Murder at the Villa Byzantine

35

The Cry of an Owl

It was the following morning. Antonia had made herself a cup of coffee when the telephone rang.

‘Miss Darcy? James Morland speaking.’

‘Oh, hello.’

There it was. She had been right. It hadn’t taken him too long. She looked at the clock: ten minutes past ten.

‘Would it be possible for me to have a word with you?’

‘Of course. I’ve been expecting you to call,’ Antonia said conversationally. Let him see he was not mistaken. Let him realize that his worst fears had been confirmed. Don’t let there be the slightest doubt in his mind that she knew. ‘Would you like to come to us? You’ve been to our house before, haven’t you?’

‘Would your husband be there?’

‘Would you rather he weren’t?’

‘I suppose he knows?’

‘He knows, yes.’

‘Do the-?’ Morland broke off. Clearly he was going to ask whether the police knew too, since in the end that was what really mattered. He was probably clinging to the hope that he might be able to strike some kind of a bargain with Antonia. ‘I will be with you in about an hour,’ he said tonelessly.

Despite herself, Antonia felt sorry for him. She believed that girl had led him on. Still, he was the adult. He should have known better. A fifteen-year-old girl.

There was such a thing as self-control.

She hadn’t seen him since the evening of Melisande’s birthday party at Kinderhook and she wondered whether she would have recognized him if she bumped into him in the street. Probably not – not unless he reminded her where they’d met and who he was.

At the party he had looked florid and festive in his Paisley-patterned tie. He hadn’t said anything remotely interesting, certainly nothing memorable. Blissfully uncomplicated, Hugh had said. Devoid of hidden depths. He was a recognizable type. One saw chaps like James Morland at superior gentlemen’s clubs – dozing at board meetings – taking their time over the wine list at expensive restaurants, usually in the company of a horsey lady – watching a cricket match at Lord’s, Pimm’s in hand, a white panama on their head, their face the colour of ripe tomato.

He looked different now.

He had lost weight and his expensive tweed jacket hung loosely on him. A candy-striped silk handkerchief stuck out of his breast pocket. His face was extremely pale and haggard as though with lack of sleep. Gone was the ruddy hue. He didn’t seem to have had a haircut recently. He hadn’t shaved either. In a funny kind of way he looked younger, raffish, somewhat dissolute. His eyes were bright, feverish.

‘Would you like some tea or coffee?’

‘No, thank you.’

‘Won’t you sit down?’

He sat on the sofa, making it creak. He was still a heavy man. She glanced at his hands. Big, well-tended hands ‘Why did you pay my bill at the hotel?’ Morland spoke without preamble. He was staring at the floor. Keeping custody of his eyes like a nun, Antonia thought incongruously. ‘What business was it of yours?’ He sounded a little breathless.

‘It was none of my business, you are right.’ She remained standing, giving herself, she reflected, an advantage of sorts.

‘You had no right to meddle in my affairs. No right at all.’ His voice rose slightly. ‘My private life is my own.’

Antonia walked slowly away from the sofa and stood beside the window. She hoped he wouldn’t make a scene. Hugh would be down any moment now. Not that she feared Morland would try to assault her. Still, she would feel safer with Hugh in the room.

‘I wouldn’t have gone to the Corrida Hotel,’ she said, ‘if it hadn’t been for Stella’s murder.’

‘You think – the two are connected? The hotel and the murder?’

‘I believe they are… Not the hotel as such-’ Antonia broke off. ‘There has been a second murder.’

This time he looked at her. ‘What second murder?’

‘Winifred Willard was killed yesterday at the Villa Byzantine.’

‘Winifred? Melisande’s sister? Are you serious?’

‘We saw the body.’

‘I don’t believe you.’ He shook his head. ‘Melisande would have told me about it. She would have telephoned me. You are lying.’

‘Melisande has been admitted to hospital. She’s had a nervous breakdown. Didn’t you know?’

‘I don’t believe you. You are lying,’ he said again. ‘What gave you the idea I’d stayed at the Corrida Hotel?’

‘You dropped a receipt the first time you came here. It was headed “The Corrida Hotel, Earls Court”. You had paid for a room, a bottle of champagne and a can of Red Bull. I thought it an unusual combination. I didn’t think you were the kind of man who would drink champagne with Red Bull. Actually, you didn’t seem to know what Red Bull was when it was mentioned – don’t you remember? At Melisande’s birthday party?’

