Death in Kenya (19 page)

‘Hullo, Vicky. What'll you have? Scotch or rye. Or what about a gin and ginger? You'd better get down to some steady drinking, because the odds are once again heavily in favour of a bread-and-cheese luncheon. The entire household staff are having hysterics over the question of Gran's pants. What a party!'

Victoria laughed and said: ‘I've got Mrs Brandon here. She's telephoning her husband to fetch her. She says she'd like some shandy, and I'll have some too. Is there any ice?'

‘Lots. I've just collected a bowl from the 'fridge. Also some beer, so you're in luck. I presume Mabel is here with the object of collecting all the latest dope. Has she been cross-questioning you?'

‘Yes,' admitted Victoria ruefully. ‘I tried to dodge it, but it wasn't any use. She's madly curious.'

‘She's scared stiff!' corrected Eden, mixing beer and ginger beer in a jug.

‘Scared? But why?'

‘Because her darling son had a juvenile crush on my wife,' said Eden.

‘But that's no reason——' began Victoria, bewildered.

‘No?' Eden added ice cubes, and filling a tankard, pushed it across to Victoria. ‘You don't know Mabel! She's nuts about her ewe lamb, and it's my guess that she's been bitten with the crazy notion that Alice having repulsed him, he may have seen red and gone for her, preferring to see her dead rather than lost to him. All very dramatic and Othello-ish, and utterly ridiculous! I don't say that Ken mightn't have done that. In fact he's precisely the type of hysterical young ass who from time to time figures in the Sunday papers as having waylaid his ex-love, and bashed her with his own (and identifiable!) spanner, because she'd thrown him over. But what Mabel hasn't the sense to realize is that if he'd done it, he'd have shot himself five minutes later! Unless of course he had some totally different and entirely unsuspected reason for wanting Alice out of the way, which is absurd. If only one could put that to Mabel it would save her making an ass of herself. But of course one can't.'

‘Why not?' demanded Victoria with some heat. ‘Because “it's not done”, I suppose!'

‘No, darling. Because I, personally, do not fancy having my eyes scratched out. Just you try hinting to Mabel that she has even allowed such a possibility to cross her mind. She'd deny it with her last breath and never forgive you for having suggested it. But it's there all right – panicking about in her sub-conscious, if nowhere else. Nothing else will explain why she has taken to thinking up excuses for haunting the place and asking endless questions, and generally behaving like a flustered hen. Darling Mabel. The best thing we can do for her is to add a double brandy to her shandy.'

He mixed himself a stiff John Collins and lifted his glass to Victoria. ‘Well, here's to you, darling. Don't let any of this get you down. You're too sweet to get involved in such a miserable business. Keep out of it, Vicky.'

Was there, or was there not, a note of warning in his voice? something more than the mere wish to save her from distress? The uncomfortable thought darted swiftly through Victoria's mind like a small fish glimpsed in deep water, and perhaps it had shown in her face, for Eden set down his glass, and crossing to her, put his hands on her shoulders and looked down into her eyes:

‘I can't bear the idea of you getting mixed up in our troubles – in any troubles. And if only I were still strong-minded and self-sacrificing, instead of being weak-willed and abominably selfish, I'd insist on your leaving. But I'm not going to, because you are the one bright diamond in my present pile of coke.'

He smiled down at her, and once again, as it had on the previous day, Victoria's heart seemed to check and miss a beat. His hands tightened on her shoulders and the moment seemed to stretch out interminably.

‘Oh, Vicky,' said Eden with a break in his voice, ‘what a fool I've been!'

He released her abruptly, and picking up his glass and the jug of shandy, said: ‘There's Mabel. Let's go and drink outside.'

He turned away and walked out on to the verandah, and Victoria, following more slowly, found Em and Gilly emerging from the hall door.

‘Ah!' said Mr Markham enthusiastically, observing the tankard in her hand. ‘Liquor! Just what I stand in need of after devoting an entire hour to the subject of milk (a dreary beverage and one I never touch). Would there be anything stronger than beer in the offing, Eden?'

‘You'll find all the usual things on the sideboard in the dining-room,' said Eden. ‘Help yourself.'

‘Thanks, I will. What about you, Em?'

