Death in Kenya (28 page)

Greg favoured him with a bleak stare and said: ‘No,' and went away, armed with a stop watch and a pair of binoculars, to head what appeared to be a conducted tour of the grounds and the short cut between
Flamingo
and
Brandonmead.

It had been decided after some discussion that Mabel would remain with Lisa for a few days, and Eden had escorted her back to the Markhams' bungalow. Em had gone off to deal with some domestic crisis, pausing only to say morosely: ‘I won't ask you to stay to luncheon, Drew, because there probably won't be any. But you should find some beer in the dining-room – if the C.I.D. haven't removed it for analysis to make quite sure we haven't added arsenic to it!'

The door slammed behind her, and Drew laughed. But Victoria did not. Victoria was standing by the bow window, watching Eden and Mabel Brandon as they walked away down the narrow dusty path that led across the garden towards the plumbago hedge and the Markhams' bungalow, and presently Drew said: ‘What are you thinking about?'

He had spoken very quietly, as though he did not wish to break her train of thought, and Victoria answered him as quietly:

‘Eden.'

A bee flew into the room and buzzed about it, and when it flew out again into the sunlight the room seemed strangely silent.

Victoria said, still looking out of the window: ‘You said last night that Eden might have killed his wife; and Kamau. You don't really think that, do you?'

‘No. In fact I should say that the betting is about a hundred to one against, despite the fact that the first question that is asked in a murder case is
cui bono?
– who benefits? and, financially at least, Eden does. But then I've known him, on and off, for a good many years, and this affair doesn't fit in with anything I know about him. Eden isn't a fool. He's got plenty of intelligence, and despite all that sunny surface charm, a cool brain and more stubborn determination than most people would give him credit for. He would have known quite well, for instance, that he was bound to be the number one suspect; and why. And that being so he would, if he were guilty, have provided himself with a reasonably cast-iron alibi. Whoever murdered Alice DeBrett planned it pretty carefully – the fact that Em's red trouserings were stolen is proof enough of that! – and only someone who did not need an alibi would have failed to provide one. That, to my mind – and I think, to Greg's – washes Eden out. But I don't know what it leaves us with.'

Victoria said: ‘Aunt Em, Mrs Markham, the Brandons, “General Africa”— and you.'

Drew laughed: a laugh that was singularly devoid of amusement. He said: ‘I asked for that one, didn't I?'

And then the door opened and Em was back, looking tired and cross and harried, and addressing someone in the hall in vituperative Swahili.

She broke off on seeing Drew and Victoria, and shutting the door with a defiant bang, sank gratefully into the depths of the wing-chair and observed that had she but died an hour before this chance, she had lived a blessed time.

Drew turned his head rather quickly and looked at her with frowning intentness, his blue eyes narrowed and his brows making a straight line across his forehead, as though he were trying to recall some tag-end of memory. Victoria, who had forgotten any Swahili she had ever known, said: ‘Who were you talking to, Aunt Em?'

‘Myself,' said Em. ‘It's the privilege of the aged.'

‘In Swahili?' enquired Victoria with a smile.

‘Oh, that. That was only Samuel: Hector's gunbearer-cum-driver-cum-general factotum. I found him wandering round the hall, hunting for Mabel's knitting bag that he seems to think she left here. I told him that it wouldn't be here, it would be over at Lisa's if anywhere. He must have misunderstood her. What are you scowling about, Drew?'

‘Hmm?' said Drew in a preoccupied voice. ‘Oh – nothing much. Just an idea. I must go. Thanks for your enforced hospitality, Em.'

He walked to the door, opened it, and then hesitated as though he were reluctant to leave, and turned to look back at them, the frown still in his eyes and a strange unreadable look on his face that was oddly disturbing. As though he were puzzled and disbelieving – and afraid.

He stood there for at least a minute, looking from one to the other of them; and then he had shrugged his shoulders and gone away without saying anything, and they heard his car start up and purr away down the drive.

Em said uneasily: ‘Something's worrying Drew. I wonder— Oh, well, I suppose this wretched business is getting us all down.'

