Murder Your Darlings Page 6

  ‘I agree,’ said Mel. ‘It’s great to do nothing. Just stand and stare.’

  ‘We all need a duvet day from time to time,’ said Belle.

  ‘What the heck’s a duvet day when it’s at home?’ asked Zoe.

  ‘A day when you lie under the duvet and do nothing.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound very interesting.’

  ‘Oh, it’s lovely. I miss my duvet days if I don’t have them regularly. You know what else I miss?’ Belle went on. ‘Male conversation. I’d like more men in my life.’

  This brought laughter, but not from Diana, whose wide forehead was creased with concern. ‘Don’t you have men in your life, Belle?’

  ‘Not enough of them,’ said Belle, ‘now Michael’s gone.’

  ‘I wonder why that is,’ said Diana. ‘You’re still so attractive, perhaps other women view you as a threat.’

  The door pushed open with a creak and they all looked round. But it wasn’t a random man, for Belle. It was Roz, carrying a large glass of white wine.

  ‘Mind if I join you?’ she asked.

  ‘Of course not,’ said Stephanie. ‘Take a seat. We’re talking about time.’

  ‘Are we?’ said Mel. ‘I thought we were talking about men.’

  ‘We’ve rather veered off the main subject,’ said Stephanie.

  ‘As we do, constantly,’ said Zoe. ‘There seems to be no one in this room capable of maintaining even a half-coherent thread.’

  ‘Now Roz is here we can get back to it,’ said Stephanie. ‘Have you had a nice time, Roz – wherever you’ve been?’

  This brought laughter. Really, everyone was having a most agreeable afternoon.

  ‘Yes, a very nice time, thank you. I went for a long cycle ride.’

  ‘What did I tell you?’ Stephanie said to Francis. ‘Francis was worried about you.’

  Francis tried not to show his embarrassment. ‘Only because we missed you at the dialogue session …’

  ‘I’m so sorry about that, Francis. I really wanted to be there. But then I woke up super early this morning and I just had a desire to get out and see more of this glorious countryside. Which I did. And I had a nice lunch in Castiglione dell’Umbria. That’s a lively place, isn’t it?’

  ‘You got as far as Castiglione?’ said Stephanie.

  ‘It’s not that far. Fifteen miles or so.’

  ‘I’m impressed.’

  Roz did look as though she’d had a good day, Francis thought. She looked well-exercised and her skin was glowing. Whatever heaviness had been bothering her yesterday seemed to have completely lifted.

  It was Gerry’s turn to give the talk after dinner. It was a PowerPoint – or ‘slide show’ as the older ones called it – on the subject of Gubbio, the little fortress town they were making a group excursion to the next day. Some, like Diana, had been there before, and joined in with comments and reminiscences as Gerry described the cable car up Mt Ingino to St Ubaldo’s Basilica, where the mummified body of the saint lay visible in a gold and glass coffin and there were the most incredible views. The more adventurous could of course walk it, Gerry said, which was more rewarding, but it was a good forty-five minutes, up through the woods, so do be sure to take some water, as it can get very hot. Back down in the town, there were also good views from the main square, Piazza Grande, adjacent to which was the mighty Palazzo dei Consoli, housing, among other things, the Iguvine tablets and a fine collection of Umbrian coins and ceramics. There was probably less amazing art in Gubbio than in some of the other Umbrian cities, but the Cattedrale had wonderful stained glass and Gherardi’s ‘Birth of the Virgin’, and there was a fine fourteenth-century fresco by Ottavio Nelli in the little church of Santa Maria Nuova.

  Of course, Stephanie chipped in at the end, the excursion was entirely optional. But it seemed as if almost everybody had signed up to it. Only Tony, who had come back from his day out in Perugia with a troubled frown, hadn’t committed. ‘We leave, promptly please, at nine thirty from the village square,’ Stephanie said. ‘And we’ll get you back by five. And at seven fifteen, as a little extra surprise, I’m delighted to announce we’re going to be joined for dinner by Erica St John, who’s probably one of our most famous expat artists out here in the Umbria/Toscano regione.’ She pronounced regione in the Italian way, as she liked to do. ‘If you don’t know her work I can assure you it’s great fun, and was a highlight of the British Pavilion at the last Venice Biennale.’

