Dangerous Deception by Anthea Fraser Page B

play by Bryn’s rules, or, I thought shudderingly, I might find myself hurtling off a cliff.
    â€œAre you sure you won’t have a drink? It might help – Dick’s death has shaken us all.”
    â€œNo, thanks.” I added sadly, “Now we’ll never know what he was so excited about.”
    Andrew and Cindy came in and joined the group at the bar. Everyone seemed to be herding together in this small room, seeking comfort from each other. The lounge must have been empty by now except for the old ladies and the school-mistresses.
    Wynne Davies returned, thanked Philip for relieving him, and took up his place again. Philip moved round to the front of the bar but made no attempt to join me. I noticed with misgiving that he’d refilled his brandy glass.
    â€œI tried to persuade Gwynneth to go to bed, but she wouldn’t,” Mr Davies was saying. “It’s hit her pretty hard. Like one of the family was Mr Harvey, coming here every year.”
    â€œIt’s dreadful.” Cindy Dacombe pressed her fingers to her lips, her eyes wide to keep back the tears. Andrew’s arm went comfortingly round her shoulders. “If only he’d let you go with him, Mr Mortimer,” she continued. “You asked him, didn’t you?”
    I stiffened, striving to hear Clive’s reply above the hum of conversation.
    â€œI might have suggested it, last night,” he admitted, his voice a little strained.
    I thought: it would have been almost eleven when he joined me on the hill. Suppose after all he’d had access to a car? Would he have had time to drive to Pen-y-Coed and back before coming after me to establish an alibi?
    Outside the window, wet darkness pressed against the panes. Was it really only nine hours since I’d sat here with Morgan, waiting for Aladdin?
    As though a part of my remembering, there came the sound of a car swishing off the main road. Headlights raked the window behind us, moved on, and the long sleek car drew up at the front door.
    The police had arrived.

Chapter Eight
    â€˜Can it be summed up so,
    Quit in a single kiss?’
    Bridges:
I will not let thee go
    WYNNE DAVIES passed the bar back to Philip and went to meet them, and a minute later Clive Mortimer, making some comment I didn’t catch, followed him out of the room. We could hear voices in the hall, heavy feet moving towards the stairs, and studiously avoided each other’s eyes.
    The minutes went by. Though several attempts at conversation were made, we were all on edge, straining for sounds of the policemen’s return.
    Someone refilled my glass and I automatically drank from it. To my heightened senses, it seemed that everyone watched everyone else, trying to probe behind the masks we presented to each other. Could they guess that Philip and I were not what we seemed? Or were they equally guilty of duplicity?
    I shook my head to clear it. The police were here; I’d wanted to contact them, hadn’t I? Would it be possible to seize the chance to tell them what I knew? Or – I shuddered – if Dick’s death really was linked with our enterprise, might they charge me with murder? Nothing, in this unreal world, seemed impossible.
    After what felt like an eternity, Mr Davies reappeared in the doorway.
    â€œThe sergeant here would like to ask a couple of questions,” he said, and a solid, red-faced man came forward.
    â€œSorry to intrude, ladies and gentlemen,” he began in his lilting voice. “A nasty business, this. I wanted to ask if the deceased ever mentioned any relatives to you? It’s a forlorn hope, like, since Mr and Mrs Davies here knew him better than you did, and they never heard him speak of anyone.”
    â€œThere was only the school,” Morgan said.
    â€œYes, sir, we have that address. Do any of you know where he was making for when he set off this morning, or what he’d discovered that excited him so much?”
    â€œNot