Smile and be a Villain (29 page)

‘Oh, dear, that's the piece of unfinished business that makes us wish, in a way, that we weren't leaving.' I looked at Alan, who nodded. ‘There are so many indications that someone might have pushed him, or at least had reason to push him, but there's no evidence. I had hoped that someone might come forward at the meeting, but that didn't happen.'

‘There are people here,' said Alan carefully, ‘who know or believe they know more about it. But they have been unwilling to talk to us, and quite honestly I'm not sure they're wrong. I'm a policeman. You're a priest. In my profession causing the death of a human being is not always a crime; in yours I believe it is not always a sin. There is always the question of motive, isn't there?'

‘Yes, a complicated enough question in a court of law, and far more complicated when one considers the inmost workings of the heart. There are thoughts and motives that may be unknown even to the doer of the deed, let alone to anyone else. I don't envy the police their job.'

‘Much of the time it's simple enough. Most crime is thoughtless and committed by thoughtless, not very intelligent people. This sort of thing, however, when the victim is one who, most people would say, richly deserved whatever he got – well, I don't envy
you
the task of sorting it out.'

‘Fortunately it's not my job now, strictly speaking. I've dumped it in Mr Venables' lap, poor man.'

‘He'll handle it well, I'm sure. I wish we'd had a chance to get to know him better. He seems to be an excellent priest.'

‘He's a saint,' said Mr Lewison. ‘Not an easy man to fill in for, even temporarily.'

‘Oh, dear, it's like replacing a dearly beloved rector who retires, isn't it? I've often said that if Jesus himself came to take the position, many in the congregation would say it was all very well, but he wasn't a patch on Father So-and-So.'

Mr Lewison laughed, but ruefully. ‘What are your plans for the rest of the day? It's a pity about the wretched fog.'

‘Of course, if it weren't for the fog, we'd be home by now,' said Alan. ‘As it is, we'll do a lot of reading, probably take a nap, and we've been invited out for tea. I only hope the fog clears by tomorrow morning.'

‘As do I. We may find ourselves on the same plane, but if not …' He stood. ‘I'll say goodbye, and God speed.'

We walked – carefully – back to our room for another dreary few hours of doing nothing.

By three thirty I had nearly reached screaming point again. I don't tolerate inaction well. When I'm frantically busy with the thousand chores of housekeeping, or volunteer work, or some problem I've become embroiled in, boredom seems desirable. When I'm actually mired in it, I long for something to do. Thus is my contrary nature. I often wonder how Alan puts up with me.

However, he was restless, too, mostly for lack of exercise. He's an active man, and we'd walked only a few cautious steps today. ‘Love, let's walk to Robin's,' he said, getting up from his chair in the lounge and stretching. ‘It isn't cobbled all the way, and we can take it slowly.'

‘And there's no place to park, anyway. But I'm going to put on my boots. They're not going-to-tea wear, but they have a better grip.'

‘Robin won't notice.'

‘You want to bet?'

‘Is it maybe a little thinner?' I asked when as we were picking our way up Victoria Street.

‘We're just getting used to it.'

But the fog was thinner, I was sure. I could see things I hadn't before, and there was just the slightest breeze, so the mist swirled and eddied a bit. Confusing, but promising.

Robin was waiting for us, a cheerful fire crackling in the sitting room. ‘A bit warm for a fire,' he said, ‘but fog is nasty, depressing stuff. I see you wore sensible boots, Mrs Martin. Good for you. The cobbles are attractive, and of the right period, but they can be treacherous when they're wet.'

I shot Alan a look that said, ‘Told you so!'

Robin had laid out an elaborate tea: scones, and assorted tiny sandwiches, and lemon drizzle cake. ‘All courtesy of someone who can cook,' he said when I exclaimed over the bounty. ‘The scones and sandwiches are from St Anne's Guest House down the street, and you know where I found the cake. I understand it's one of your favourites.'

Of course he'd know that. The Alderney grapevine.

‘Robin, tell us about your house. We love old houses. We live in one, but it's positively modern compared to this one. I can't begin to guess its age.'

