Читать книгу Death at the Bar - Ngaio Marsh, Stella Duffy - Страница 16

But Watchman did not go directly to Coombe Rock. He lingered for a moment until he had seen Decima Moore go in at the post-office door, and then he made for the tunnel. Soon the darkness swallowed him, his footsteps rang hollow on the wet stone floor, and above him, a luminous disc, shone the top entry. Watchman emerged, blinking, into the dust and glare of the high road. To his left, the country rolled gently away to Illington, to his right, a path led round the cliffs to Coombe Rock, and then wound inland to Cary Edge Farm where the Moores lived.

He arched his hand over his eyes and on Coombe Head could make out the shape of canvas and easel with Cubitt’s figure moving to and fro, and beyond a tiny dot which must be Sebastian Parish’s head. Watchman left the road, climbed the clay bank, circled a clump of furze and beneath a hillock from where he could see the entrance to the tunnel, he lay full length on the short turf. With the cessation of his own movement the quiet of the countryside engulfed him. At first the silence seemed complete, but after a moment or two the small noises of earth, and sky welled up into his consciousness. A lark sang above his head with a note so high that it impinged upon the outer borders of hearing and at times soared into nothingness. When he turned and laid his ear to the earth it throbbed with the far-away thud of surf against Coombe Rock, and when his fingers moved in the grass it was with a crisp stirring sound. He began to listen intently, lying so still that no movement of his body could come between his senses and more distant sound. He closed his eyes and to an observer he would have seemed to sleep. Indeed his face bore that look of inscrutability which links sleep in our minds with death. But he was not asleep. He was listening: and presently his ears caught a new rhythm, a faint hollow beat. Someone was coming up through the tunnel.

Watchman looked through his eyelashes and saw Decima Moore step into the sunlight. He remained still, while she mounted the bank to the cliff path. She rounded the furze-bush and was almost upon him before she saw him. She stood motionless.

‘Well, Decima,’ said Watchman and opened his eyes.

‘You startled me,’ she said.

‘I should leap to my feet, shouldn’t I? And apologize?’

‘You needn’t trouble. I’m sorry I disturbed you. Goodbye.’

She moved forward.

Watchman said: ‘Wait a moment, Decima.’

She hesitated. Watchman reached out a hand and seized her ankle.

‘Don’t do that,’ said Decima. ‘It makes us both look silly. I’m in no mood for dalliance.’

‘Please say you’ll wait a moment and I’ll behave like a perfect little gent. I’ve something serious to say to you.’

‘I don’t believe it.’

‘I promise you. Of the first importance. Please.’

‘Very well,’ said Decima.

He released her and scrambled to his feet.

‘Well, what is it?’ asked Decima.

‘It’ll take a moment or two. Do sit down and smoke a cigarette. Or shall I walk some of the way with you?’

She shot a glance at the distant figures on Coombe Head and then looked at him. She seemed ill at ease, half-defiant, half-curious.

‘We may as well get it over,’ she said.

‘Splendid. Sit down now, do. If we stand here, we’re in full view of anybody entering or leaving Ottercombe, and I don’t want to be interrupted. No, I’ve no discreditable motive. Come now.’

He sat down on the hillock under the furze-bush and after a moment’s hesitation she joined him.

‘Will you smoke? Here you are.’

He lit her cigarette, dug the match into the turf, and then turned to her.

‘The matter I wanted to discuss with you,’ he said, ‘concerns this Left Movement of yours.’

Decima’s eyes opened wide.

‘That surprises you?’ observed Watchman.

‘It does rather,’ she said. ‘I can’t imagine why you should suddenly be interested in the CLM’

‘I’ve no business to be interested,’ said Watchman, ‘and in the ordinary sense, my dear Decima, I am not interested. It’s solely on your account – no, do let me make myself clear. It’s on your account that I want to put two questions to you. Of course if you choose you may refuse to answer them.’

Watchman cleared his throat, and pointed a finger at Decima.

‘Now in reference to this society –’

‘Dear me,’ interrupted Decima with a faint smile. ‘This green plot shall be our court, this furze-bush our witness-box; and we will do in action as we will do it before the judge.’

‘A vile paraphrase, and if we are to talk of midsummernight’s dreams, Decima –’

‘We certainly won’t do that,’ she said, turning very pink. ‘Pray continue your cross-examination, Mr Watchman.’

‘Thank you, my lord. First question: is this body – society, club, movement, or whatever it is – an incorporated company?’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It means among other things that the books would have to be audited by a chartered accountant.’

‘Good Heavens, no. It’s simply grown up, largely owing to the efforts of Will Pomeroy and myself.’

‘So I supposed. You’ve a list of subscribing members.’

‘Three hundred and forty-five,’ said Decima proudly.

‘And the subscription?’

‘Ten bob. Are you thinking of joining us?’

‘Who collects the ten bobs?’

‘The treasurer.’

‘And secretary. Mr Legge?’

‘Yes. What are you driving at? What were you at last night, baiting Bob Legge?’

