The Mudflats of the Dead

claim) of a hundred earls and was now in her fifth year at the art school because she had set her cap at the principal and was still hoping to trap him into marrying her. Lastly there was Fenella, who, according to Camilla, was a callgirl when she was not at the art school where, so far, she had not learnt enough even to slap paint on a barn door, let alone contrive a decent picture.

He wondered how soon they had learned of Camilla’s death. Miranda would have told them by this time, even if they had not read of it in the papers. He wondered how they had taken the news. Had they been fond of Camilla, he wondered, or had they regarded her merely as a person who was good for her share of the rent? He began weaving fantasies which became wilder and more unlikely as sleep came nearer to him. When he did fall asleep, his dreams were even more fantastic than his thoughts and filled him with an almost nightmare dread, so that he was relieved to be awake again.

He worked hard all the next morning on his book and in the afternoon took his car out. He cruised around the neighbourhood for an hour or so, followed the road to the south and then came upon a signpost which showed that there was a cross-country route to Saltacres. He had no desire to return there, but concluded that there would be a diversion somewhere along the route which would take him back to Stack Ferry.

Then another thought struck him. Adrian and Miranda would have vacated the cottage and gone back to London, but the Lowsons would still be in possession. A longing came over him to see Morag again. When he came to a turning which would have taken him back to Stack Ferry he avoided it and continued on his way.

He was ready with his excuse for calling on the Lowsons. He would ask whether they knew the Kirbys’ London address so that he could write and thank them for their kindness to him and to ask whether he might call upon them when he got back to his lodgings and take them out for a drink or perhaps to the theatre.

Thus armed, he parked his car in the wide part of the village street where he had always left it, smoothed down his hair and went along to knock on the cottage door.

Morag was alone. She did not seem in the least surprised to see him, but invited him in as though she had been expecting him.

‘Why, Colin, how very nice!’ she said. ‘We were hoping you would call before you went back to London. Miranda was sorry you didn’t go to the funeral, but Adrian said it was understandable, as you hardly knew the poor girl.’

‘I knew her quite well enough, thank you!’ Palgrave found himself saying.

‘Oh, dear, yes, I know! Well, do sit down and I’ll get the tea. I’m sorry Cupar isn’t here. He’s out sailing. I didn’t want to go, but I’m awfully glad of some company.’

‘I haven’t really come to inflict myself on you,’ said Palgrave. ‘I just wanted Adrian’s London address, if you have it.’

‘Yes, I do have it, but please don’t hurry away. You don’t look very well, Colin. You’re worried about that poor girl’s death, aren’t you? So are your friends, you know. They’re so worried that they are going to do something about it.’

‘What can anybody do? She’s dead; the coroner has given the only verdict which is possible under the circumstances, and there’s an end of it.’

‘Your friends don’t think so. I believe they’re wasting their time and that of the police, but they are determined to keep the case open.’

‘But, Morag, there simply isn’t a case, and when you call them my friends, well, I hope they are, but I’ve only known them since I came down here.’

‘Yes, they told me. You were a stranger and they took you in – literally, not metaphorically, of course.’

‘It was really Camilla’s doing, I think, although the invitation was supposed to come from them. I wish to goodness now that I’d refused it.’

‘Because this drowning business has happened? My thought is that it would have happened anyway. I think the verdict was right. The poor girl chose the wrong state of the tide, got carried out to sea on an undertow, couldn’t get back and was drowned. The incoming tide brought the body back to shore and somebody – that man who gave evidence at the inquest – found and reported it. It’s all simple enough and it’s the sort of thing that must happen every year during the holiday season on some part of the coast. People who ought to know better will do these daft things, and you must know, being one of them yourself, as I well remember, that there is nobody so arrogant as a strong swimmer.’

‘She wasn’t all that strong a swimmer,’ said Palgrave. ‘She wasn’t nearly as powerful as you, from what I remember, but she couldn’t have drowned that last night I was here. The tide was still coming in. Mind you, if later on she did bathe on an outgoing tide and got carried out to sea, I don’t think she could have fought her way back. I had the devil of a job myself that time I was fool enough to pit myself against the undertow. It was terribly alarming and one tended to panic, which certainly didn’t help matters.’

‘Well, Adrian and Miranda are so certain that the girl would never have taken such a risk that, apart from anything the police may be thinking of doing, they have decided to take matters further.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘They want to put a private investigator on to the job of finding out what happened. It’s a nuisance the doctors couldn’t decide exactly when the girl was drowned and, of course, there is still the question of that suitcase of hers. It hasn’t turned up anywhere yet.’

‘So what exactly are Adrian and Miranda trying to do? I hope they are not taking on more than they can cope with.’

‘Oh, they are going to do that, all right.’

‘You mean they’ve got hold of some private eye who’ll lead them up the garden and charge them the earth for doing so?’

‘Not at all. They are going to find out whether Dame Beatrice Lestrange Bradley will look into the thing for them.’

‘But she’s a top-notch mental specialist, accredited to the Home Office and goodness knows what all besides! I’ve heard her lecture.’

‘Yes, so have Cupar and I. Cupar is a doctor and he’s actually met her, and he says it’s a crazy idea to approach her. He says that, if she thought the case had any interesting possibilities, she’d certainly take it on and probably charge no more than her expenses, but she won’t touch it, I’m sure. Of course I wish them luck with her, but, to start with, she has as much money as anybody either needs or wants, even in these days of inflation, and unless it will advance or in any way improve her reputation, which, in all conscience, is formidable enough already, she won’t be interested in an open and shut case like this one. Adrian and Miranda may have their own opinions, but they are only opinions, after all, and, as Cupar says, in face of the verdict at the inquest, worth less than nothing. Of course I feel very sorry for them, because, however illogical such an attitude may be, they will always feel in some degree responsible for this girl’s death. I quite understand that, nonsense though it is. By the way, how old was she?’

‘Nineteen or twenty, I think, but she seemed such a kid, all the same.’

‘Granted, but she was not such a kid, as you call her, in some of the ways that matter, especially to a fairly newly married wife such as myself.’

‘You don’t mean she made a pass at Lowson?’

‘At Cupar? Yes, indeed she did. She took him for a walk and he came back quite upset and said awful things about her.’

‘I thought she was out all that day. Anyway, she was a bit of a nymphomaniac, I rather fancy.’

‘Is that why you left the cottage and took a room at Stack Ferry?’

‘How did you know where I’d gone? Oh, I had told Adrian and Miranda, I suppose. No, Camilla was not the reason. I wanted a setting for my second book. I had hoped to find it here, but nothing worked out, so I decided to push on and try my luck elsewhere.’

‘Is that the whole story?’ She met his eyes and held them.

‘Well, not quite. Actually I had intended to finish the week here and squash in with the overspill until Adrian and Miranda went back to London, but, well, the personnel of the overspill forced me to change my mind.’

‘I see.’

Palgrave saw that she did. He looked away and said: ‘Well, you must admit that the circumstances had their embarrassing aspect.’

She smiled with the sudden sweetness it gave him a pang to remember.