  ‘How exciting!’ said Poppy. ‘I can’t wait to meet her.’

  ‘I’m sure you can’t,’ said Liam. He turned to Stephanie. ‘Conceptual, is she?’

  ‘Gerry?’ she called.

  ‘Yes, very much so,’ her husband replied.

  ‘She puts human skulls in interesting tableaux,’ Stephanie explained. ‘And then adds bits of painting to them. And frames. It’s all very colourful and interesting.’

  ‘Pretentious crap,’ muttered Gerry, with feeling. ‘But she does very well with it.’

  ‘Gerry!’ cried Stephanie.

  FOUR

  Wednesday 26 September

  Francis woke early again but decided not to bother with the dawn this morning. The Gubbio excursion was ahead of him and he needed his rest. He fell back into a fitful sleep, dreaming of African drummers approaching Gubbio across a wide plain, over which ran a naked woman screaming. She was very beautiful, and as she came closer, he realized she was wearing nothing but a fuchsia scarf and it was Sasha. As she beckoned to him, in a provocative manner, he woke up. Christ, what was his subconscious up to? The American was a quarter of a century younger than him. As for the screaming, had that been real? Was it daffy Belle, having another nightmare? Or just in his dream? In his nostrils he could smell the heat of the desert, see the naked Sasha just yards from him. She had wanted him, as women always did in dreams. As he rolled over, unwilling to let go the memory, there was a banging on the door.

  ‘Francis. Are you awake?’

  ‘Yes, come in.’

  It was Stephanie, in a scarlet dressing gown. ‘So sorry to trouble you, but something awful has happened …’ Her eyes were wide with shock. ‘Gerry wanted you to come.’

  ‘What’s wrong?’ he replied, getting straight out of bed.

  ‘It’s Poppy … in the sauna … a terrible accident …’ Stephanie shook her head, unable to say more. ‘Come quickly … and quietly, please.’

  Francis followed her out of the door and along the corridor. Down the main stone stairs to the hall they went, then through the heavy swing door the guests didn’t use and down a second flight of steps to the lower level of the villa where the laundry room and storerooms were. On a narrow corridor that opened at the other end into the garden was the little sauna, set to one side of a changing room with pine benches and hooks, with two showers off at one side.

  Here they found Gerry, Duncan and Fabio, who was standing over a bag of tools. The glass door to the sauna stood open. The smell coming from inside was of dry heat, stripped pine, lavender and something close to cooked meat. There was another olfactory note in there too, Francis thought, like marzipan. Inside, slumped on the floor, was Poppy. She was face up, but her features were too horrible to contemplate: an unnatural livid crimson, the thin lips of her mouth in a ghastly grimace. Her eyes stared out blankly, the cornflower blue a narrow ring round wide, dark pupils. On the bench was an empty espresso cup, without a saucer.

  Francis stood staring at the scene for a good five seconds, barely able to take it in. Then: ‘What happened?’ he asked.

  ‘It seems the inside handle fell off and she was trapped,’ Gerry said. He gestured at the glass door, which was covered with little circular smudges; the marks, Francis realized with quiet horror, of a fist bashing repeatedly against glass.

  ‘Wouldn’t someone have heard her?’

  ‘Not down here. With this door shut, and the one to the changing room too. The walls are very thick.’

  My dream, Francis thought. The drummers on the plain.
>
  ‘So who found her?’

  ‘Fabio.’ Gerry gestured at the handyman, who nodded grimly.

  ‘I come to clean shower,’ he said. ‘Normally, like yesterday, she go away at eight. For breakfast. After swim and sauna.’

  ‘And no one else uses the sauna? At this time?’

  Fabio shook his head. ‘She ask me to turn it on so early. And to uncover the pool also.’

  ‘We always like our guests to have everything they want,’ Stephanie said.

  ‘Yes,’ said Francis. ‘She was telling us yesterday how much she enjoyed her early morning swim.’ His eyes reverted to the sauna door. ‘So how could a handle fall off? Aren’t there safety procedures in a sauna like this?’

  He looked from Gerry to Fabio, who shrugged. ‘There was nothing … broken. It was strong. The handle.’

  ‘It hasn’t fallen off before?’

