The Temptation Read online

  When she’d moved to the area last September, she’d avoided the place, after finding it brought back too many memories of Angela, but now she’d started to find visits to the village, and especially taking a boat out onto the mere, were soothing, and the memories pleasant. No chance of boating today. The place was deserted and even the swans and ducks had disappeared, taking shelter in the undergrowth of the islands dotted about the lake.

  She parked in the public car park on the sea side of the road going to Aldeburgh. It was empty. She tied the hood of her waterproof under her chin and pulled on gloves. As she opened the door a gust of wind almost pulled it from her hand. The rain was lashing horizontally, cold and stinging. She made her way to the mere; the surface of the normally peaceful water was disturbed, waves rippling away from the grassy shore, willow trees and alder bushes pushed down to meet the water. She turned, facing the rain and wind, and struggled to the beach, making slow progress.

  It was deserted, the sea pounding the shingle; she put a hand over her mouth as the gusts were taking her breath away. Steel grey waves rushed in, piling on top of each other in their anxiety to reach land. A few gulls were riding the wind, banking and turning, like planes in a dog fight. Bubbles of exhilaration coursed through her blood; worries about Frank and Nancy were forgotten in her joy of the elements.

  She remembered a similar day with Angela: they’d loved the storms, racing each other over the beach, skipping on the edge of surging waves, chased by Dad shouting at them to stop and get back to their cottage. Mum’s horror at the state they were in, but not even a dressing down could stop their crazy laughter, whipped up by the rain and wind. Smiling she turned and half-ran to the car park, the wind helping her.

  Another car, a Land Rover, pulled in, sending up spray from puddles. A tall man got out, followed by a black Labrador. It rushed up to her, wagging its tail and bouncing with pleasure. Perfect weather for Labradors.

  She laughed and patted its head. ‘Good boy.’

  ‘Miss Bowman,’ the man said, ‘what are you doing out in this weather? Although you look as if you’re enjoying it as much as Billy.’

  Laurel squinted at him; he was dressed in oilskins and walking boots. ‘Dr Neave?’

  ‘The same.’ He grasped her gloved hand in his.

  ‘It’s a long way from Aldeburgh to give your dog a walk.’

  He nodded. ‘Come into my car for a minute and I’ll explain. Perhaps you may have seen him. Have you been in Thorpeness long?’

  Laurel frowned. ‘I’m not sure, about half-an-hour, maybe more.’ What was he going on about?

  He opened the passenger door and she got in. Billy whined as he was made to jump back in the car. Dr Neave faced her, his face serious. ‘Have you seen Dr Luxton at all?’

  ‘In Thorpeness?’

  ‘Yes. He lives here.’

  ‘No, I haven’t seen him since Friday night. What’s the matter? Is he all right?’

  Dr Neave pulled off his hood, his thick, dark hair was messed up and Laurel had an urge to run her fingers through it and get him into shape.

  ‘I got a phone call this morning from his deputy. You remember Dr Luxton went home with him on Friday night. I examined Luxton yesterday and he seemed much better. His deputy phoned me about an hour ago. It seems Dr Luxton returned home on Saturday night. He insisted he’d recovered. The deputy was relieved as he’d promised to take his family to relatives for Sunday lunch in Bury St Edmunds. He phoned Luxton several times this morning from there, but no one picked up the phone. So he contacted me.’

  She saw Neave was worried; she could understand why. ‘Where does he live?’

  Neave pointed in the direction of Aldeburgh. ‘He’s got one of the houses that face the beach; that’s why I parked here. Billy needed a run, so I thought I’d walk to his house.’

  She’d lusted after one of those beach houses. There was a long line of them strung out from the village, perched above the beach and sea, each with a large plot of land. Laurel imagined living with the North Sea and its birds as neighbours, isolated but near enough to a shop and a pub if you needed a loaf of bread or a pint of beer. Lucky Dr Luxton. Or not so lucky, Dr Luxton?

  ‘Would you like me to go with you?’

  He smiled at her. ‘Would you? You seemed to have a good influence on him on Friday night. I’d appreciate your company.’ He smiled. ‘So would Billy.’ The dog’s front paws were on the back of Laurel’s seat and he was trying to lick her to death.