‘I don’t know what you are talking about.’

‘I am sure you do. For some reason the combination of a corrida and a bull stuck in my mind. Then – then I suddenly remembered that at that same party Stella’s daughter went into a sulk because there was no Red Bull among the drinks on offer.’

‘What’s that got to do with anything?’

‘Red Bull again, see? The champagne was for you, the Red Bull for Moon, correct? A bit later several other things clicked into place-’

Antonia paused as her husband, looking extremely smart in a dark blue blazer and very dark grey trousers, sauntered into the room. She felt herself relaxing. She had no doubt that Hugh would be equal to knocking Morland out should the latter decide to turn nasty at some point in the proceedings.

Major Payne gave an amiable nod in the direction of their visitor and mimed to Antonia, as though to say, Carry on, carry on, don’t mind me, it’s your pigeon. He then stood beside the cocktail cabinet in a posture that brought to mind a fielder in a cricket match alert for the ball. She saw him glance at Morland’s hands. Was Hugh considering the possibility of their visitor launching a sudden attack?

‘When I was at your sister’s – you were at the zoo at the time – Julia received a phone call. The call came from the Corrida Hotel. Apparently,’ Antonia said, ‘there was something wrong with your card. A sum that needed to be paid. The Corrida Hotel again, you see? And then Julia mentioned the fact that you were moving out – that you had bought a Regency house in Chelsea. You’d told her you and Moon were going to live together?’

‘These are private matters. Julia had no business to talk about it to you,’ Morland said stiffly.

‘You had hinted that you intended to adopt Moon. Julia thought Moon might be your biological daughter. I suspect you encouraged the notion. It made any apparent closeness acceptable. What more natural than a father and daughter sharing a house together after the mother’s tragic death?’ Antonia paused, but he remained silent. ‘Julia said something else, which also fitted in with the theory that had started forming in my mind. She told me that Stella had commented on the fact that – that-’

Payne cleared his throat. ‘Care for a drink, Morland? Or is it too early?’

‘No, nothing.’ Morland glared at Antonia. ‘What had Stella been commenting on?’

‘She-’ Antonia bit her lip. She didn’t quite know how to put it. Why was sex always such a ticklish subject? Why was she such a prude? But there was no way round it. Sex after all was at the very heart of this affair.

‘Stella was a bit concerned about your lack of ardour. She found your attitude towards her a little too “decent”, a little too “gentlemanly”.’ How idiotic this sounded! ‘She feared she might be abandoned at the altar. I found myself wondering about the true nature of your relationship with her. You left Melisande for Stella. You asked Stella and her daughter to move in with you. You were planning to marry Stella. You were at great pains to convey the impression that you were smitten with her-’

‘I was smitten with her.’

‘I am inclined to doubt that,’ said Antonia. ‘So, I asked myself, why would you want to play the impetuous lover if you didn’t really care about Stella? Why were you so keen on marrying her? I puzzled about the urgency in particular. The only explanation that presented itself was that it wasn’t Stella you were after, but her daughter.’ Antonia’s eyes were once more on Morland’s hands. ‘You were mad about Stella’s daughter.’

‘You are a raving lunatic,’ said Morland.

‘Her fifteen-year-old daughter.’

‘You told me she was sixteen and a half, Morland. With hindsight, I believe you felt uncomfortable revealing her real age to me,’ said Major Payne. ‘That can be interpreted as guilty conscience, you know.’

‘You wanted to marry the mother, so that you could have permanent easy access to the underage daughter,’ Antonia went on relentlessly. ‘A difficult, troubled, somewhat delinquent girl. You had already started an affair with her – while making everybody believe that you disliked each other… I assume your trysts were held at various hotels?’

‘You had no business to pry into my affairs. It’s scandalous that you should have eavesdropped on Julia’s telephone conversations. It’s an absolute outrage. I have a good mind to report you to the police.’

Antonia shrugged. ‘There was only one telephone conversation and I didn’t eavesdrop. I just happened to be there when Julia answered the call.’

‘You – you actually set a trap for me. Who do you think you are? Haven’t you got anything better to do? You went to the Corrida Hotel and paid my bill. They told me it was my sister, but it was your name – Antonia Darcy – that was on their computer. You introduced yourself as my sister! You had the gall to impersonate my sister. Don’t you know that that’s a criminal offence punishable by law?’