‘Fourteenth-century, parts of it. I won't take you down to the cellar, but that's where you can see the old foundations. Of course it's been altered and added onto and generally mucked about over the centuries, so it's sometimes hard to tell the date of any particular bit. I've thought about digging in the walls to get down to the original layers, but it's a fearful expense.'

‘And a dreadful mess! Our house is only early seventeenth-century, not long after the Dissolution. Yesterday, in your terms. But just keeping it in proper repair has entailed pots of money and plaster dust everywhere. And of course planning permission, as it's a listed building.'

We all groaned in mutual sympathy about the coils of the planning permission bureaucracy.

‘If you'd like to see over the house, I'd be happy to show you after tea,' he said, somewhat diffidently.

‘We'd like that,' said Alan. I'm sure we were both thinking the same thing. We would find no sign that Harold Guillot had ever been there, or Robin would not have made the offer.

Robin was a charming host. While we ate he chatted about historic preservation, and that led to the history of Alderney, especially during the war years. ‘Some of it was horrific, of course,' he said.

‘The labour camps,' said Alan. ‘One can scarcely believe it, even of the Nazis.'

‘And it was all so unnecessary. England had far too much to worry about to expend time and money and men on retaking a small island of very little strategic importance.'

‘Hitler was paranoid, of course.'

‘Hitler was mad,' said Robin flatly.

We moved on to the more congenial topic of his house, and when we had eaten virtually all there was to eat, and drunk all the tea, he stood. ‘If you'd like a tour, I'm at your disposal.'

The tour was a treat, of course. The house was amazing, not big, but with fascinating little details all over the place. Odd corners here, steps up and down there, niches that seemed to have no purpose until Robin pointed out that they had been created when walls had been moved or added. As one would expect, none of the floors were quite level and none of the doorways quite rectangular, and all of the doorways were quite low. Alan was told to mind his head. ‘People were smaller then,' said Robin. ‘When I first moved in, my head was covered with scars until I learned to duck automatically.'

It was all very interesting, but we were waiting for the other shoe to drop. Robin hadn't invited us here just to give us pleasure.

We repaired back to the sitting room, where the fire was burning low. Robin put on another log and poked expertly until it was burning properly, and then bade us sit.

‘I'd like to talk to you a little more about Abercrombie,' he said, not to our surprise. ‘A pity to spoil an agreeable afternoon, but there are a few things I've decided you should know. There's nothing you can do about them, even if you weren't leaving tomorrow. I think, by the way, that you may count on that.' He nodded at the front window. The fog was nearly gone, and here and there a faint shadow showed us that the sun was trying to peek through. ‘This has been a bad one, but it's most unlikely to come back for a few days. You'll be safe by your own fireside by this time tomorrow. Would you like a little sherry, by the way?'

Not knowing what lay ahead, we both accepted. Something to take the edge off?

‘I have told only one other person what I am about to tell you. I trust you to keep it to yourselves unless – well, there is no “unless”. There could be no reason for you to reveal it to anyone.'

He sipped his sherry. ‘When Abercrombie first came here, I found him an attractive personality, as did almost everyone else. Alice Small shunned him, as did Harold Guillot, and I had no idea why.

‘Then one evening when I was helping Rebecca tidy up after choir practice, Abercrombie propositioned me.'

Well, I hadn't seen that one coming!

‘Rebecca had gone back to the robing area for a moment, and Abercrombie had just come in. We were alone in the chancel. I was kneeling in a choir stall, fishing for some music that had fallen on the floor, and he made a suggestion, in the crudest possible terms.

‘I couldn't get to my feet fast enough! Rebecca was returning, so I kept my voice as low as possible, and told him in terms just as unvarnished as his that … well, let's just say I said I wasn't interested.'

‘He thought you were gay?'

‘I suppose he thought it was a reasonable conjecture. I am unmarried; I taught for many years in a public school; my tastes run to music and art and history. As it happens, I am not homosexual, but even if I were, I would have found his approach to be entirely unacceptable. To say such a thing in the church, in that language, was utterly disgusting. The fact that he was a clergyman made it that much worse.

