or next door at the Wildlife Trust. We can try them. And while we're at it, I'm going to book us on that boat for tomorrow. This
is
meant to be a holiday, after all.'

‘I'm not very good at holidays, am I? The Cotswolds, Wales, Orkney …'

‘It's not you. It's that little black cloud. Come on, old dear, put on your hat to dispel the cloud and let's go in search of Robin.'

We got Robin's phone number with no difficulty, and while we were at it, Sylvia's. ‘And tomorrow at Morning Prayer we can pick up a few others,' I said. ‘Welcome to the wonderful world of the twenty-first century!'

I stepped outside the office to make the call, and I was surprised when Robin answered his mobile. I had begun to think mine would connect only to voicemail. ‘Yes?' he said in that tone one uses when the caller ID shows an unknown number.

‘Robin, don't hang up. It's Dorothy Martin.'

‘Yes?' Same tone of voice. Perhaps even a little cooler.

‘Alan and I have been trying to talk to Harold Guillot. He isn't at home and he doesn't answer his phone, and we're worried about him. I know you won't help us locate him, but do you know where he is?'

Long pause. Then: ‘Yes.' Nothing more.

‘And he's all right?'

‘Yes.'

‘Then we'll stop worrying. Thank you, Robin.'

He had already hung up. I realized his end of the conversation had consisted entirely of the one word.

Alan joined me outside and I reported. ‘So that's all we can do for now. He's somewhere safe, I suppose. It was hard to get any nuances. One word doesn't leave much room for interpretation.'

‘So that being that, we're going to see puffins. There was room on today's boat, and we've just time to get down to the harbour. I'm going for the car.'

I
looked at the not-very-big boat that was to take us to see puffins, and worried for a moment. The waves in the harbour were almost non-existent, but beyond the breakwater they looked more formidable. Then I remembered that I had some candied ginger in my purse, and hurriedly chewed a couple of pieces. There! I was ready for anything.

It took a few minutes of cruising and half listening to the guide's comments before I could rid my mind of its big concern. We still didn't know for sure whether Abercrombie had been pushed to his death. And if he had, who was responsible? Not Alice. Not Robin. Harold?