  She ruffled his ears. ‘Nice to have one fan.’

  ‘Make that two,’ Neave said, looking her straight in the eyes.

  Laurel knew she was a mess, a very wet mess. Perhaps he was keen on mermaids. If he liked her in this state, how would he behave when she was scrubbed up and in her best blue suit? She needed a bit of flattery. Every woman does.

  ‘Shall we go? Are you taking Billy?’ She hoped so, he seemed a lot of fun.

  ‘If I don’t he’ll rip up the seats in frustration.’

  They slowly battled their way from the car park, along the main road to Aldeburgh; soon the line of houses came into view.

  ‘Which one is his?’ Laurel shouted, the wind gobbling up her words.

  Neave moved closer, nearly tripping as Billy pranced round his legs. He was on a lead and obviously wanted to be set free. ‘Get down, you stupid mutt. Sorry, not you, Laurel. Is it all right if I call you Laurel? My name’s Oliver.’

  She smiled and nodded. Oliver, not her favourite name, but he was attractive: taller than her, which always helped, with dark, rugged good looks. She’d seen first-hand his skill as a doctor. He seemed a sensible and capable man, and he’d come out of his way to check on Dr Luxton, showing a caring and compassionate nature.

  ‘It’s next to the last house. I don’t think many are occupied at this time of the year. We’ll keep to the road, shall we?’

  ‘Billy doesn’t think that’s a good idea.’

  ‘He’ll get a proper walk once we’ve checked on Luxton.’

  They struggled on, strong gusts of wind pushing them sideways.

  ‘Straight from the Urals,’ he muttered. ‘Glad it’s not January, we’d be in a snow blizzard.’

  They came to the house and turned their faces to the wind. It was an effort to move forwards.

  ‘There could be flooding at high tide if this wind doesn’t drop,’ Laurel said.

  ‘Sorry, what did you say?’ Oliver shouted.

  She shook her head. Billy crouched down and relieved himself, his ears blown horizontal, Snoopy-like; then he bounced up and gave a tuft of marram grass a good going over. She wondered if Dorothy would let her have a dog at Greyfriars.

  The single-storey house was well built with wooden steps leading to a veranda which seemed to circle the house. There was a central glass door, with a porcelain door bell set in the right-hand brick wall. Laurel sighed with relief as the house sheltered them from the howling wind. She pushed back her hood and shook her head, Oliver did the same and Billy gave the wooden floor of the veranda a thorough sniffing.

  Oliver pushed the door bell and the faint sound of its chimes could be heard from inside. There was no movement. He pressed the bell again, keeping his finger on the button.

  ‘That should get him up, if he’s having a nap,’ he said.

  Laurel went to the window to the right of the door. The curtains were drawn back; there was a dark leather three-piece suite, a coffee table, shelves full of books and at the far end, under a full-length window, a table and six chairs. Beyond the sea was boiling, the sky full of dark rain clouds. Oliver was still pressing the bell. She moved to the window to the left of the door, the curtains were closed. She banged on the glass. Perhaps it was his bedroom and he was in a deep sleep. Possibly induced by drugs.

  ‘Let’s brave the wind and go round to the beach side,’ Oliver said. He looked increasingly worried.

  The boarding continued round the sides of the house and there was another door on the sea side, a flight of
steps leading down to the beach. The door was locked.

  ‘Was the other door locked?’ Laurel asked.

  ‘Yes, I tried it,’ he shouted, the wind once more kidnapping his words.

  The room to the right of the door was the kitchen. No sign of anyone, but everything neat and tidy.

  Oliver took her arm. ‘Let’s go round the back again. We’ll be able to talk.’ Billy seemed to have given up on a proper walk: his tail was down.

  ‘His deputy said he phoned him last night, about nine-thirty. He said he seemed fine. He didn’t phone again until after eleven this morning, when they got to Bury St Edmunds. He’d told Luxton he was going to phone, and Luxton said he didn’t mind him making sure he was OK, in fact he thanked the chap for his concern. Luxton said he would stay at home resting. They knew the weather was going to be atrocious. I’m worried.’

  Laurel nodded. ‘I think we should either contact the police and ambulance services or break in and call them if we need to.’