‘Nothing, thank you. I dislike drinking at midday,' said Em grumpily, plumping herself down in a wicker chair.

‘You don't know what you miss!' said Gilly blithely, and disappeared into the dining-room.

Mabel accepted a tankard of shandy and sat down on a long wicker divan that stood against the wall, its back formed by a row of three boldly patterned cushions – the fourth being presumably still in the possession of the police. She subjected her hostess to a worried scrutiny, and said anxiously: ‘You don't look at all well, Em. You ought to get Dr North to give you a tonic.'

‘Thank you, Mabel, I have no desire to fill my stomach with useless nostrums. I am merely tired, that is all. Tired of office work and silly questions and having the police permanently on the premises upsetting my servants. Is young Hennessy still here, Eden?'

‘No,' said Eden. ‘Having thrown the cook-house into hysterics he has retired to write up a report, and we shall probably have Greg here as soon as he's read it.'

‘Did he get anything out of the servants?'

‘Nothing but indignant denials and a suggestion that the dogs are responsible. Oh, and several missing dish-cloths that turned up in one of the huts. One of the
totos
had evidently been making a collection of them. No sign of your dungarees, however.'

‘Where are the dogs today?' enquired Mabel, bending to peer along the verandah as though she expected to find them concealed under the chairs.

‘Locked up,' said Eden. ‘And they can stay there! They don't take to police on the premises, any more than Gran does.'

‘Sensible animals,' observed Em morosely. ‘Gilly, here's your wife. Get her a drink. Good morning, Lisa. What is it now?'

Gilly, who had emerged from the dining-room with a glass in one hand and a bottle of gin in the other, returned to fetch a second glass as Lisa came up the steps looking cool and spruce and pretty in a full skirted dress of pale blue poplin patterned with daisies. He returned with a gin and lime for his wife, and Lisa said: ‘I only came over to ask about the picnic. I suppose you
are
postponing it?'

‘What picnic?' enquired Em. ‘Oh, yes. I remember. We were going to take an all-day picnic tomorrow to show Victoria something of the Valley. No, I see no reason why we should postpone it. It will do us all good to get away from the house for a day – and from the police! Mabel, you and Hector were coming, weren't you? And Ken. Then that's settled. Where shall we go?'

‘Crater Lake,' suggested Mabel. ‘I was telling Victoria about it just now. It's rather a fascinating spot, Victoria. A lake in the crater of an old volcano. They say it's bottomless, and——'

She was interrupted by the arrival of a Land-Rover containing Hector Brandon and a slim youth wearing the familiar garb of the Angry Young Men – a pair of exceedingly dirty grey flannels and a polo-necked sweater. A lock of his dark hair flopped artistically over a forehead not entirely innocent of the spots that adolescence is apt to inflict upon sensitive youth, and he possessed a pair of hot brown eyes, thin and passably attractive features, and the general air of a misunderstood minor poet.

So this, thought Victoria, was the boy she had caught a glimpse of driving furiously along the lake road on the morning of her arrival, and who had reportedly fallen so disastrously in love with Alice DeBrett.

She had been so intrigued by the unexpected arrival of Ken Brandon that she had not noticed that there had been a third man in the Land-Rover, and only became aware of it when Drew Stratton sat down beside her and observed amiably that it was a nice day.

Victoria started and bit her tongue. ‘What? Oh, it's you. I didn't know you were here. What did you say?'

‘I made the classic opening remark of the sociably disposed Englishman. I said it was a nice day. It's your move now.'

Victoria eyed him with some misgiving and said: ‘I didn't know you were coming here this morning.'

‘Would you rather I hadn't? I'm afraid it's a bit late to do much about it now, but I shan't be staying long.'

Victoria flushed pinkly. ‘You know quite well I didn't mean it like that. I was only surprised to see you.'

‘Pleasantly, I hope?'

‘No!' said Victoria, regarding him with a kindling eye. ‘I don't think it's ever particularly pleasant to meet people who dislike you; and you don't like me at all, do you? You made that quite clear from the moment you first saw me. Why don't you like me?'

Drew returned her indignant gaze thoughtfully and without embarrassment, and paid her the compliment of disdaining polite denial. He said: ‘Because of Alice DeBrett.'

