Part 17 (1/2)

'The Draycotts had the money round here. They really thought they were something, looking at each other across the water in their grand houses, having nothing to do with the likes of us.' He saw Archie's face and got to the point. 'Henry Draycott lived across the estuary, one of the big places off the Harlech road. He liked the girls from the town, and marrying one of them didn't stop him keeping up with the others. Rhiannon Erley must have worked a real number on him because he ended up taking her abroad. Neither of them ever came back here. Can't say I blame them: her old man would have killed them both.' Archie resisted the temptation to interrupt his story by asking, in that case, what his definition of 'decent' was. 'I don't expect Gwyneth Draycott was too happy about it, either,' Powell added. 'She was pregnant when they lefta and Rhiannon was her closest friend.'

'So Branwen was brought up by her father?'

'By her gran, really. His mother. She still lives over in Porthmadog.'

'And she would be Branwen's next of kin.'

'I suppose so, unless you can find Rhiannon. Branwen wasn't very close to her gran, I don't think. As far as I know, she'd been working here pretty much from when it opened. I suppose she thought it was glamorous, but I wouldn't let my daughter anywhere near the place. All them queers and arty types.' Powell gave a shudder. He looked at Archie and added slylya 'I don't think you mentioned why you were here, sir?'

'Do you know if Miss Erley had a boyfriend?'

'Always, sir. No one specific.'

He left the implication hanging in the air. 'And what about Mrs Draycott? What did she do after her husband left her?'

'She shut the house up and came over here with the child for a few years.' Archie looked at him questioningly. 'Her sister-in-law rented the house a that's what I meant about them looking at each other across the water. Then when Grace Draycott died and they turned it into a hotel, Gwyneth moved back home. She still lives there.' Archie glanced at the house across the water and saw it properly for the first time, even though he had been staring at the same view all weekend. 'She's not all there, though, by all accounts. Half her family died in the loony bin up the road. I don't blame her husband for wanting to get away. Her kid was probably better off out of it, too.'

'Why? What happened?'

'The poor little sod was killed by one of the Gypsies who used to come here for the summer.'

'You were on that case?'

Powell nodded. 'We never found the body.'

'So how do you know what happened?'

'It stands to reason, doesn't it?'

Archie stifled his automatic response and askeda 'Did you get a confession?'

'We didn't get the chance. The gyppo died in a fire before we could ask him.'

As tempting as it was to give Powell a few thoughts on his style of policing, Archie resisted; he needed to get back to the hotel. 'Thank you,' he said, signalling to Marta that he was ready to go. 'You've been very informative.'

'And as for Bella Hutton,' Powell began, but Archie held up his hand.

'That's enough for now. I'm very grateful for your local knowledge, but I think there'll be enough gossip and speculation about Bella Hutton without any encouragement from us.'

The man gave an insolent smile and shrugged. 'Whatever you say, sir. Glad to have been of help.'

8.

The news of Bella Hutton's death refused to feel like anything other than a sick joke to Josephine as she sat on the top lawn with Bridget, trying to make sense of the past hour. At Archie's request, the guests had been asked to return to their rooms or wait in one of the hotel's public areas until the murder sites had been secureda and, as more police began to arrive from the surrounding towns, she noticed how the character of Portmeirion changed instantly: the glimpse of a dark-blue uniform at the foot of a pathway or the door of a building turned its secret beauty into something more sinister and threatening, taking its toll on guests and staff alike. No one had been told any details yet, but the carefree, live-and-let-live att.i.tude of the morning had gone, and everywhere Josephine looked people were suddenly watchful, suspicious, afraid. Only Lydia and the Motleys seemed oblivious to the change in atmosphere: she had made several attempts to beckon them in from the water, but they were too far out now to recognise the urgency in her greetinga and in the end she had given up.

'What's the worst thing Archie's ever forgiven you for?' Bridget asked. The question came from nowhere, and Josephine looked at her in surprise. 'I'm sorry, that was too personal. I wasn't trying to pry into your life, just to find out if Archie is still as understanding in his old age as he was when I knew him. He was always so kind.'