‘I expected a reaction from you, which I have now got.’

‘You don’t have a scrap of evidence,’ said Morland. ‘It’s all a theory. Nothing but a wild hypothesis. Parlour games. Red Bull and champagne!’ Morland laughed but it wasn’t a particularly convincing performance. ‘Complete and utter bull!’

‘I spoke to a chambermaid at the Corrida Hotel. She told me you arrived with a dark-haired girl wearing a long black coat that didn’t look too clean. You booked a room-’

‘Those foreign girls would do anything for money! They’d say exactly what you want them to say! How much did you give her? I am sure you bribed her. Lies, all lies! Moon was not-’ He broke off.

‘She wasn’t wearing the chinel?’ Antonia gave a little smile.

‘Watch out, Morland. You keep giving yourself away, you know,’ Major Payne said.

‘As a matter of fact, you were captured on camera. You and Moon. There are security cameras in the hotel lounge. The manager let me see the recordings,’ Antonia went on bluffing boldly. ‘The police saw them too.’

‘The police? You mean you’ve contrived to get the police involved in this nonsense? You don’t honestly expect me to believe the hotel manager allowed you any access to their security cameras? I think you are the greatest liar who ever lived. D’you often play games with people’s lives?’ His hand went up to his chest. Antonia hoped he wouldn’t have a heart attack and die in their drawing room. ‘Even if it is as you say and we were caught on camera, what proof is there that any “impropriety” ever took place? It’s not as though we’ve been caught in flagrante, is it?’

He was no fool, Antonia thought. There was another pause.

‘I am planning to adopt Moon,’ Morland said in a thoughtful voice. He sounded almost calm now. ‘Poor girl, she’s got no one in the world. I was very much in love with Stella. I adored Stella. I was devastated when she died. I propose to take good care of Moon. I feel it’s my duty.’

So that was going to be his line. A good lawyer, if it ever came to that, would be able to get him off without any particular difficulty, Antonia reflected.

‘I needed to talk to her in private. She can be difficult, she doesn’t really like me, so I thought a change of location might be conducive to a constructive discussion about the future, hence the hotel,’ Morland went on. ‘Moon’s never been anywhere near the Villa Byzantine. That handkerchief was not hers. She has nothing to do with any of this lunacy… I don’t know what I’m doing here. I really don’t. Wasting my time. I’m going. I’ve had enough.’ Somewhat shakily Morland rose to his feet.

Antonia said, ‘Stella’s death was a direct consequence of your affair with Moon.’

‘There are very strict libel laws in this country, Miss Darcy, as I’m sure you are aware,’ he said with a ghastly smile.

‘Stella died minutes after she tumbled to the fact that you and her daughter were having an affair. There were letters. Stella found them. She read them.’

Morland had started walking towards the door. He halted and turned round. ‘What letters?’ There was a harsh, even ragged, edge to his voice.

‘Highly compromising letters written by Moon to you. Letters that made it obvious to Stella that her daughter and you were lovers. The letters were in the car.’

This was an audacious guess, but Antonia couldn’t resist it. She remembered Moon telling them how she’d got in trouble at school for writing letters to teachers she ‘liked’. Something did happen in the car, Antonia was certain of it. She didn’t believe Moon had simply chosen that particular time to regale her mother with details of her affair with James Morland.

‘What car are you talking about?’

‘Your car. Your second car.’

‘The uncool one,’ Major Payne put in. ‘The one you keep in the garage. Moon’s been driving it, hasn’t she?’

‘I believe you are both mad. You are a danger to civilized society. You shouldn’t be at large. You need psychiatric help,’ Morland said, but the bluster had gone.

His expression had changed at the mention of the letters. He was making a visible effort to pull himself together.

‘How did Winifred die?’ Morland asked after a pause. ‘Was she beheaded too?’

‘No. Her head was bashed in. It was a ferocious attack.’ Payne produced his pipe. ‘Somebody took a crack at her skull. Three cracks, to be precise. The blows were dealt with the doorstop from Tancred Vane’s study. A genuine Victorian article in the shape of an owl.’

‘You certainly had a good motive for wanting to be rid of Stella,’ began Antonia. ‘However-’

‘You are wrong if you think you can pin either murder on me,’ Morland said. ‘I killed no one. I am not a killer.’