‘When I had got home and got over my fury, I realized that he had almost certainly been seeking, not sex, but control. If I had accepted, he could have blackmailed me on the strength of it.'

‘But you could also have blackmailed him,' said Alan. ‘Not that you would have, of course, but a thing like that cuts both ways.'

‘Not if he told his story first. He would have made me the aggressor. It would have turned into a tale of rape, with himself as the innocent victim. And he might have got by with it, even after my rebuff, if Rebecca had been out of the way just a little longer. As it was, he had failed on two counts: he had not got his way, which was a deep affront to his ego, and he had lost the opportunity to dominate me. He was furious, and he missed no opportunity to make me aware of his wrath.'

He paused. Neither Alan nor I could find anything to say.

‘A little more sherry? No?' He poured some for himself and continued. ‘His next victim was Harold. He knew that we were close friends and again made the wrong assumption. Our friendship is just that, and nothing more, despite the fact that Harold
is
gay. He is also a sensitive, reclusive man, and celibate for many years. He wanted nothing to do with Abercrombie and tried to avoid him whenever possible, but like me, he sings in the choir and does a good many little chores at the church. I suppose Abercrombie saw and resented Harold's dislike. At any rate, he pursued him and finally caught up with him, out on one of the trails. They both liked to walk and run.'

I licked my dry lips. Robin saw, and refilled my glass.

‘I don't know exactly what happened; Harold's never told me. I suspect it was no more than threats and intimidation; there are any number of ways a subtle man can bully a quiet soul like Harold. I only know that from that day on, Harold went in terror of him. He was utterly miserable; it took me a very long time to persuade him that suicide was not the answer. The church means a great deal to him, and now it was tainted by the presence of that devil. He told me the story of his friend's daughter, and said it was all too much to bear. He saw no reason to go on living. I couldn't get him to go to a counsellor, but had to try to do it all myself.'

‘That wasn't easy,' I said. ‘And it wasn't fair to you.'

‘No. But one does one's best for one's friends. He was just starting to feel that life might be possible again when the man died. And of course I knew who the chief suspect would be.'

‘Did Harold kill him?' asked Alan bluntly.

‘I think not, but I don't know,' said Robin, just as directly. ‘I haven't asked him. I think he would have told me if that were the case. I also think he would have confessed to the police. He's a painfully honest man. He is, I believe, on the verge of a nervous breakdown, and I'm very worried about him.'

‘Do you know where he is?' I asked.

‘No. He was, as I'm sure you've surmised, staying with me for a few days. It was a great strain; I feared for his life. Then when you discovered where he had been at the relevant time, he insisted on leaving my house. It was becoming dangerous for me to keep him, he said. He went away that afternoon, and I've neither seen nor heard from him since.'

‘Do you have any idea of his whereabouts?'

‘I do not. I would report them to the police if I did, in his own interests. But I do not.'

‘It's a great worry to you, isn't it?' I felt great sympathy for this man, and even more for Harold.

‘It is also a great frustration. If he would only talk to me!'

‘I try to make it a practice not to worry about a situation I can do nothing about.'

‘And you always succeed?'

‘Well …'

‘Exactly.'

The fire had reduced itself to embers again. We stood and shook hands. There was nothing more to say.

We walked home on streets that were nearly dry. The sun shone. Tomorrow would be a fine day.

I wished the sun would shine a little in me.

A
lan had turned his phone off while we were with Robin. Now he found a message from Aurigny saying that we were booked on the 8.15 plane tomorrow, and no delay was anticipated. ‘We'd better let Jane know,' he said. We were taking the train from Southampton to Sherebury, and she planned to meet us at the station.

I made the call. She caught the depression in my voice. ‘Something wrong?'

‘Yes, but it's nothing I can explain on the phone.'

‘Not ill?'

‘Not in body. Jane, I must go. We'll tell you all about it tomorrow.'