The Mysterious Affair at Castaway House (32 page)

‘I think peach in the dining room,’ she’d said dreamily, twining her fingers with mine as they dangled on to the sand. ‘I read in the
Queen
that it’s quite the latest thing in town.’

‘Sorry, I didn’t actually understand a word of that.’ Guilty thoughts forced me to leave my fingers where she’d grasped them, as stiff as five twigs.

She giggled to herself. ‘Never mind. Just … daydreaming, you know.’ She moved on to a rhapsodic discussion of some film star’s delightful organza wedding dress, and I lapsed into silence, trying not to wish that my beach companion had cherry-red lips, a languid voice and a head full of secrets. That she was, of course, the one woman I absolutely could not touch.

The door to Mason & Bray’s Hall of Fame was locked, but Alec had given me a copy of the key and I let myself in, unhooking the wooden planking strung across the entrance to prevent the doors blowing apart in a sea gale.

More electric lights had been fitted; they were fairly dim, but at least prevented me from knocking the royal family over this time. The entrance booth had been constructed, with a sign listing the tariffs, and the turnstile clicked as I swung through it.

On my advice, information boards had been typed up and pinned beside the tableaux. I had decided that the longer people took to go round the exhibition, the more they would feel they had had their money’s worth.

‘Hello?’ I called as I walked in. ‘Anybody there?’

However, it was fairly clear that apart from a few dozen stars of the age, I was alone under the arches. As I looked about, it occurred to me that no work had been done on the Hall of Fame for weeks; in fact, I thought, they should open it as quickly as possible, to capitalize on the summer rush before autumn set in and the holidaymakers retreated to the factories and offices of their rain-lashed lives.

I frowned at Rudolph Valentino: his robe had been pulled into an off-the-shoulder look that was distinctly lacking in masculinity. I thought of my awkward kiss with Lizzie here several weeks ago, and, before that, my second evening in Helmstone when Alec had confessed to me what a truly poor state his marriage was in. He had laid all the blame with his wife, I remembered, and I should have known then that there would be more to the story than that. I adjusted Valentino’s sleeve into its proper position and, as I did so, a sheaf of envelopes fell out and fluttered to the floor.

I picked them up, shaking my head. Typical of Alec to choose the oddest hiding place for his secrets. At first, I thought they were love letters from a mistress – as Clara had suggested, I could easily imagine my cousin pursuing half a dozen girls at a time, purely for the thrill of the chase. I rather hoped there had been a discreet
affaire
: it would level the scale of my lustful thoughts about Clara.

However, the envelopes had been typed up and addressed with plain formality:
Mr. A. Bray Esq., Arch No. 231, West Beach, Helmstone
. I turned them over; jagged tears had opened them and the two words I could see at the top of the first letter told me all I needed to know and what I had already begun to suspect:
Final Demand
.

My cousin had blown the last of his mother’s carefully hoarded inheritance on a venture partnered with a wasteful idiot. He had then gone to creditors, perhaps using his father’s wealth as a guarantee. That would explain why Uncle Edward had arrived like a bull pawing the ground for blood.

I gathered the letters up and locked the door, squinting into the fierce sunshine, dodged between the charabancs parked along the seafront, and crossed the road between the trolleybuses, making for the cool alleyways of the Snooks and Alec’s favourite pub, the Walmstead Arms. It stood in a corner of two narrow pedestrian lanes and faced a church in a sort of sneering defiance.

Despite the hubbub outside, the pub was practically empty. Alec was at the counter of the saloon bar, perching on two legs of a stool and peering into the bottom of his glass with avid intensity. I swung on to a seat beside him and said, ‘I’ve been looking for you.’

He turned to me, his stool lurching. ‘Robert!’ he said, focusing. ‘How the devil are you? Want a drink?’

‘No, thank you.’ I leaned my elbow on the bar and rested my head in my hand. Although my opinion of him had become tarnished slightly these last few days, I still felt warmed by his presence, even when he was as drunk as a lord. ‘Your father’s turned up at Castaway,’ I said.

‘Ah.’ He matched my gesture, lolling his head on his hand. ‘Is he in a foul mood?’

‘Afraid so. Clara’s entertaining him in the garden.’

‘And I thought it couldn’t get any worse.’ He pushed his forehead on to the bar. ‘They sent you to find me, then?’

‘I offered,’ I said, piqued at the assumption I was some sort of errand-boy. ‘Glad to get out of the house, to be honest. You know Uncle Edward can’t stand me.’

