The Mudflats of the Dead

they’ve had an accident.’

‘If she picked up a lift in somebody’s car, she probably got what she’s been asking for,’ said Palgrave.

‘I know. But, Colin, sometimes they kill the girl afterwards.’

‘No such luck where Camilla is concerned,’ said Adrian, ‘so stop worrying. The bad pennies always turn up.’

‘Oh, Adrian, I don’t think she’s a bad penny, not really.’

‘A little defaced and debased, perhaps,’ said Palgrave. ‘And now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to go to bed.’

‘Oh, Colin! Of course we’re sitting on it! Adrian, help him open it out and we’ll make it up for him.’

At three in the morning there was a heavy thunderstorm. In the middle of it Camilla came in. She was soaking wet. She put on Palgrave’s light and began to take off her dripping garments and drop them on the floor. Her entrance did what the thunder had failed to do. It woke Palgrave. He sat up, blinking in the light.

‘Hey!’ he said. ‘What do you think you’re up to? Get the hell out of here, and p.d.q., or I’ll give you what I wanted to give you the other night when you managed to climb in on me.’

‘Oh, Colin, I’m cold and so tired.’

‘Up you go. We’ll discuss your sad case with the others in the morning.’

‘Just a minute while you get me warm?’ She came towards the bed. Palgrave got out of it, walked over to his suitcase and took off the strap which held it together against a broken fastening.

‘Ready when you are,’ he said, giving the strap an experimental flick through the air, ‘and it won’t be quite the warming you have in mind.’ Camilla gave a coquettish little shriek just as Miranda came down the stairs.

‘What happened to you?’ she asked fiercely.

‘Nothing at all. Somebody gave me a lift into the town, we had dinner and then there was the usual engine trouble on the way back. It might have happened to anybody.’

‘Oh, go to bed,’ said Miranda. ‘Leave those wet clothes in the scullery. I’ll see to them in the morning. I’m glad you’re all right.’

‘I’m not. I hope she’s caught her death of cold,’ said Palgrave. ‘If she has, what a blessed relief that will be to one and all!’

He spent the next morning walking over the now spongy marshes. The creek was brimming and was wider than he had seen it before. The water was shadowed with grey which began to turn to silver and then to glints of gold as the sun rose. His wanderings took him as far as the pebble-ridge. It was clear that the holiday season was getting under way, for all the moorings in the creek had been taken up by the smaller yachts and he could see, when he scrambled to the top of the ridge, that several larger craft were anchored offshore, their dinghies either hoisted up on deck or riding behind them.

He came down from the ridge and found a track, muddy and waterlogged after the thunderstorn, which led to the church. Once past the church he decided to take to the road and walk to the village with the windmill which he had passed on his way to Saltacres. Miranda had made a painting of the windmill and he wanted to study the romantically situated little building for himself. As he had become rather too fond of saying since his first book had been published, all was grist which came to a novelist’s mill, and he was still hoping that something, somewhere, would bring him what he still thought of as inspiration.

The village, with a mile of marshes between it and the sea, was larger than, when he had passed through it in his car, he had supposed. He explored its ancient streets, found a good road which led down to the beach, looked at the outside of the church but did not go in, and made what inspection he could of the windmill, but discovered that it had been co-opted as part of a modern house. Time passed. He found a small pub near what had been the harbour and jotted down notes and sketches while he had a beer, and then he made his return journey to Saltacres.

He had brought a map with him and learnt from it that there was an alternative to going back by way of the road. It involved a far longer walk than his outward one, for it meant taking a broad causeway which led down to the shore, following another which ran almost parallel with the beach and then taking a long cast across the marshes on another causeway which would bring him out about a quarter of a mile east of Saltacres church.