'He still is.' Josephine took a sip of coffeea and its temperature reminded her that she had never wanted the drink in the first place. 'I don't know that I can really answer your question,' she said, pus.h.i.+ng the cup away. 'The worst thing I've ever done to Archie is to fall in love with someone else, but you'd have to ask him if he's forgiven me or not.' She could see from Bridget's expression that her response had satisfied one of the questions that remained unspoken between them. 'And it's not really the sort of thing I'm very good at discussing with him. Not in so many words, anyway.'

'But you're still friends.'

'For want of a better word, yes.' Of all the qualities Josephine had expected to find in Bridget, uncertainty wasn't one of thema and it intrigued her. 'What are you worried about?' she asked more gently. 'Forgiveness is a very big word.'

Bridget smiled. 'And don't I know it?' She sighed, and reached down to check on the injured Jack Russell who lay quietly in the shade under her chair, diligently licking his paw. 'I wouldn't know where to start with that one, Josephine, even if I could trust you not to tell Archie. And you would tell him, wouldn't you?'

'Of course I would. Unless I was absolutely sure you'd do it yourself.' She watched as Alma came out onto the terrace and looked round for her husband. It was obvious from their body language that they had no idea what was going ona and, ironically, the suspense seemed to be something that Hitchc.o.c.k found difficult to bear. Alma put a rea.s.suring hand on his arm as they went back into the hotel, and Josephine wondered if she should seek them out and have a discreet word, but Archie's instructions had been very cleara and he wouldn't thank her for interfering. In the end, her dilemma was solved for her: Archie and Marta came round the bend of the coastal path, and only then, when they were tempered with relief, did Josephine allow herself to acknowledge her worst fears. She stood to go and meet them, but was stopped by the strange combination of concern and longing in Bridget's eyes as she watched Archie. 'You obviously want to see him again,' she said.

'Yes, very much.'

'Then I don't think you have a choice. Whatever it is will destroy you if you keep it from him. It's started already.'

'You make it sound very simple.'

'Meddling in someone else's life always is. That's why so many people do it.' She smiled, and nodded towards Marta and Archie. 'For what it's worth, the odds are in your favour. It's a long story, but ask Marta how understanding Archie can be. I think you'll be pleased.'

9.

James Wyllie met Penrose at reception and took him discreetly to one side. 'The local force have sent as many men as they can,' he said, 'but the officer in charge will be another half an hour at least. An Inspector Roberts, apparently. He's coming from Colwyn Bay.'

'You don't know him?'

'No. I can't say we have much call for the police here as a rule.'

The comment was sober rather than defensive, and Penrose understood what a black day this must be for Wyllie, both personally and professionally: the stain of murder would have serious consequences for Portmeirion, particularly if the killer turned out to be connected with the village, and the manager had been here for several years now, freeing Clough from day-to-day concerns and coming to love the place almost as much as its creator. Wyllie seemed to read his thoughts. 'Funny, isn't it, how h.e.l.l is always so much worse if it's once been heaven. Is the other body Branwen?'

'Yes, I'm afraid it is.'

'I'm so sorry. She was only in her twenties, and yet she must have been here longer than anyone.' He paused, then asked reluctantlya 'Does it suggest that whoever did this is more likely to be one of us?'

'It's far too early to say. Did Miss Erley live in?'

'Yes. There are some staff rooms at the back of the hotel. She had one of those.'

'Would you make sure it's locked?'

'Of course. I've secured Miss Hutton's suite as you requested.'

'Good. I'll need to examine both, but I want to talk to everyone first. It's not fair to keep them in the dark any longer.'

Wyllie gave a knowing smile. 'I think Mr Hitchc.o.c.k would agree with you there. They're all waiting for you in the Mirror Room, but I can't say they went very gracefully.'

'I can imagine. I a.s.sume you're all right with my handling this for now until Roberts arrives?'

'Of course.' He turned to goa but Wyllie called him back. 'I'll have to tell Clough,' he said. 'He'll be devastated, but he'd never forgive me if he heard it from someone else.'