The Murder Game, page 10
Walking into the bathroom, I decide to relax in a cool bath. I will try to let my mind drift, to calm myself before I face the others. I empty half of a bottle of foaming gel into the water, and as the perfume fills the room my eyes flood with tears. I sink low under the bubbles and surrender to the sobs that are never far below the surface.
Matt came back from his swim ages ago, but I pretended to be asleep. With little regard for me, he banged about the room, unpacking his suitcase, opening and closing drawers and selecting something appropriate to wear for the evening. I sometimes think he is trying to make me hate him.
As soon as he goes, I creep out onto our balcony to see if I can catch a glimpse of the others. I can see the terrace, but a wide grey cantilevered sun umbrella is hiding the area where people are sitting.
It sounds as if the men have assembled ahead of the six o’clock deadline, and I can hear Lucas’s deep voice telling some story or other. Matt laughs, but the pitch is wrong. He’s uncomfortable being here, and I can sense it in his every action.
I leave it another twenty minutes before getting ready, selecting a peach-coloured linen dress and a thin silver necklace. Finally it’s time to go down – I can’t put it off any longer. Once again I step onto the balcony. I pause at the sight of another figure coming out of a door at the back of the house carrying a couple of bottles. He is wearing shorts and a Hawaiian shirt, and even from above I recognise the short, spiky hair of Nick Wallace. Nick and Lucas are like a photograph and its negative – Lucas so dark, with his designer stubble and pale golden eyes with their new intense stare, Nick clean shaven, with fair hair and dark blue eyes. He never seems to sit still.
I hear Andrew call out a friendly greeting and realise Isabel must have joined the men. I didn’t warm to her last year, although I don’t know if that’s just because she was so familiar with Matt and gave him meaningful glances that I didn’t understand, or because I saw them arguing.
I take a deep breath and make my way downstairs. It seems I have timed my entrance well, because as I arrive Nina and the housekeeper – a different one, I notice – come out from the kitchen, each bearing a tray of delicious-looking canapés.
As the artfully arranged morsels are placed on the table, Andrew looks up.
‘Jemma!’ he says, jumping up from his chair and striding round the table to give me a kiss. I feel myself blushing and sit down, fiddling with my napkin.
Nick raises his hand in greeting. ‘Excuse me if I don’t get up, Jemma. I started earlier and I’m already two Martinis down, so until I’ve had some of these small delights –’ he lifts a crostino strewn with slivers of roasted pepper ‘– I’m staying put. But it’s good to see you, and I’ll save my kisses for later.’ He puts the whole piece of toasted bread into his mouth and winks.
‘Let me get you a drink,’ Lucas says.
I smile my thanks.
When I finally glance at my husband he isn’t looking at me; he’s looking at Isabel, and it’s a look that seems to burn its way across the space between them.
I turn my head away.
27
The next couple of hours before dinner are uncomfortable. Everyone appears to be in good spirits but there is a sense of superficiality to it all, as if being jolly is a prerequisite of the event. The laughter seems forced, the bodies taut. And nobody – not one person – has mentioned Alex. I feel that barrier needs to be broken so we can all acknowledge that something truly dreadful happened here. Maybe then we could relax.
I think about Alex, how she covered her body with loose clothes, her dark hair hiding her face, and her silence. I’ll never forget how she looked on the beach, her arms flung wide, her body so white and that same dark hair spread around her head like a halo on the pebbles. It’s a memory I want to drive from my mind.
I am brought back to the present by Lucas tapping his glass with a knife.