Just before he reached this last causeway, which turned in a southward direction away from the beach, he saw two people paddling. They were laughing, pushing one another and kicking up the water. One he recognised immediately from the back view. It was Camilla, clad as usual in her jeans and shapeless sweater. The man who was with her was a stranger to Palgrave, but certainly not to the girl for, as Palgrave passed behind them, but twenty yards or so inland, he saw him swing Camilla up, toss her in the air, catch her again, kiss her and then, to an accompaniment of her squeals, dump her into the shallow water. She suddenly hooked the man’s legs from under him and had him floundering beside her. They both yelled with laughter.

To his own amazement and self-distrust, Palgrave found himself furious because of these antics. He quickened his pace and turned on to the homeward causeway, but fancied that their laughter pursued him.

When he reached the village he turned into the pub, as usual, for his midday snack and found the place taken over almost entirely by yachtsmen. He looked around for Adrian and Miranda, but they were not present. The bar was noisy and bonhomous, but there was nobody he knew. He managed to edge his way to the bar and put in his order, but ate his bread and cheese and drank his pint as quickly as he could. Then he went back to the cottage and sat down at his work table. He enlarged the notes he had made, typed them out, made a list of possible titles for his book, hoping that one of these titles would set the opus in motion, but gave up in despair and decided to go for a swim. The tide was still running out, so he searched the mudflats it was leaving behind and hoped that he might come upon the specimens of marine life which Adrian had sketched for him.

Tiring of this pursuit, he went back to the sand-dunes, took off his shirt and lay out in the sun. The warmth and the lassitude which followed his long walk of the morning soon sent him to sleep. He woke to find Camilla seated beside him, her arms clasped round her knees.

‘Hullo,’ she said. She sounded deflated and tired. No wonder, he thought. He sat up and gazed out to sea. ‘I’m sorry about last night,’ she went on. ‘Can’t we be friends?’

‘I don’t think you’re capable of it,’ he replied. ‘You can’t even keep your promises, can you?’ He did not tell her that he had seen her already that day. Again he was conscious of the fact that the emotion her antics had conjured up in him was not disgust but sheer sexual jealousy. ‘I’m a dog in a manger,’ he told himself angrily. ‘I don’t want the blasted girl, and yet I’m not willing that anybody else should have her.’

‘A penny for them,’ she said, putting her hand on his knee.

‘You’d be wasting your money,’ he said. On the following morning, but with a much later start to his walk, he explored the green countryside of the low hills behind the village. When he got back to the pub he found that, although it was less crowded than it had been at the previous midday, it was still virtually in possession of the yachtsmen. They were crowding the bar, so when he had secured his snack and his drink, he looked around to find somewhere to sit down. He found an alcove which was occupied only by Miranda.

‘May I?’ he asked, seating himself opposite her.

‘Oh, Colin, how nice!’ she said.

‘May I get you a drink?’

‘No, I have had what I wanted. I was just about to leave, but now I will stay and talk to you. It was good of you to lend Adrian and Camilla your car to go over to Stack Ferry. I did not want them to go together, but Adrian is so anxious to explore those freshwater marshes that I said nothing except that I was grateful to Camilla for taking him – he does not drive and the car was lent to Camilla—’

‘But it wasn’t!’

‘You did not lend it to her?’

‘Of course I didn’t! I don’t allow anybody else to drive my car. Suppose she has a crash and busts it up!’

‘That girl!’ exclaimed Miranda, for the second time in his hearing, but this time with greater emphasis. ‘She declared that you had promised she should borrow it because you were out walking and would not need it yourself today. Oh, Colin, I am so sorry! Adrian and I were doubtful, but she swore it was all arranged between you, so for Adrian the temptation to believe her was too strong. There is no transport that he can hire from here, you see.’

‘Well, I must hope for the best, I suppose.’ Palgrave tried to contain his anger, but could not. He escorted Miranda back to the cottage, put on his swim-trunks, and slung a towel around his shoulders. Still in a state of bitter anger, he took to the causeway, crossed the plank bridge where he had met Camilla for the first time and, walking and running, made his way down to the shore.