‘
Alice?
But I didn't even know her! I don't think I understand.'

‘Don't you? I thought I'd been into this once already. You are a very pretty girl, Miss Caryll, and you were once engaged to her husband. I don't know why you broke it off, but whatever the reason, you cannot really have supposed that she would welcome your arrival as a permanent fixture in the household?'

Victoria stiffened and found that her hands were shaking with anger. She gripped them together in her lap and enquired in a deceptively innocent voice: ‘And were Mrs DeBrett's feelings so important to you, Mr Stratton?'

She looked with intention at Ken Brandon, who was talking moodily to Lisa Markham, and Drew noted the look and interpreted it correctly. He said dryly: ‘I wasn't in love with her, if that is what you mean. Can you say the same about her husband?'

The angry colour drained out of Victoria's face and once again, as on the previous night, she looked young and forlorn and defenceless – and frightened. The indignation and the rigidity left her, and she said in voice that was so low that he barely caught the words: ‘I don't know. I wish I did know. Did you think that I came out here to try and take Eden away from her?'

‘No,' said Drew, considering the matter. ‘She told me that your aunt had asked you to come. But I thought that knowing how she herself must feel about it, you might, perhaps, have refused.'

‘You're quite right,' said Victoria, still in a half whisper that appeared to be addressed more to herself than to Drew. ‘I should never have come. But— I wanted to come back to Kenya. Mother was dead and I had no one but Aunt Em. I wanted to – to belong again, and come home; and I wouldn't let myself think about Eden. He was married, and it was all over. I don't think I ever thought at all about Alice as a person. She was just something that proved it was all over, and made it safe to come. But now it's different…'

Drew looked away from her to where Eden's unstudied grace and startlingly handsome profile were outlined against the brilliant sunlight of the garden, and was startled to find himself wrenched by a physical spasm of jealousy and dislike. He said disagreeably: ‘Because now he is free? Is that what you mean? But that should make everything pleasantly simple for you.'

Victoria shook her head without lifting it. It was only a very slight gesture, but somehow it revealed such a gulf of unhappiness and bewilderment that he was shocked out of his anger. He said: ‘I'm sorry. That was rude and officious of me. And none of my business. Shall we talk about something else?'

He began to tell her about a film unit that had recently arrived in Nairobi, until Em interrupted him with an enquiry relative to the picnic and the rival merits of Thermos flasks and kettles.

‘Not kettles,' said Hector. ‘Don't care for lighting fires. Weather's been pretty dry, and we might do no end of damage. Are we going to do any shootin'? Have to bring a gun if we are. Just as well to bring one or two anyway, just in case. After all, one never knows. May be the odd hard-core terrorist hidin' out in those parts. There was always a rumour that the gangs had a hide somewhere near Crater Lake. Better to be on the safe side. And we might get a pot at a warthog or a guinea-fowl.'

‘We must make a list,' announced Mabel, ‘so that we don't leave anything behind. Has anyone got a pencil and paper?'

‘Why worry,' enquired Eden lazily. ‘As long as we take plenty of food and drink and enough rugs to go to sleep on afterwards, that's all we're likely to need.'

Mabel regarded him with friendly contempt and remarked that that was just like a man. There were dozens of things that must be taken on a picnic: a flit gun and a fly swatter, a first-aid kit, matches, snake serum——

Eden laughed and turned to Victoria. ‘So now you know what you are in for, Vicky. Snakes in the grass and warthogs in the undergrowth, and the odd terrorist lurking on the skyline. A nice, peaceful, Kenya afternoon! You needn't bother with the first-aid kit, Mabel. We always keep one in the Land-Rover. Bandages, lint, bottle of iodine – the works! I don't think we run to morphia and forceps, but possibly you can provide those.'

‘As a matter of fact, I can,' retorted Mabel, unruffled. ‘I don't believe in being unprepared for emergencies in a country where emergencies are apt to arise, and I always carry a bottle of iodine with me in my pocket. You've no idea how easily a scratch can turn septic in this country. But so far neither Hector nor I have ever had blood-poisoning.'

‘Well neither have I, if it comes to that,' said Eden with a grin. ‘And without the benefit of iodine! Don't tell me that Hector and Ken carry round the stuff too?'