12
As the afternoon wore on, Josephine and Marta decamped to the other bedroom, where there was a better view of the route across to the mainland. ‘Any sign of Archie?’ Marta asked as Josephine peered out into the semi-darkness.
‘No, not a thing. Even if there was a boat on its way back to us, I’m not sure we could see it from here. We’ll just have to wait and hope that he’s all right.’
‘I never want to hear the words “Christmas” and “house party” in the same sentence again as long as I live,’ Marta said with feeling, as she put the parcel she had brought with her down on the bed. ‘Still, at least I can finally stop lugging this around. It’ll be your responsibility once you’ve opened it.’ She tried to patch the wrapping paper where it had been torn in transit, but quickly gave up. ‘Go on, you might as well open it now and finish the job.’
Intrigued, Josephine unwrapped the box and took out a black leather case which held an exquisite gold-plated Corona typewriter. ‘This is beautiful,’ she said, lifting it out and trying the keys. ‘What a wonderful present.’
‘I’m glad you like it, because it’s a selfish gift really. I thought if we have to spend some time apart while I’m in America, the least we can do is write to each other. I want a letter from you every day, and I can’t possibly read that much of your handwriting. It’s ruined my eyesight already.’
‘But glasses suit you.’
Marta laughed, then added more seriously: ‘This goes with it as part of the present.’ She handed over an envelope with Josephine’s name typed neatly on the front. ‘I thought I’d better try the machine out before I gave it to you. The bell has a particularly nice ring, I noticed.’ Josephine removed the sheet of notepaper and read the words ‘Come with me’. ‘Consider it an IOU for the air tickets,’ Marta added. ‘The typewriter’s portable, so if we don’t need the letters, you can always bring it with you and write your next book on it instead.’ She sat down next to Josephine and took her hand. ‘You don’t have to decide anything now, and this probably isn’t the best time to discuss it. I know it might not even be possible, but it makes me feel better to think that we have a choice.’
‘Of course we have a choice. I’m not any happier than you are about being on different continents.’
‘So you’ll think about it?’
‘Yes, I’ll think about it. Now, wait there.’
She fetched her bag and handed over the tissue-wrapped envelope. Marta opened it, looking first confused, then astonished. ‘But these are the deeds to your cottage. You can’t just sign half of it over to me.’
‘Why not? It’s always been our cottage, and it would mean nothing to me without you.’ Marta began to object, but Josephine silenced her with a kiss. ‘If it makes you feel any better, the cottage is a selfish present, too. I thought it might give you a reason to come home.’
‘You’re the only reason I need to come home – and it’s not for ever. I promised you that.’ She looked at the two gifts and smiled. ‘They don’t seem very compatible, do they?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. I think they sum us up quite nicely.’
The sound of the dinner gong drifted up from the hallway, and Marta looked at her watch. ‘I thought supper was going to be later?’
‘It’s supposed to be at six.’ The noise persisted, clearly a summons to go downstairs, and Josephine sighed. ‘God knows what’s happened now. We’d better go and see.’
13
The tide was in Penrose’s favour when he was finally ready to go back to the Mount – by boat this time, and with the welcome support of the local police. It had taken him a while to explain to Johnny Soper why the man detained in custody was not being charged with his mother’s murder, and Penrose was all too conscious that he had no alternative scenarios to offer. He was exhausted, the physical effort of crossing the causeway matched only by the mental strain of his interview with Jack Naylor, and he didn’t relish the task ahead: Naylor’s confession had stirred up too many memories, and Emily Soper’s death – at the heart of this proud, tight-knit community – had all the hallmarks of another domestic tragedy, of other lives destroyed in the saddest of circumstances.
It was early evening as the boat sailed into the little harbour, and the lights from the front row of cottages were deceptively welcoming; as they docked at the east pier, he could almost believe that the sun had set on a normal day. Only the museum was in darkness, with one of the islanders standing guard outside, and he watched Johnny’s face as he and Violet climbed the steps. ‘She shouldn’t be in there on her own,’ Violet said, anticipating his next dilemma. ‘Can we go to her? Pay our respects?’
‘Not tonight, I’m afraid,’ Penrose said. ‘The pathologist is coming first thing in the morning, and I can’t allow anyone else into the building until he’s been, not even you. I know how wrong that sounds, but I do promise you that there’s a reason for it. It will give us the best possible chance of finding out who did this.’
They accepted his explanation, but walked over to the building anyway and stood quietly outside. Penrose left them to their thoughts until they were ready to come up to the castle with him, and sent some of his Penzance colleagues on ahead to deal with Gerald Lancaster, glad to hand that particular inquiry over. He was just beginning to consider what to do first about the village murder when he saw Josephine and Marta coming towards him along the harbour. ‘We’ve been looking out for you,’ Josephine said. ‘You’ve been gone so long. We were worried sick.’
More pleased to see them than he could possibly have said, Penrose brought them quickly up to date. ‘I’ve got to tell Hilaria what’s going on, so as soon as Mr Soper and his fiancée are ready, I’ll take them up to the castle. She’ll want to talk to them.’
‘She’s not there,’ Marta said. ‘She wanted to do something for the village after everything that’s happened, so she’s organising a memorial for Mrs Soper and we were summoned by gong to help. It’s in that building down at the end.’ She pointed along the harbour to a granite sail loft and workshop. ‘Obviously we couldn’t have it in the church.’
‘It was a spur-of-the-moment thing, but all the islanders and staff are going,’ Josephine added. ‘Hilaria thought it would bring everyone together. Marlene’s there with her.’ She looked closely at him, obviously concerned. ‘This has been a terrible day, hasn’t it? That poor boy.’ It was typical of Josephine to refuse to see things in black and white, and Penrose was grateful to her for articulating what he felt but could not allow himself to say. ‘It’s going to get worse, too,’ she added. ‘We’ve got news of our own.’ He listened in surprise as she repeated a conversation they had had with Hilaria about Nora Pendean. ‘Hilaria wanted to tackle her about it straight away, but we persuaded her to wait for you.’
‘I’m glad you did. God knows how she might have reacted, innocent or guilty, when emotions are running high like this.’ He was quiet for a moment, thinking about the housekeeper’s behaviour at the museum; she had been so certain that her friend couldn’t have gone to Marazion, and so upset – guilty, almost – about the cat, and yet her surprise at seeing the body had seemed genuine enough. ‘I’ll have to go and talk to her, but I need to see Hilaria first. She might want to be there when I question her. Where are the other guests?’