‘I’d like to say a few words.’ He smiles as he looks around the assembled group, but his eyes are flint hard. ‘I appreciate you all coming here again. It’s been a difficult year. I know you all understand why, but you’ve been too polite to mention the tragedy that occurred last time you were here. I also realise you don’t know why I’ve chosen to invite you all back on this day. But what I haven’t told you is that Nina and I are married, and this really is our anniversary.’ There are a few murmurs around the table, as if people think it important to acknow-ledge what Lucas has said without knowing what might be an appropriate response. I glance at Nina, whose smile is at odds with the frown lines between her brows. ‘We have no licence for weddings here, so we were married at the register office the day before the planned big event. That means tomorrow won’t only be the anniversary of Alex’s death but also it’s our wedding anniversary. It seems unfair to Nina that such a day is tarnished with unhappiness, so we thought we’d take this chance to remember Alex, but also celebrate the first year of our marriage.’
I remember seeing Lucas and Nina leaving the house that morning, and realise that’s where they must have been going. Everyone raises their glasses in silent acknowledgement of Lucas’s words, uncertain whether we should be congratulating them or not, but I am relieved that the elephant in the room has now at least been acknowledged.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Nick casting a worried glance at Isabel, who is smiling, teeth showing, but her eyes are flat, lifeless.
Lucas continues: ‘And to make sure that tomorrow evening – our anniversary – remains a celebration rather than a wake, I’ve arranged a party game. I’m not going to tell you any more yet – I’ll give you all the details at lunch. You’ll each have a role to play, and Nina has prepared costumes for everyone.’
He glances towards his wife, who nods and starts to speak, her words lacking inflection as if she’s practised what she must say. ‘I think all your costumes should fit, although Jemma, you might need a sneak preview of yours because I think we may have to alter it slightly. For the rest of you, the costumes will really help you get into character, so please, we hope you will all join in and make it a fun evening.’
I look down at the table knowing my face will be flushed with embarrassment. Nina must have based the size of my outfit on how I looked a year ago, and now it isn’t going to fit.
‘Don’t worry, Jemma. I think it might be a little too long, that’s all.’
I give Nina a smile of thanks. I don’t know her well, but she seems to have a kind heart.
It seems that is all we’re going to learn for now, and Lucas leans back in his chair as everyone feigns excitement at the idea of a party game. Matt is still trying to be jolly, but he is laughing too long, too loud, at Nick’s stories and grinning as if he is trying to convince us that he is all fun and bonhomie.
I switch off, wondering how tomorrow will be and whether I’ll be able to pretend to be cheerful for the sake of the anniversary when I know that all I’ll feel is the spirit of Alex, watching us.
‘Jemma, are you with us?’
Matt is speaking to me, smiling, but I recognise the edge in his voice. I glance around and realise that everyone is standing up and making their way across the terrace to where a circular table has been laid for dinner. I hear snatches of light-hearted conversation, but to my ears it sounds hollow, and I wonder what kind of game Lucas is going to have us playing that will drive out the phantom of Alex.
I pick at the delicious food placed before me. It looks and smells wonderful, but I don’t feel much like eating. My face aches with the effort of smiling, pretending that Matt and I are just the same people we were a year ago. I am laughing in all the right places, I think – not because I’m listening to the conversation, but whenever there is a burst of merriment I join in.
There is one point when I refuse to laugh. I am picking at a plate of pappardelle al tartufo when Isabel leans across the table towards me with a smile.
‘Not eating, Jemma? Don’t tell me you’re on a diet.’ She gives a light laugh.
I realised last year that Isabel is one of those women who thinks it amusing to make jokes at the expense of others. I’ve never learned the art of responding appropriately to bitchy remarks, but Andrew comes to my rescue.
‘I certainly hope not. You look lovely tonight, Jemma.’
I turn towards him and see him give Isabel a fierce stare. Her eyes dart from Andrew to me and back again, and the side of her mouth twists up in a parody of a smile. But she says nothing more and turns to talk to Lucas.
‘Thank you,’ I say quietly.
‘What for? It’s true. I think you look great – and don’t for God’s sake try to emulate Isabel. She lives on her nerves – I guess that’s because she never knows where the next buck is coming from.’
‘What do you mean?’ I’d never asked what Isabel does for a living and she has never talked about it.