It was shortly after his departure that they heard Greg's car drive away, but it was almost two o'clock by the time Eden returned. He had replied to Em's questions in monosyllables, been uncommunicative on the subject of Lisa, and refusing the dishes that Zacharia proffered, had lunched frugally off a biscuit and several cups of black coffee.

Em had retired to her room to rest, having advised Victoria to do the same. But Victoria had seldom felt less like resting, and she had wandered into the drawing-room, and sitting down at the piano had played scraps of tunes: playing to keep herself from thinking, not of the frightening happenings of the last week, but of the past and her own personal problems. But when she lifted her hands from the keys the thoughts were there waiting for her, and even her hands betrayed her, for they turned from Bach and Debussy to the trite, sweet sentimental melodies of songs that she had once danced to with Eden: ‘Some Enchanted Evening'… ‘La Vie en Rose'… ‘Hullo, Young Lovers'… And an older tune that an older generation had danced to in the days before the war, and that Eden had taken a fancy to.
I get along without you very well …

I get along without you very well;

Of course I do.

Except perhaps in spring——

But she had not got along without him very well. Not in spring or summer, autumn or winter …

‘What a fool am I…!'

Her fingers stumbled on the yellowed keys in a jarring discord, for she had not heard Eden enter and she started violently when he touched her; spinning round on the piano stool so that she was in his arms.

He had not meant to touch her. He had been through a horrible and harrowing week, and had endured a recent interview with Lisa Markham that he did not want to think of ever again – and knew that he would never forget. He supposed that he deserved it, although all the initial advances had been made by her, and he had thought that she knew the rules and would keep to them. But it had been a mistake from the beginning, and now that he had seen Victoria again, it was a calamity.

He had not expected to see Victoria again, or wanted to. But he had not been able to protest against her coming, because to do so might have led to questions, and he had never discussed Victoria with either Alice or Em, and he would not do so now. He had tried to shut Victoria out of his mind and his heart, but it had not been easy. That sentimental song of the 'thirties, that they had discovered and played light-heartedly in the sober post-war years, had indeed proved prophetic.
I get along without you very well – of course I do – except perhaps in spring …
Or when a tune was played to which they had once danced. Or a girl wore a yellow dress. Or when a rose, or a scent, or a sound recalled Victoria …

And then Em had sent for her, and he had not had the moral courage to explain to Em why she must not come; though knowing that he would see her again he had realized at last, and with blinding clarity, that neither Alice nor any of the shallow, foolish affairs with which he had attempted to fill the void in his heart meant anything to him; that only Victoria mattered, and despite any barrier of blood he must have her. That he would risk anything to have her! If only he were free——

Victoria had arrived at
Flamingo,
and Alice was dead. He was free. But he knew that he must behave circumspectly. He could not court another woman, even one to whom he had once been engaged, within a few days or even a few months of his wife's death. He would have to wait. He would persuade Em to send him to Rumuruti, and when enough time had elapsed to blur the raw memory of Alice's death he would come back and ask Victoria to marry him, and take her away from the Rift and all its tragic associations until people had forgotten. Until then he would not even touch her again.

But he had walked into the drawing-room and found her playing the tune that had been peculiarly their own, and had touched her almost without meaning to. And she had whirled about and was in his arms, and he was holding her hard against him: decency, convention, common sense thrown to the winds and forgotten. Kissing her hair and whispering broken endearments; telling her that they would get married at once – they could keep it a secret and no one need know except Em. That he could not wait, and that nothing mattered now that they were together again.

He was not aware for several minutes that Victoria was struggling to free herself, and when he realized it at last, and released her, he thought that it was emotion that had driven the blood from her face, and shyness and surprise that made her jump up and back away from him.

Victoria said breathlessly: ‘No, Eden! No, please don't! It's no good saying I don't care for you any more, because I suppose I always shall. But not in that way any more. It's all over, and I never realized it. Not even when someone told me so. I still didn't believe it. Until you kissed me last night. I wanted you to kiss me——'

Eden took a swift step towards her, his hands outstretched, and once again she backed away from him.

