The Mudflats of the Dead

‘Plainly and clearly stated.’

‘It’s perfectly true, I assure you. I decided to leave the cottage when I discovered my former fiancee and her husband there. The Kirbys were a bit upset when I said I was leaving, but the situation was too much for me to cope with. All the same, I didn’t just want to walk out on the Kirbys. They had been very kind to me, and Morag didn’t seem to bear me any grudge. Although I’d jilted her she seemed friendly, so I suggested a little farewell party at the pub, all drinks on me.’

‘So where was Miss St John? Did she know what you had planned?’

‘I don’t think we’d seen Camilla all day. Oh, wait a minute, though. I didn’t see her myself, but I think the others must have done. She was at supper with us the night before, I’m certain, and she must have been there at the next breakfast with the others – this was before Morag and Lowson turned up, of course – but I didn’t see her then because I got my own breakfast that morning and had it early and went over to Stack Ferry for the day, and Camilla wasn’t there when I got back in the evening.’

‘And this was before Mr and Mrs Lowson arrived at the cottage? You are sure of that?’

‘Oh, yes. I had the shock of my life when I got back in the evening and found them there.’

‘And Miss St John was not there when you got back? – so you really did not see her all that day? Are you sure?’

‘Yes. Otherwise I would have invited her to go with us to the pub. I didn’t grudge the little limpet a couple of drinks. Of course I did see her later when we had our moonlight dip.’

‘If you did not see her all day, perhaps she had given up pursuing you.’

‘As to that, I’d had a bit of a toss-up with her because the day before (I think it was) she had sneaked off with Adrian in my car, of all the damn’ cheek, and I’d rather told her what I thought of her.’

‘And when your little party at the public house was over?’

‘Ah, we’re coming to the point now, I suppose you think.’

‘Well, I think that what you are about to tell me may prove interesting, if not particularly useful.’

‘You won’t be able to check it, but I’ll tell you the truth.’ Dame Beatrice waited. It seemed that Palgrave was assembling his thoughts, or perhaps his memories, and arranging them in some sort of order. At last she asked: ‘Is the truth so complicated?’

‘Eh? Oh, sorry! I was just thinking. Well, when we left the pub I got into my car to spend the night on the back seat, as I thought, but it was so chilly and downright uncomfortable that I soon had to get out and tramp up and down for a bit to warm up and get the stiffness out of my legs. It was bright moonlight and that’s how I came to spot Camilla coming towards the car.’

‘From which direction?’

‘Oh, from the cottage, of course.’

‘Carrying her suitcase?’

‘No, she wasn’t carrying anything like that, so far as I remember; she certainly wasn’t carrying a suitcase. She had a towel, I think.’

‘So you met and she suggested a moonlight bathe.’

‘That’s it. My swim-trunks were back at the cottage in my suitcase, of course, but I didn’t think they mattered at night with nobody about. It seemed a long way across the marshes to the sea, but Camilla held my hand and sang all sorts of rather maudlin little songs, some in French – Si j’etais l’oiseau des bois – that sort of thing – and some in English—’

‘What was she wearing?’

‘Wearing? Oh, her usual gear of jeans and a sweater. She was wearing her bikini underneath.’

‘And you?’

‘Grey flannels, shirt and blazer. I’d packed my sweaters. I could have done with a sweater in the car, but walking was all right and I made sure we kept up a solid tramping. There’s a causeway that crosses a little bridge and takes you as far as the dunes, so I took her along at pretty well marching pace. All I wanted was to walk and swim, not to indulge in a bit of dalliance among the marsh-plants.’

‘You preferred that it should operate among the sand-dunes, no doubt.’

Palgrave laughed.

‘Not I,’ he said. ‘There was a very nasty, penetrating night wind blowing. We stripped off and I went straight into deep water.’

‘Deep water?’

‘Yes, the tide must have been almost full. Anyway, it was still coming in. Almost at once the water was waist-high and in no time at all it was deep enough for swimming. I didn’t stay in long. I followed my usual practice of going out until I couldn’t touch the bottom when I put my feet down, and then swimming level with the shore for a hundred metres or so, then turning and swimming back. I think I only did this a couple of times before I got out.’

‘But Miss St John remained in the water?’

‘Well, no, not exactly. She called out to know what I was doing and when I called back that I was getting dressed she called me by a rude name which I won’t repeat, and joined me on shore.’

‘Ah, yes.’

‘Oh, no! I told her if she wanted to play games among the sand-dunes to choose a nice sunny day. I said I was wet and was getting cold and all I wanted was to dry myself, get some clothes on and walk briskly back to my car. She said I was no sort of sport, but I threatened what I’d do if she didn’t either dress or get back in the sea.’

‘Most praiseworthy!’

‘There is no need to jibe. I simply didn’t want any of that sort of thing. There had been just one occasion on a lovely day when we had bathed together and were lying out on the sand-dunes and the sand was soft and warm and there were seagulls white and lovely against the blue of the sky and I was feeling relaxed and the girl was naked – well, that was one thing – but at night, with a chilly wind and my wet body that only asked to be warm and dry and clothed, there was no temptation at all. In fact, the little devil’s attempts to blackmail me only nauseated me because I’d seen and spoken to Morag that day and evening. My mind was full of her. I wanted her pretty badly and I knew I couldn’t have her. I’d chucked my chances away and I felt savage with Camilla, who was offering herself as a substitute. I could have murdered her – but I didn’t. I dried myself on my shirt and went back to the cottage.’

‘Leaving Miss St John to go back into the sea? Did you actually see her do this?’

‘Oh, yes. When she found there was nothing doing, I think the cold wind drove her back into the water. It was definitely warmer in the sea than on land.’

‘Did you have the beach and the dunes entirely to yourselves?’

‘The beach, yes. The dunes I can’t answer for. They are all dips, rises and hollows, as perhaps you know, and a lot of holidaymaking youngsters sleep rough. I wouldn’t be surprised if there were couples snugged down here and there. I wasn’t aware of anybody, but that says nothing. Even by daylight you can pretty nearly tread on them if you’re not careful.’

‘You saw nobody walking across the marshes?’

‘Not a soul while I was on them. There was a bit of white mist I half thought was somebody, but it wasn’t.’

‘Well, now, so far, Mr Palgrave, your story lacks corroboration, but, from the time you reached the cottage that night until the time you left it, I have been given one or two pieces of information about your movements.’

‘So I’d better watch my step? Fair enough. Well, I got back to the cottage—’

‘Why not to your car?’

‘I knew I’d never get to sleep in it, so I opted to sneak into the cottage and get my things and then take the car out Stack Ferry way and drive around until breakfast time.’

‘And at the cottage—?’

‘Ah, yes. That’s where you’ve got the drop on me, isn’t it? I went in as quietly as I could, because, of course, the front door opened straight into the room which had been mine before the Lowsons took it over, and I didn’t want to wake them if they had gone to sleep. Then I crept about trying to locate my suitcase. There was nowhere in the room to hang up clothes or stick things in drawers, so I’d been living in and out of the suitcase for days, but