‘She’s a dealer, a trader – in just about anything. She buys things for next to nothing if she thinks she can sell them on at a profit, mainly online. Lots of people are doing it, but most have some integrity. Isabel is happy to fleece people if she thinks she can get away with it. The problem is, they never come back twice, and I have no idea what she’s living on. Fresh air, it would seem. Or Nick’s charity.’
‘Gosh, that must be intense, though – taking a risk on what you buy.’
‘Making money is what drives her,’ Andrew said. ‘She’s been a dealer of one sort or another for a long time, but Nick made her knock the dodgy stuff on the head a long time ago, or at least that’s what he thinks. I’m not so sure. He’s undoubtedly more worried about his own reputation than hers – the opinion of others matters a lot to Nick, and he has always been terrified that Lucas will find out.’
‘How do you know, if Lucas doesn’t?’
Andrew laughs. ‘We live in different worlds, Jemma.’
I’m sure he’s right, but somehow knowing about Isabel’s past makes me even more uncomfortable around her. Does Matt know, I wonder?
As everyone finishes eating and the brandy is brought out, I escape to our room on the pretext that I’m tired after the journey. It’s a feeble excuse after a few hours in a very comfortable car, but it isn’t the journey that has worn me out. It’s the edginess of those around the table that is making my head ache. Am I the only one who can feel it?
I’m not sleepy, so I step onto the balcony and look out into the dark night. I lean my elbows on the warm stone and listen. The late-night drinkers have moved to the terrace at the side of the house now, and I catch an occasional burst of laughter. I can hear the waves washing over the pebbles on the beach below, and in my mind I see Alex, stripped to her underwear, wading into the sea for her swim.
It feels so much like the eve of the wedding a year ago. There is no moon and apart from the puddles of brightness surrounding the low-level lighting along the paths, the night is black. I remember standing here, wondering if Matt was ever going to come to bed. I couldn’t help noticing the way he’d looked at Isabel, and it made me uncomfortable then. It’s worse now. There is something about it, as if he is mesmerised by her long auburn hair and sharp blue eyes. But his expression holds no warmth.
As I drink in the atmosphere of the night, the lights on the path to the beach suddenly go out, leaving a black void in their wake, and a memory of that other night strikes me hard. I was standing on this very spot, wondering if I should go and look for Matt, but something stopped me – a fear of what I might find, perhaps.
I had assumed everyone except Matt had gone to bed, but there was a moment when I saw someone head down the path. Then the lights went out, just as they did a moment ago. What if it was Alex? What if she had been contemplating suicide, and if I’d just gone down to talk to her I might have been able to help? It’s a ridiculous notion, of course. I didn’t know she was so troubled, and what could I have done?
My thoughts are dragged back to the present as I hear a few quiet calls of goodnight. I go back into the bedroom and slip under the sheets. I don’t know whether to pretend to be asleep or not as I wait to hear Matt’s tread on the stairs.
A few moments later all is silent. But there is no sign of Matt.
28
The stone steps from my bedroom feel warm under my bare feet, and I find myself trying to move silently. Is it because I want to remain undetected? I know this is a mistake, but I have to find out where Matt is. I can’t imagine him sitting out here alone, so who is he with? I can’t stop thinking about Isabel.
Clutching a pair of flip-flops in one hand, I tiptoe onto the terrace. I’m halfway across when I have the feeling I’m being watched. I stop and spin round, but I can’t see anyone.
I creep along the edge of the paving towards the south terrace. The detritus of their drinking remains on the table – half-empty bottles, dirty glasses, the chairs in disarray.
But no Matt.
My heart is thumping as I turn and step onto the grass which borders the terrace. I never did find the time to properly explore the Japanese garden that I had seen Nina disappearing towards on the night Alex died. It’s secluded down there – almost hidden from the lawn and terrace above, and surrounded by woodland. The perfect spot for someone to hide. Is that where Matt is? I walk soundlessly towards the steps. I can hear nothing. No one is talking, but that doesn’t mean no one is there.
