did not seem so steep as it had the night before. Partly, of course, that was because Mrs Pargeter was going down rather than up, but, as she looked across in the daylight at the other, curving path she had taken with Joyce and Ginnie, the longer route appeared to be at least as steep and, here and there, even steeper.
Mrs Pargeter crammed the lid firmly down on that speculation too.
¦
The taverna was open, but there were not many customers. It was not yet one o’clock, and the lunchtime trade wouldn’t really get going for another hour. The Secretary with Short Bleached Hair and the Secretary with Long Bleached Hair sat over glasses of Sprite. Both wore bikinis that constricted their plump flesh like rubber bands; and already their white curves blushed from incautious exposure to the Mediterranean sun. They were engaging in a little come-hither banter with the beautiful Yianni, who was being polite, though clearly uninterested, as he swept round the tables with a broom made of bunches of twigs.
At another table sat Ginnie, doing her promised problem-solving stint. Mr and Mrs Safari Suit, dressed exactly as they had been the day before, were the ones with problems, and they appeared to be bending the rep’s ears unmercifully. Ginnie, Mrs Pargeter noticed with interest, had a scratch on her face and the beginnings of a black eye, which had not been there the night before. On that detail too Mrs Pargeter did not allow herself to speculate.
She looked cautiously towards the table where she and Joyce had sat. It was on the edge of the eating area and had not yet been reached by Yianni’s broom. She saw with relief that the flightbag still remained under her seat. Casually, she moved across, as if to look out over the bay, and picked it up.
She had not yet decided who should be the first recipient of her dreadful news. The person she wanted to tell was Larry Lambeth. He was the most sympathetic contact she had on Corfu and she needed to share some of the emotions building up inside her. Also, his background would make him a useful sounding-board for conjecture about the crime.
But this was a murder case and protocol must be observed. The local police should be notified as soon as possible. (Mrs Pargeter had always been a great believer in keeping the police supplied with as much information as she reckoned they could cope with.) Spiro was the one with a telephone, so presumably at some point he must be involved in contacting the police, but Mrs Pargeter decided that Ginnie should be the one to know first of Joyce Dover’s death.
Mr and Mrs Safari Suit, however, appeared to be settled in for a long session of complaint. “I mean, the brochure,” Mr Safari Suit was saying, “didn’t indicate that the Villa Ariadne was so far up the hill, and it’s not as if my wife doesn’t have her varicose veins to contend with. I really think the tour operator should move us into another villa nearer to sea level and my wife and I are also very disappointed that the crockery supplied in the…”
If ever Mrs Pargeter had had news that would justify breaking into a conversation, now was that moment, but it was not her style to create unnecessary shock and distress. No, she would bide her time, wait until Ginnie was free, and then break the news to her discreetly.
So she sat down at an adjacent table, ordered a coffee from Yianni (a Nescafe – she couldn’t take that gravelly, sweet Greek stuff), and waited.
Mr Safari Suit went on at inordinate length, but eventually, unable to think of anything else to complain about, set off to take some photographs of Mrs Safari Suit against a background of fishing boats.
Mrs Pargeter moved across to the next table and Ginnie gave her the professional smile of someone who had just coped with one whingeing nit-picker and is fully prepared to face another. “No major problem, I hope?” she asked breezily.
“Well, yes, I’m afraid there is. It’s Joyce.”
“Oh dear. Still unwell, is she?”
“Rather worse than unwell, Ginnie. Joyce is dead.”
“What?” There was a fraction of a second’s pause. “Oh no. That’s the holiday rep’s nightmare. I’ve been lucky, I’ve never had one of my clients die on me before. Oh, how dreadful. What happened?”
It was what had happened in the pause after Ginnie had said “What?” that interested Mrs Pargeter. There had been a grinding gear-change in the girl’s reaction, and after that gear-change she had been back in control. She had responded with appropriate concern and, if that concern had been selfish rather than compassionate, it had still been the proper response of a professional faced with a professional problem.
But her first reaction, the one expressed in that almost breathless “What?”, had been one of naked fear.
The fear of someone who had just had her worst imaginings realised.
? Mrs Pargeter’s Package ?
Eleven
Mrs Pargeter did not use the word ‘murder’. She just described, as impassively as she could manage, the scene that she had encountered in Joyce’s bedroom.
Ginnie, whose professional control had firmly reasserted itself after that one brief lapse, nodded grimly. “I’ll see that the proper authorities are notified,” she said, and disappeared into the taverna, instructing Mrs Pargeter to wait for her. The rep was gone for some time.
The area under the awning started to fill up with minimally-clad tourists, the level of whose tans showed, to the precise day, how far they were into their fortnight’s packages. Drinks were ordered, then the waiters came with their paper tablecloth routine, and plates of food started to appear.
Mrs Pargeter didn’t feel hungry, and thought that it might be quite a while before she ever felt hungry again. She ordered a bottle of retsina from Yianni, but the wine tasted metallic and emetic on her tongue, so after a few sips she gave up.
Meanwhile, in spite of the iron discipline she was trying to impose on herself, thoughts continued to seethe and bubble up in her mind.
Ginnie came back after half an hour, accompanied by Spiro. His eyes were even darker with concern, as he sat down beside Mrs Pargeter. “I am so sorry, lady, for what has happened. It is very sad, your friend, very sad.”
“Yes.”
“The police will be along to the villa soon, Mrs Pargeter,” said Ginnie. “Obviously there’s no way the other holidaymakers aren’t going to find out what has happened eventually, but I’d be grateful if you could keep quiet about the death for as long as possible.”
“That goes without saying.”
The rep picked up her shoulder-bag. “I must go back to the office in Corfu Town. There’s going to be a lot to sort out, informing next-of-kin, that kind of thing.”
“Joyce just had the one daughter. Conchita. I think I’ve probably got her address somewhere if…”
Mrs Pargeter was saved the trouble of riffling through her handbag. “It’s all right. We’ll have all the details in the office.”
“Oh, very well.”
“Are you sure you’re all right, Mrs Pargeter? I mean, I could easily call a doctor if you want some sedation or…”
Sedation is the last thing I want after the night I’ve just had, thought Mrs Pargeter, but all she said was, “No, I’ll be fine, thank you.”
“Spiro will keep an eye on you. Won’t you?”
“Of course, Tchinnie. Will you have something to eat, please?”
It was interesting, Mrs Pargeter noticed as she refused Spiro’s offer, that the Greeks couldn’t pronounce the ‘J’ sound at the beginning of ‘Ginnie’. The consonant came out as a kind of ‘Tch’. ‘Tchinnie’.
“Mrs Pargeter, obviously you won’t want to stay in the Villa Eleni…”
“I hadn’t really thought about that, Ginnie. I mean, I don’t mind. I’m not squeamish.”
“I was thinking maybe you’d want to go straight back to England?”
Oh no, not yet. Mrs Pargeter was very firm in her mind about that. She wanted to wait at least until the police investigation was under way. She wanted to be sure that her friend’s murder was getting the attention it