  ‘And your choice would be?’

  ‘Break in now. If we wait it might be too late.’ This time she was going to trust her instinct. If she, or hopefully they, had to pay for the repairs to a door or window, so be it. Oliver could give first aid while she phoned for an ambulance. There was a phone in Luxton’s house, the deputy talked to him last night.

  ‘Agreed. Door or window?’

  Laurel looked through the keyhole. ‘I can’t see a key in the lock. The glass looks thicker than the windows. Window has it.’

  ‘Hold Billy, I’ll find a stone from the beach. I’ve a few tools in my car if that doesn’t work.’

  He loped off, and Billy pulled at the lead in an attempt to follow. She crouched down and hugged him, burying her face in his fur. Eau de wet dog. It should be bottled.

  Neave returned clutching a large stone in his gloved hand; he wrapped his scarf round his wrist.

  ‘Stand well back, Laurel, and hold Billy tight. He might get agitated by the noise.’

  She didn’t think Billy would get agitated by anything, unless it was food. You couldn’t have hoped for a steadier companion.

  Neave half-turned his head and grimacing, smashed the stone into the window near the handle. The glass cracked. He raised the stone again and hit with greater force. The window exploded, slivers of glass shooting to the ground, but mostly erupting into the room.

  ‘That should wake him up,’ Neave said.

  Billy gave her a slobbery lick on the face, as if saying, ‘There it’s all over.’ If only it was. The memory of going into Sam Harrop’s house and finding those dead bodies was still crystal clear.

  Neave knocked out the remaining glass from the frame of the window and opened it. ‘I’ll climb in; you stay with Billy.’

  No. She didn’t want him to be alone with whatever was in the house. She needed to see herself. ‘No. I think we should go in together. You tie up Billy.’ She pointed to one of the wooden rails.

  He looked at her, puzzled and unsure. ‘Most women would be glad to be left outside.’

  ‘I’m not most women.’

  ‘So I’m beginning to see.’

  He sounded cross. Another knight looking for a fair maiden? Another admirer biting the dust? She’d worry about that later.

  ‘Perhaps you’d like to go in first?’

  Definitely a touch of sarcasm. ‘Thank you.’ She took the scarf from him for extra protection from any glass remaining in the frames and, placing her gloved hands on the bottom of the window, she pulled herself up and executed a neat entrance to the room. She turned round and passed the scarf back to him.

  His mouth was open. ‘God, you’re fit.’

  ‘I’ll help you shall I?’

  They struggled as she pulled on his shoulders as he squeezed through the window. He brushed himself down.

  ‘We could get arrested for breaking and entering.’

  ‘I’ll claim you did it. I think they might believe me, after all most women wouldn’t do this kind of thing, would they?’

  He shook his head, smiling ruefully. ‘Touché. That’ll teach me.’

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘Ready to explore?’

  She nodded.

  They moved from the lounge to a wide, green-carpeted passageway, running from the front to back doors. There were four interior doors. One to the room they’d left, and three on the opposite wall. One into the kitchen, the next a bathroom; the open door showed a white bath and lavatory, and the last door was to the room with the closed curtains.

  Neave checked the bathroom. ‘He’s not in there.’

  As she started to move towards the bedroom he held up a hand. ‘I’ll check the electricity’s on.’ He pushed down a switch. Bulbs in a three-light wooden fixture lit up the cream walls and a phone on a small table. He pointed. ‘Good.’

  They looked at each other and nodded. He opened the door of the bedroom.

  She flinched and put a hand over her nose and mouth. The metallic stench of blood filled her nostrils, catching at her throat, making her stomach contract.

  ‘Damn,’ Neave hissed. He felt for the bedroom light switch.

  Lying on the floor in front of a double bed, wearing striped pyjamas, was Luxton. His throat was a gaping wound, the skin of his neck furled back showing red muscles and the severed edges of his wind pipe, protruding like the obscene tube of a vacuum cleaner. There was a great pool of congealed blood round his head and upper body, dark as the deepest ruby. His face was drained of all colour, all life; his wide-open eyes stared at nothing. His arms were spread out, as though in supplication. On the palm of his right hand was a cut-throat razor, its blade and handle thick with partly dried blood.