‘We know you are not,’ said Payne. He started filling his pipe with tobacco from the tobacco jar. ‘On the morning Stella’s murder took place you were attending a board meeting. The police checked. You have an unbreakable alibi. And we don’t think it was you who followed Winifred to the Villa Byzantine either. Yours was not the hand that picked up the owl.’

Morland gazed glassily at him. He looked puzzled and oddly disturbed by Payne’s last words. ‘The owl?’

It was at that point that his mobile rang.

Once more Antonia bit her lip. One could always trust a mobile to add drama and suspense to an already fraught situation!

Morland took his mobile out of his pocket with a mechanical gesture.

‘Yes? Yes, it’s me-’ He swallowed. He didn’t make any effort to disguise his feelings. His expression changed.

Extreme tenderness mingled with fear.

It was Stella’s daughter, Antonia knew at once.

‘Where are you? What – what’s that noise?’ Morland glanced from Payne to Antonia. He looked like a trapped animal. ‘What do you mean, after you? Who is after you?’

The police, Antonia thought. The police were after her.

‘You aren’t driving, are you?’ Morland groaned. She was driving his car – the second car. Antonia went on filling in the gaps. The police were after her. It was all over. It should have happened sooner. Poor lovelorn Winifred needn’t have died.

‘I love you too – please stop the car – you may have an accident – you have nothing to fear!’ Morland cried, throwing all caution to the winds.

‘Actually, she has everything to fear,’ Payne said in a loud voice. ‘The game is up, Morland.’

Antonia wished Hugh didn’t use such melodramatic phrases.

‘Hello? Moon? Hello? Hello?’ Morland slumped down heavily on the sofa. He gazed wildly at Payne. ‘An owl? Did you say an owl?’ Some kind of realization seemed to have dawned on him. His face was grey, ashen. ‘But-’

It was the owl that had sent shivers down his spine the day before. He had remembered.

Moon had told him her mother had mentioned the owl to her, but Stella couldn’t have known about it! Vane had bought the owl the day Stella was killed. After she was killed. Vane had shown him the owl while they were sitting in the library at the Villa Byzantine.

Morland remembered the exact sequence of events. Vane had poured out two drinks, then gone up to the round table in the middle of the room and reached for one of the packages he had brought with him earlier on. The owl had been in a red cardboard box with golden stripes. There had been a blue star in the middle of the lid.

‘Bought it this morning. For Pupil Room. That’s what I call my study. Clever birds, owls. Symbolize the wisdom of the author-’

Vane had babbled on. He had been a little hysterical.

No, Stella couldn’t have seen the owl. At the time Vane opened the red box with the yellow stripes and the blue star, Stella had been dead. Her body had been lying in Vane’s drawing room. Yet Moon told him that her mother had mentioned Vane’s owl to her. Since her mother couldn’t have done any such thing, since Morland hadn’t told her about the owl either, there was only one conclusion to be drawn Moon had seen the owl with her own eyes.

She had been inside the Villa Byzantine. She had gone up to Vane’s study. To the so-called Pupil Room. She had actually picked up the owl and- Why in heaven’s name had she killed Winifred?

Morland covered his eyes with his hands. What sounded like a moan escaped his lips. He shook and swayed. The shock was so immense, he wondered if it would bludgeon him into some kind of unconsciousness. It’s all my fault, he thought.

He had been wrong to think her innocent. She had been to the Villa Byzantine not just once but twice… Stella… That morning… It had looked stormy… Stella had seemed preoccupied at breakfast… He had left… She and Moon had gone to the Villa Byzantine together. They must have done. Moon had driven her mother to the Villa Byzantine… In his old car. The uncool one…

Like Antonia before him, he went on filling in the gaps.

His old car – he should have got rid of it ages ago – his old jacket on the back seat – he shouldn’t have left it there – the letters in the pocket – damned careless of him – he’d asked Moon to stop writing to him, though he had to admit he had been thrilled by the things she wrote – so damned liberating – never happened to him before, that sort of thing – so flattering – the praise she heaped on him – he should have destroyed those letters – why hadn’t he destroyed the damned letters?

They watched his lips tremble, his face crumple.

Light of my loins, fire of my life – or rather the other way round. Sin and soul came into it, Payne did imagine.

Though it was doubtful whether Morland would have put it in any such Nabokovian terms.