  A flicker crossed the handyman’s face, but it was only a flicker. ‘No,’ he said. ‘It was strong.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘You’re going to have to leave all this,’ Francis said to Gerry, ‘exactly as it is. Have you called an ambulance?’

  ‘An ambulance? But she’s … dead.’

  ‘You need to call an ambulance, that’s normal procedure, I’m sure in Europe too. They have to make sure. And the police as well. You might very well be looking at a crime scene.’

  ‘A crime scene?’ Gerry repeated blankly. Stephanie looked appalled.

  ‘How else did this handle fall off?’ Francis said.

  ‘What are you suggesting?’ Gerry said.

  ‘Nothing, as yet. But you must call the police. To cover yourselves, if nothing else. And they’ll be upset if anything is touched. Or moved. Poppy must stay exactly where she is.’

  He looked at Duncan, who had been watching silently during all these exchanges.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘An ambulance and the police.’ There was a pause, when it seemed as if the ex-ambassador might be about to impart useful information or experience. But then: ‘That all seems to make sense,’ he concluded.

  ‘Of course,’ said Gerry. ‘I’ll call them now.’

  Francis looked at the handyman and gestured towards the sauna. ‘You’ve switched it off?’

  Fabio nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Can you lock this outer room as well? For the time being.’

  ‘We have a key somewhere,’ Gerry said.

  ‘We never normally lock any of the rooms,’ said Stephanie.

  ‘I have key,’ said Fabio. ‘In the storeroom.’

  ‘At the very least,’ said Francis, ‘the police will be able to help us with the next stage. I’m not sure how it works out here, if they have a coroner …’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Duncan said. ‘It’s a rather different system in Italy. As elsewhere in Europe.’ He paused, almost as if he’d said too much. ‘I’ll be up in my room, if you need me.’

  ‘Please … do exactly what … I’m so sorry …’ Gerry was struggling to know what to say.

  ‘You can bring the police up to me when they arrive,’ Duncan replied. ‘I imagine they will want to talk to me after they’ve viewed the body.’

  He turned abruptly and walked off.

  ‘Good God,’ said Gerry.

  ‘The poor man’s in shock,’ said Francis.

  Gerry looked at his watch. ‘Half past eight. Christ.’ He turned to his wife. ‘We’re going to have to postpone the Gubbio trip,’ he said.

  ‘Although, I suppose,’ Francis said, ‘you might prefer it if they were all otherwise occupied.’

  ‘No,’ Stephanie replied. ‘We can’t let them wander round a strange city without at least one of us on call. Maybe we should organize some classes here. Francis?’

  ‘Of course. I’d be happy to—’

  ‘Anyway,’ said Gerry, cutting him off, ‘I’ll call the emergency services and then … I’ll go out and break the news.’

  Upstairs in the courtyard, Diana was back in her place in the sun, her bowl of fruit and muesli and yoghourt in front of her, her single croissant waiting with its portion of homemade fig jam beside it on a plate to one side.

  ‘Good morning!’ she said cheerfully, as Francis hurried past to the dining room. ‘Isn’t this just the perfect weather for our little excursion?’

  ‘Yes,’ Francis agreed. He should have gone up the back way and straight to his room – what had he been thinking? Now he was stuck. He certainly couldn’t break confidence and tell her that there was to be no Gubbio trip today, no visit to the market, no cappuccino on the Piazza Grande, no walk up Mt Ignino or viewing of Gherardi’s ‘Birth of the Virgin’ in the Cattedrale, no naughty Aperol spritz aperitivo, no antipasto, primo or secondo …

  Inside the dining room, he put together his usual homemade ham roll. In the books and movies the sight of sudden traumatic death was supposed to make you throw up, but weirdly the awful scene downstairs had only made him hungry, intensely so.

  ‘You look rather glum-faced,’ said Diana, as he reappeared and reluctantly sat down opposite her. ‘Aren’t you looking forward to today? I love our days out. And Gubbio is one of my favourites, like Perugia and San Sepolcro. I much prefer the little atmospheric places to the famous cities like Florence and Siena, where you sometimes don’t feel as if you can breathe for tourists. The last time we went to Florence it was full of Chinese. Not very Italian, I didn’t think.’