  Neave pushed Laurel back. He moved to Luxton and crouched down, avoiding the pool of blood. ‘Nothing we can do for him now,’ he said, his voice low and bitter. He straightened up and turned back to Laurel. ‘I’ll phone the police.’

  Sounds of him picking up the phone in the hall, then mutterings.

  ‘It’s not working. I’ll stay here with him. Can you find a phone? Get the police and the ambulance service. Take Billy with you.’

  His words penetrated her brain. If you wanted to take your life, why choose this violent and awful end? What courage was needed to make such a devastating cut? She edged nearer the body. She couldn’t be sure, there was so much blood, but it looked as though there was one deep cut. Why not choose an easier death? Why not a mixture of alcohol and sleeping tablets? Dr Luxton seemed a nervous man. A scared man. A man who was more scared when he’d seen the headmaster of Chillingworth School, Mr Baron, at the back of the hall.

  ‘Laurel, did you hear me? Are you OK? Do you feel faint?’

  Yes. That would be a good excuse. What did she know about Neave? Nothing. Did she want to leave him with the corpse of Luxton? Did she trust him not to alter something? If there was a connection between Luxton and Baron, could there be another connection between Neave and Luxton, or between Neave and Baron? Frank had told them of his suspicions that the Harrops had been murdered.

  She pretended to wobble and Neave took hold of her arm.

  ‘I think I’d better sit down.’

  He helped her to the kitchen and she leant on him as he seated her on a chair. When he tried to push her head between her knees she resisted.

  ‘A glass of water would help.’

  He found a glass in a cupboard and filled it from the kitchen tap.

  ‘Thank you.’ She sipped. ‘I’ll stay here. You find a phone. The shop or pub would be the best bets. Ask for Inspector Revie and tell him to contact Dr Ansell.’

  ‘Dr Ansell?’

  ‘He’s a pathologist, he’s excellent.’ It was Frank’s word, excellent. She needed Frank here. He’d know what to look for, just as he’d known when they found the Harrops. She’d have to do the best she could once Neave was out of the way.

  He frowned. ‘You may be faint but your brain’s still working.’

  Oh, dear. She gave a pathetic smi
le. ‘I’m trying to help.’

  He sighed. ‘Right. Don’t move from here. I’ll see if I can find a key, save the police breaking one of the doors down. They won’t want to climb in a window.’

  And you don’t want to climb out of one, she thought. She hoped her suspicions about him were unfounded. He was attractive, but so had Nicholson, the headmaster of Blackfriars School been; he’d impressed her when they first met. It was a lesson she wasn’t going to forget in a hurry. Don’t let your hormones affect your judgement.

  She took another sip of water. Wonder if there’s any alcohol in a cupboard? she thought. She could do with a slug of something stronger than this.

  ‘Will you be all right, Laurel? You could come with me. We can’t do anything for poor Luxton now.’

  She shook her head. ‘I feel shattered. I’m not sure I’d make it to the village. I’d slow you down.’

  ‘Right. I’ll look for a key.’ There were the sounds of drawers opening and closing. He came back into the kitchen. ‘No good, I’ll have to climb through the window.’

  ‘Sorry I can’t help you this time.’

  Neave took hold of a kitchen chair. ‘This should help me get out. I’ll get back as soon as I can. I’ll take Billy with me. As soon as I’ve phoned I’ll put him in the Land Rover and drive back to you as quickly as possible.’

  Poor Billy, no walk for him today.

  ‘Thank you, Oliver.’

  Sounds of Neave’s exit were accompanied by muttered swear words. She waited a few minutes and got up. What should she be looking for? First, she’d have to look at Luxton’s body again. She needed to fix in her memory all the details. Think what Frank would say to her. ‘I want to know everything you could see. Do you think this death looks suspicious? From your knowledge of Luxton do you think this is the death he’d have chosen?’ She could answer that one already. No. ‘Look for evidence of suicide or murder, but if possible don’t touch anything. Examine the other rooms and go through any papers. Look in cupboards, waste bins and bathroom cabinets.’ That’s enough, Frank, she thought. Before she knew it Neave would be back. At least the noise he’d make climbing in would give her warning. She’d be able to make it back to the kitchen and her glass of water.