Down here, away from the house, the only light is from the small solar-powered cubes illuminating the edge of the lawn where it falls sharply down to the woods and garden below, and lining the path into the Japanese garden. I glance back at our balcony. I’m sure if Matt had returned he would have come out to look for me, but there is no silhouette against the light from the open window.
I stop when I reach the gravel-covered steps and slip my flip-flops on. I can hear the rubber of the soles as they slap against the bottom of my feet, and it makes me wary. If Matt is here, he’ll know I’m coming. Perhaps he won’t be alone.
The path zigzags down through overhanging trees that intensify the blackness above me. I turn the final corner. There is nothing. Nobody.
It’s a bigger area than I thought, with narrow paths winding between rocks and perfectly shaped shrubs, which I can just see in the low-level lighting. A pond is reached via a tiny hump-backed bridge over a narrow stream, and on the other side is a small pagoda. The night beyond this small oasis is impenetrable; away from the light pollution of towns and cities that I’m used to, it’s startling to experience the true black of night, and if anyone is in the woods, I won’t be able to see them.
I continue slowly down the path towards the pond. The only sound is the tinkling of water running over the stones in the stream. I lower myself onto a stone seat. I don’t know what I’m doing here, what I was hoping or perhaps dreading to discover, but I take some deep breaths and try to relax.
There is no clear moment when I begin to feel afraid. It creeps up on me, and my body reacts before I acknowledge my fear. The short hairs on my arms stand on end, and I don’t know why. Then I hear a sound – a rustling – as if someone is walking through the dry grass of the wood right behind me. It stops for a few seconds and then starts again – louder this time.
There’s someone there, but the woods are shrouded in darkness. I can’t breathe. I don’t know which way to turn, which direction the sound is coming from. For a moment there is nothing, then the sound comes again, and I don’t know whether to stand up and run or stay where I am. If I’m silent, perhaps whoever is there won’t see me. I don’t know why I’m afraid. Surely there is nobody here to be frightened of?
I want to run, but I don’t know which way to go. I look towards the far end of the pond, but I can see nothing. I stand up, ready to dash back to the house, but then I see a single unsteady light coming down the steps towards me.
I hear a voice.
‘Jemma! I thought I saw you heading down here. I found some wine that the lazy buggers had left out on the table after dinner. Red okay? The white’s a bit warm.’
It’s Andrew, and I breathe out slowly.
‘That’s fine. Thank you. Just what I need.’
He switches off the torch on his phone and puts the glasses on an ornamental stone table. He fills one and passes it to me then sits down.
‘Are you okay?’ he says, giving me a worried look. He can probably feel my heart hammering from where he’s sitting.
‘I’m fine. I feel a bit exposed sitting here. Anyone could be watching.’
Andrew laughs. ‘Why on earth would anybody be lurking around spying on you?’
I feel myself flush and focus on my glass. Andrew gets up and goes into the small pagoda, calling to me from the entrance.
‘Let’s decamp to this place. There’s a comfy-looking sofa and a couple of storm candles. I’ll light them so we can actually see each other.’
I had liked Andrew when I first met him. He’s relaxed and isn’t in awe of Lucas, as the others appear to be. There’s something reassuring about the strength of his body, and for a moment I imagine his arms holding me tight, as they had done that night after the inquest.
I take a large gulp of wine as he sits down next to me, just a flickering candle lighting the space.
‘So what brought you down here at this time of night?’
I don’t feel quite ready to answer that.
‘I could ask you the same thing,’ I reply.
‘Oh, I’ve got an excellent excuse,’ he says. ‘I came down to do a bit of thinking, away from the rest of them. I didn’t want to have to listen to the bollocks they have a tendency to talk. Oh, sorry. Except Matt of course.’
I smile. ‘Of course. Heaven forbid that Matt could be accused of talking bollocks.’
Andrew is quiet. I can feel him watching me so I switch my attention to the wine I’m swirling in my glass.