  ‘No,’ Francis replied. He didn’t feel he could say anything about Poppy before Gerry did. But Diana was going to hate him when the announcement was made.

  ‘You’ll love it when you get there,’ she went on relentlessly. ‘And you’re young and fit enough, I’d say, to do the walk up the mountain to the church, what’s-it-called, the Basilica of Saint Someone or Other, I forget.’

  ‘Ubaldo,’ said Francis.

  ‘Well done you!’ said Diana. ‘You must have stayed awake during Gerry’s talk last night. I always find it hard to keep my eyes open, after our lovely big dinner. And of course I’ve heard it all before. I may take the cable car. It is rather an amazing view. And there’s a nice café up there where you can get a latte and a cake or what have you.’

  They were, thankfully, joined by Roz, all set for her trip in khaki shorts. ‘Morning everyone.’

  ‘Good morning,’ Diana replied. ‘Beat you to it this morning.’ She wagged a triumphant finger.

  Mel and Belle appeared, and the discussion of the day out continued. They, too, were looking forward to a ride on the cable car, while Roz badly wanted to see the stained glass in the Duomo before checking out the food shops. She winked at Francis, privileged to be the only one to know about her blog. It was now eight forty-five and the bus was supposedly leaving at nine thirty. Sooner or later, Francis thought, they had to be told. He had just got to his feet to go and get Gerry when their host appeared, pacing slowly across the courtyard, his hands clasped behind him like Prince Philip, with Stephanie a yard or so behind him.

  ‘Sorry to interrupt,’ he said, ‘but I have some very bad news.’

  ‘Don’t say you’re cancelling the day out,’ said Belle jovially.

  ‘That, too, I’m afraid. No, this will come as a terrible shock, but I’m sorry to say that there’s been a most unpleasant accident. Poppy somehow got herself trapped in the sauna and … and … and is … now dead,’ he concluded abruptly.

  ‘Oh my God!’ said Roz, hand to her mouth. ‘How?’

  ‘The internal handle fell off the door and it looks very much as if she was unable to get out.’

  ‘Trapped,’ said Belle. ‘How hideous.’

  Gerry ignored this. ‘The police are coming right away,’ he said. ‘And an ambulance. In the meantime, we’ve decided that it would be for the best to postpone today’s trip to Gubbio.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Diana.

  ‘We thought you’d probably rather be here today and just take things quietly. Everything else will be the same.
Lunch at the usual time. And we’ve spoken to Francis and if anyone feels like a distracting writing session that can be arranged.’

  Francis looked down at his feet, not wanting to acknowledge what they now all knew – that he had known this horrid news all along. Diana was giving him a look that was close to a glare.

  ‘I’m very sorry,’ Gerry continued. ‘As I said, we’ve never experienced anything like this before.’

  ‘A death,’ said Belle. ‘And not even a natural one.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Gerry.

  ‘Excuse me,’ said Francis. He was being a coward, but he really didn’t want to be quizzed about what he knew or had known. He turned away and headed across the courtyard to the front door of the villa, then up the stairs to his room at the end.

  He lay on the bed, his hands behind his head, looking up at a long crack that snaked across the ceiling. After five minutes or so, there was a light knock on the door. It was Gerry.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said. ‘That was very inept of me. I put you in an awkward position.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry,’ said Francis. ‘I’m sure they understand that once I’d promised to keep schtum there wasn’t much I could do.’

  ‘But silly of me to implicate you. Not thinking straight at all. I think, on reflection, it would be inappropriate to have any classes today.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Francis, relieved.

  ‘Anyway, the cops will be here soon. So we’ll see what they say.’

  ‘Horrible,’ said Francis.

  ‘I just can’t understand how it could have happened. Fabio swears blind the door was in perfect order.’

  ‘If the handle was loose, surely you’d notice that when you went in and shut the door.’

  ‘Maybe not until you’d closed it.’

  ‘Does it self-lock? That would seem unnecessarily dangerous.’

  ‘It wasn’t locked,’ Gerry said. ‘That’s the point. But once the interior handle came off, and the latch clicked in, it wasn’t able to be moved.’

  ‘It sounds like a major design flaw. Could Duncan sue the company that made it?’