‘No! Oh Eden, I'm so very sorry! But how was I to know that you meant it? You hadn't meant it before, and——'

Eden said: ‘Darling, I don't know what you're talking about, and I don't care. But I always meant it – with you. Right from the beginning. And I mean it now.'

Victoria wrung her hands and her face crumpled like a child's when it is going to cry. She said pleadingly: ‘No you don't. Please say you don't! You see, I thought you were only kissing me because – because you like kissing girls. Because it was a sort of – of game, and didn't mean anything. I knew that if you kissed me I'd know. And I did. He was quite right. It's all over. It's – it's as if I'd grown up at last. That's silly, at my age. I should have done it before. But I didn't. I'm so fond of you Eden, but I don't love you any more, and I'm not sure that I ever did, in – in the way that matters.

‘Who was right?' demanded Eden, white-lipped and seizing on only three words out of all those that she had said.

Victoria looked bewildered, and he repeated the question in a voice that startled her: ‘
Who was right!
Who have you been discussing me with? Drew?'

A tide of colour flooded Victoria's pale cheeks and her eyes widened in dismay. ‘No – I mean – I ought not to have said that. I didn't mean to. Eden, don't look like that! I wasn't discussing you with him. Not in that way.'

‘In what way, then? Since when have you been on such intimate terms with Drew Stratton that you can discuss your love affairs with him? No, I don't mean that! Don't let's quarrel, darling. I know I treated you abominably once – over Alice. But I had to do it. At least – I thought I had to, and that it would be the best thing for both of us. I can explain, if you'll let me. And I know that I can make you happy.'

Victoria shook her head and her eyes filled with tears.

‘No you can't. Not now. I meant what I said, Eden. I don't love you any more. I'm free too. I realized it when you kissed me last night.'

Eden said harshly: ‘Or when Stratton did? Has he kissed you?'

He saw the bright colour deepen in her cheeks and was aghast at the tide of sheer physical jealousy that rose and engulfed him, and over which he had no control. He had always had a quick temper and now he had to hit back: to hit blindly, and to hurt as badly as he himself had been hurt. He gave a curt, ugly laugh:

‘So you've fallen for our Mr Stratton, have you? Very amusing! And after all those vows of deathless devotion you used to write me. Remember them? A letter a day – sometimes two. I kept them all. A whole box full. I couldn't bear to part with them, but I might as well send them to Stratton for a wedding present. Or you might like to send him a few? Any of the undated ones would do. It will save you time and paper, and the sentiments you addressed to me will do just as well for him, won't they? After all, if he's getting a second-hand love, he may as well get his love letters at second hand too!'

He laughed again, seeing the disgust and contempt in Victoria's white, frozen face and sparkling eyes, and having begun to laugh, found that he could not stop. He dropped into a chair and hid his face in his hands, pressing them over his eyes as though he could blot out the desperate weariness, the shamed despair and the savage jealousy; and shut out the horrifying sound of his own senseless mirth.

It stopped at last, and he said tonelessly: ‘I'm sorry, Vicky. That was a filthy thing to say. I didn't mean it. I don't know what got into me. I'm going to pieces these days – not that that's any excuse. Forgive me, dear.'

He dropped his hands and lifted a haggard face, to find that he had been talking to himself. The room was empty and Victoria had gone.

*   *   *

Fifteen minutes later, leaning against the window-sill of her bedroom, Victoria heard the sound of horses' hooves and saw Eden gallop past, heading for the open country and riding as recklessly as though he were in the last lap of a race. It was a relief to know that he was no longer in the house, and she hoped that he would stay away for an hour or two and give her time to think.

One thing at least was clear. She would have to tell Aunt Em that she could not remain at
Flamingo.
How
dared
Eden talk like that! How could he turn on her like a spoilt, vindictive character out of a third-rate novel? Had he really kept her letters? She had a momentary vision of Drew Stratton reading one, his blue eyes cold with scorn, and her face flamed at the thought.