‘It’s not personal, Robert. He can’t stand anyone. Apart from Mother, and she’s gone, so we must all suffer the consequences. At least you’re not his son. Imagine that.’

I put the letters on the bar. ‘I went to the Hall of Fame,’ I said. ‘These fell out of Valentino’s sleeve.’

Alec stared at them, but made no move to pick them up. ‘I’m broke,’ he said in a weary tone. ‘No. Broke doesn’t sound too bad. I’m in bloody serious debt.’

‘How much?’ I asked softly.

‘Took a mortgage out on Castaway.’ He put his chin on the bar and twirled his glass. ‘All for the business, you see. It just seems to … swallow up money. Bump knows the figures, but he keeps saying everything will be all right once we start ticking over.’

‘But you’ve received a final demand.’ I tapped the letters. ‘It was at the top – I didn’t sneak a look.’

Alec waved a hand as if he hardly cared either way. ‘I named Father as a guarantor, without his knowledge. I expect that’s what all this is about. Oh, God, I don’t want to lose Castaway. I can’t, Robert.’

‘But Uncle Edward can pay, can’t he? I mean, I thought he had money.’

‘He won’t care if Castaway gets sold. He hates the place. Reminds him of Mother.’ He bit his lip. ‘I may have to get rid of some of the servants. At least there’s some give there, eh?’

‘Scone?’ I said, thinking of the man’s devoted service to the house.

‘Costs me an arm and a leg, Scone does.’ Alec stormed the letters into his fist and slid off his stool. ‘Well, one may as well get things over with. Coming, Robert, to see my final humiliation?’

‘If there’s anything I can do …’ I began, but Alec was already stumbling out of the door and into the Snooks.
I caught up with him, and together we walked in silence until we emerged back on to the promenade. Alec slouched, hands in pockets, along the front.

‘My wife seems to have thawed towards you,’ he said, quite suddenly.

‘I know,’ I said. ‘It’s incredible. I think it’s because I survived the ordeal of the painting circle’s day trip.’

He snorted a laugh. ‘I’d be careful if I were you. She’s only ever friendly when she wants something.’

‘Oh no,’ I said. ‘I think she’s just been rather unhappy.’ I spoke without thinking, forgetting that she’d blamed her husband as the cause of her unhappiness.

‘Told you I was sleeping around, did she?’

I blushed. ‘Er … no. Well, not exactly.’

‘God, she didn’t tell you about the baby?’ Alec stopped, and saw the truth in my face. ‘The woman’s unbelievable. She’ll use anything to lever her way above me. She has absolutely no shame. I suppose she told you I was a cad about the whole thing?’

‘She was upset,’ I said, shame-faced. ‘Crying.’

‘Crocodile tears,’ he snarled. ‘She never gave a damn about the baby.
I
cared. I was over the bloody moon when she told me she was expecting. I mean, come on. Does Clara appear the maternal sort to you?’

I felt it was not up to me to answer that, and so I remained silent. We crossed the road towards the bottom of Gaunt’s Cliff. As we began climbing, Alec said, ‘That baby was the one thing that was going to make our marriage all right again, and she killed it.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ I said automatically.

‘Don’t argue with me, Robert. I know.’ He ran one hand
along the rail. ‘She wanted to go out dancing. I told her not to, not in her condition, but she went anyway, and she fell over.’

‘An accident,’ I murmured.

‘Not in the least. She threw herself down the steps, and that was that. She’s had plenty of practice in getting rid of unwanted encumbrances, I’m sure.’

‘I’m sure that’s not true,’ I cried, but Alec was far ahead of me and not listening anyhow. I followed him up the hill, wondering how my cousin could be so blind. I had seen how upset she was, and nobody would fake that, surely. But he had other things on his mind than his wife, and when we arrived back he allowed Scone to manoeuvre him towards the library, where Uncle Edward had chosen to wait.

Alec slouched up the stairs, never looking more like a schoolboy than he did at that moment. Halfway up he turned and raised a hand towards me. I waved back and he pulled a face, before continuing up the stairs. I heard the click of the library door closing, and hoped he could sober up enough to withstand the bawling out he was going to get.

I found Clara still in the garden, under a parasol stand, reading a book and reclining on a cushioned lounger beside the fish pond. I hovered awkwardly until she said, ‘Are you going to stand about like a butler all afternoon? Because if you are, you may as well order yourself to pull up a chair and sit down.’