‘Wait a moment. Do any other sums of money pass through his hands?’

‘I don’t see why I should tell you these things,’ said Decima.

‘There’s no reason, but you have my assurance that I mean well.’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘And you may be sure I shall regard this conversation as strictly confidential.’

‘All right,’ she said uneasily. ‘We’ve raised sums for different objects. We want to start a Left Book Club in Illington and there are one or two funds – Spanish, Czech and Austrian refugees and the fighting fund and so on.’

‘Yes. At the rate of how much a year. Three hundred for instance?’

‘About that. Quite that, I should think. We’ve some very generous supporters.’

‘Now look here, Decima. Did you inquire very carefully into this man Legge’s credentials?’

‘I – no. I mean, he’s perfectly sound. He’s secretary for several other things. Some philatelic society and a correspondence course, and he’s agent for one or two things.’

‘He’s been here ten months, hasn’t he?’

‘Yes. He’s not strong, touch of TB, I think, and some trouble with his ears. His doctor told him to come down here. He’s been very generous and subscribed to the movement himself.’

‘May I give you a word of advice? Have your books audited.’

‘Do you know Bob Legge? You can’t make veiled accusations –’

‘I have made no accusations.’

‘You’ve suggested that –’

‘That you should be business-like,’ said Watchman. ‘That’s all.’

‘Do you know this man? You must tell me.’

There was a very long silence and then Watchman said:

‘I’ve never known anybody of that name.’

‘Then I don’t understand,’ said Decima.

‘Let us say I’ve taken an unreasonable dislike to him.’

‘I’d already come to that conclusion. It was obvious last night.’

‘Well, think it over.’ He looked fixedly at her and then said suddenly:

‘Why won’t you marry Will Pomeroy?’

Decima turned very white and said: ‘That, at least is entirely my own business.’

‘Will you meet me here tonight?’

‘No.’

‘Do I no longer attract you, Decima?’

‘I’m afraid you don’t.’

‘Little liar, aren’t you?’

‘The impertinent lady-killer stuff,’ said Decima, ‘doesn’t wear very well. It has a way of looking merely cheap.’

‘You can’t insult me,’ said Watchman. ‘Tell me this. Am I your only experiment?’

‘I don’t want to start any discussion of this sort. The thing’s at an end. It’s been dead a year.’

‘No. Not on my part. It could be revived; and very pleasantly. Why are you angry? Because I didn’t write?’

‘Good Lord, no!’ ejaculated Decima.

‘Then why –’

He laid his hand over hers. As if unaware of his touch, her fingers plucked at the blades of grass beneath them.

‘Meet me here tonight,’ he repeated.

‘I’m meeting Will tonight at the Feathers.’

‘I’ll take you home.’

Decima turned on him.

‘Look here,’ she said, ‘we’d better get this straightened out. You’re not in the least in love with me, are you?’

‘I adore you.’

‘I dare say, but you don’t love me. Nor do I love you. A year ago I fell for you rather heavily and we know what happened. I can admit now that I was – well, infatuated. I can even admit that what I said just then wasn’t true. For about two months I did mind your not writing. I minded damnably. Then I recovered in one bounce. I don’t want any recrudescence.’

‘How solemn,’ muttered Watchman. ‘How learned, and how young.’

‘It may seem solemn and young to you. Don’t flatter yourself I’m the victim of remorse. I’m not. One has to go through with these things, I’ve decided. But don’t let’s blow on the ashes.’

‘We wouldn’t have to blow very hard.’

‘Perhaps not.’

‘You admit that, do you?’

‘Yes. But I don’t want to do it.’

‘Why? Because of Pomeroy?’

‘Yes.’

‘Are you going to marry him, after all?’

‘I don’t know. He’s ridiculously class-conscious about sex. He’s completely uneducated in some ways, but – I don’t know. If he knew about last year he’d take it very badly, and I can’t marry him without telling him.’

‘Well,’ said Watchman suddenly, ‘don’t expect me to be chivalrous and decent. I imagine chivalry and decency don’t go with sex-education and freedom anyway. Don’t be a fool, Decima. You know you think it would be rather fun.’

He pulled her towards him. Decima muttered, ‘No, you don’t,’ and suddenly they were struggling fiercely. Watchman thrust her back till her shoulders were against the bank. As he stooped his head to kiss her, she wrenched one hand free and struck him clumsily but with violence, across the mouth.

‘You –’ said Watchman.

She scrambled to her feet and stood looking down at him.

‘I wish to God,’ she said savagely, ‘that you’d never come back.’

There was a moment’s silence.

Watchman, too, had got to his feet. They looked into each other’s eyes; and then, with a gesture that, for all its violence and swiftness suggested the movement of an automaton, he took her by the shoulders and kissed her. When he had released her they moved apart stiffly with no eloquence in either of their faces or figures.

Decima said, ‘You’d better get out of here. If you stay here it’ll be the worse for you. I could kill you. Get out.’

They heard the thud of footsteps on turf, and Cubitt and Sebastian Parish came over the brow of the hillock.