She waved a hand towards the stone summerhouse. I made my way towards it and disturbed a spider’s web in the corner. Inside was half a ping-pong table jammed
against the wall, more folded loungers, mouldering mattresses, a very tired-looking child’s hoop, a few pairs of galoshes, a mackintosh and an ancient, yellowing newspaper. I pulled out the lounger, dragged it along to the side of the pond and then returned for the mattress, thumping it with my hands to clean it, sending up puffs of dust. Clara coughed.

‘You’re not conducting surgery on the blessed thing,’ she said.

‘It’s filthy,’ I mumbled, cringing at the primness of my voice. I lay the mattress on the carcass of the chair and then balanced delicately on top.

Clara raised the book to her eyes and appeared to be reading avidly when she suddenly said, ‘You found my husband, I take it? Propping up some bar, I suppose.’ She sighed, still hidden behind her book. ‘I expect it’s about money. It usually is, with Alec.’

‘I’m not sure,’ I murmured, unwilling to be the messenger between them. ‘Still, if it is, I’m sure Uncle Edward will help him out.’

She lowered her book. ‘He’s been worrying the end off of that leash for years,’ she said. ‘Your uncle’s not a fool.’

‘Whereas Alec …’ I began humorously, hoping we could share some sort of fond affection for him.

‘He’s not a fool either,’ she said sharply. ‘He’s a child. He never considers the consequences of anything. He thinks, he acts, and the world can go to hell for all he cares. But still. Let’s not talk about him. What do you think of the garden, Robert?’

‘Um …’ I looked about me, shading my eyes with my hand. ‘It’s very nice.’

‘Alec’s mother designed it all,’ she said. ‘She used to have tons of parties out here.’

I leaned forwards on the lounger. ‘Ah yes, I’d heard about those.’

Clara flopped her book on to the paving stones. ‘She told me all about them. Always sounded like some sort of dream: candles lighting the paving stones, cut flowers in bowls of water, the women in those sumptuous gowns, men flirting with other people’s wives.’

As she spoke I had an image, not of the party, but of a raggedy-haired child sitting on an upright chair with a china cup and saucer in her hand, listening to my aunt Viviane’s cut-glass voice weave romance out of the air.

I had a moment of revelation. ‘It’s you,’ I whispered. ‘You … you’re … so like her.’

I thought she would dismiss me with a snort, but instead she smiled, a flickering, secret smile that drew the two of us into a private circle. ‘When I was a child I thought she was everything a person ought to be,’ she said. ‘I studied her like a scholar. How she sat, how she held her drinks, how she talked.’

‘Do you mean,’ I said, ‘that you’re trying to emulate her?’

She laughed, and again it was a private, enclosing laugh. ‘Not at all,’ she said, ‘but the unconscious mind is a wonderful thing. Have you read any psychology? Quite fascinating. You see, consciously I’m absolutely aware that Viviane Bray was as much of a fake as me, albeit in a rather different way.’

‘What do you mean?’ I said. ‘What did my aunt do?’

‘Another time, darling.’ She sniffed and looked around.
‘I’m too hot out here. I must prepare myself for my husband’s approaching bankruptcy.’

‘It may still be all right,’ I murmured. I watched her walk to the edge of the path, where it wound round a hedgerow and led eventually back to the house.

She looked back at me, and her dark eyes sharpened. ‘If we are to live in straitened times,’ she said, ‘then I’ll make sure I go out with a bloody bang.’

A quiver of a smile graced her lips and she disappeared from view, leaving me to wonder what on earth she had meant.

Alec remained in the library, holed up with his father, for the rest of the afternoon. Dinner was the usual strained, awkward affair, made even more difficult by the presence of my uncle, who found fault in everything from the potato salad to the temperature of the wine. Alec stayed hunched in his chair, picking at his food and chugging from his glass, and it fell to Clara and me to make conversation.

‘How is Lizzie, by the way?’ asked Clara, after several minutes in which nobody had spoken at all.

‘Lizzie?’ For two dreadful seconds I found myself quite unable to recall who Lizzie was or picture her in any way. ‘Yes. Lizzie. She’s – um – she’s well.’

‘What a sweet girl,’ said Clara absently. ‘I quite forgot to have her over for tea. You must invite the family to our garden party to make up for it.’

Alec’s mouth set itself into two grim lines. ‘What garden party?’ he said.

‘The end-of-August garden party. Your mother used to throw such marvellous ones, or so I’ve heard. I thought I’d revive the tradition.’